“…AND LET THEM KNOW WHY YOU’RE WEARING THE CROWN!”

1/6/10

After reading today’s post concerning my encounter with George Wendt at the 1986 Super Bowl, an old and treasured friend and former colleague reminded me of the story, which I used to tell on the trading desk, of my teaching the lyrics to the Bear fight song to my fellow passengers on the flight to New Orleans. He asked me to repeat it, and I have done so for him and for you. If you liked the Wendt story, you’ll probably like this one. If you didn’t like the Wendt story, you might want to skip this one.

Thanks!

mightydad@att.net


Leading the entire chartered ATA L-1011 passenger manifest of 350 in "Bear Down, Chicago Bears" came on the way to that trip! The flight was delayed about three hours, so a normally spirited crowd of Bear fans was vastly overserved by the time the plane took off. The captain, in a feeble yet gracious attempt to make up for the delay, offered to buy a drink for everyone on board. (Talk about throwing gasoline on a fire!) So I ordered a light beer (after the, oh, I don’t know (I’d lost count.), 8 or 10 I’d had in the airport), but my buddy jabbed me in the ribs. “Quinny, the pilot is buying us a drink! This is no time to be drinking Lite Beer from Miller!” Seeing the logic of my friend’s observation, I quickly changed my order to some kind of rotgut bar whiskey, and it was GOOD, and so became the first of many.

As the time passed, I found the crowd not sufficiently raucous for my tastes, so I asked my fellow passengers in my row if they would like to learn the Bear fight song. Nowadays, “Bear Down Chicago Bears” is commonly played at all Bear games and everyone knows the words. Back then, in a less enlightened era, everyone recognized the tune, but almost no one, other than yours truly, knew the words. So, line by line, I patiently taught my fellow passengers the words….

“Okay, now…

‘Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play lead the way to victory…’

Got it?”

They would repeat that line. Then I would continue.

“ ‘Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so fearlessly…’

Got that?”

They would repeat the line. Then I would continue.

“ ‘We’ll never forget the way you thrilled the nation…with your T-Formation’

Got that line?”

They would repeat that, and so on down the line until

“ ‘You’re the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down!’”

They repeated every line faithfully back to me. Then the whole row, led by yours truly, belted out the entire song, word for word, in all its melodic glory. Inspired by this rapturous display of team and city spirit, soon the whole plane was trying to sing along, insisting that we repeat it, again and again, so that they, too, might learn the words of this timeless anthem. By the time we had landed in New Orleans, every passenger was belting out “Bear Down, Chicago Bears” with varying degrees, depending on the singer’s endurance level, of fidelity to the actual words of the song.

Also on that trip, I met Tip O’Neil coming out of St. Louis Cathedral after Mass on the Saturday before the game, the same evening I met George Wendt. I told Tip, as we left Mass, that the first vote I ever cast was for Richard J. Daley. He told me that he knew Richard J. Daley and that I ought to be proud to have cast that vote. It’s amazing how unprotected public people were in those days.

Also on that trip, one night (about 3:00 AM, actually) we piled into a cab and I noticed that the cab driver’s name was James Ruffin. I instantly decided (My judgment may have been clouded by the evening’s activities, but I still was convinced I was right.) that he had to be THE Jimmy Ruffin. So I said to him “You’re Jimmy Ruffin, aren’t you?” He replied “I’m James Ruffin, sir.” I said “Aw, c’mon, you’re Jimmy Ruffin.” My friends by this time were asking “Who the h--- is Jimmy Ruffin?” So I launched into “What becomes of the broken hearted, who had love that’s now departed…I know I got to find, some kind of piece of mind, I’ll be searching everywhere, just to find someone to care…” Everyone soon joined in and I said “That’s our cabdriver…Jimmy Ruffin!” He just shook his head and said “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. I’m James Ruffin.” To this day, I don’t know if he was THE Jimmy Ruffin. I hope not.