chapter 1

Estée and I woke up on a Sunday morning in 2004, looked at one another, and simultaneously said, “Let’s retire. Where should we go? Oh, yes, let’s retire to Ecuador! By the way, where is Ecuador? Is that a city or a country? Or is it an island?” That’s not what really happened, but that is what nearly all of our friends and acquaintances seemed to believe. While we are not averse to being whimsical at times, we do not approach a decision of that gravity with whimsy. While it might make a nice narrative, the real story is quite different.

When Estée and I met in Chicago and got married, some of our first conversations had to do with where we wanted to retire. These conversations usually took place from November through March and sometimes into April. Anyone who has lived in Chicago or a similar climate from November through early April will understand.

The thought of retiring can cause paroxysms in many people. There are so many issues and questions to consider. Answers to those questions are different, but generally equally difficult, for everyone. Is there enough money in the bank to retire? What will I do in retirement? Do I have hobbies that will keep my interest and sustain me for years to come? Can I stand living with my significant other 24/7? Does my significant other even want to retire at this point? What about health issues? Where should I retire? Near our kids—even though they might leave any time and take the grandkids with them? What will I do if my spouse dies before me? Would I even consider retiring in a foreign land? Retirement for many people is a terrifying prospect, for many good reasons.

While retirement was a long way off, we knew that we would not retire in Chicago, even though both of us love the city. The mayors Daley, father and son, both had profound effects on the city over many years. (There were a couple of mayors in between, but memories of them are less sanguine.) During most of the time we lived there, Chicago was under the guidance of Mayor Richard M. Daley—Richey to his friends. During his twenty-two-year tenure, Chicago blossomed into a world-class city that any resident would be proud to live in and brag about.

We lived in the first suburb west of Chicago, called Oak Park, where Hemingway was born and Frank Lloyd Wright had one of his studios. Hemingway referred to Oak Park as a suburb of wide lawns and narrow minds. Frank Lloyd Wright built over forty beautiful and unique homes in Oak Park, all with wide lawns. We did not have a Frank Lloyd Wright home. We did not even have a wide lawn, so I took some courage in the belief that I might possibly have a wide mind.

I moved to Oak Park in 1978, just in time for the famous winter of ’78–’79. All you have to say to anyone who was near Chicago during that time is “the bad winter,” and they will say “ah, the winter of ’78–’79.” The area was hit with three consecutive massive blizzards, each worse than the previous one. There was no time to dig out of the first storm, let alone the