Mike Royko: Bellicose, Belligerent, Brilliant By Richard Craig May 2, 1997

Saint Peter, meet Slats Grobnik.

If Mike Royko had had the chance to write his own farewell, this rather absurd exchange might well have led it off. His death from a brain aneurysm earlier this week has robbed America of not only one of its favorite curmudgeons, but one of its most unique and irreplaceable columnists. In an age where belittling people has become a cottage industry, Royko was the best exponent of a vanishing art -- informed crustiness.

Like most of Royko's fans, I used to hate him. Not mere distaste, either -- true hatred. In my younger days I found him alternately funny and annoying. But in 1984, when his beloved Chicago Cubs faced my equally beloved San Diego Padres in the National League Championship Series, the battle lines were drawn.

Not only did Royko insult the Padres as a team, he carefully eviscerated the San Diego fans. Called us "quiche-eating wimps" and said that we'd get what we deserved when the Cubs swept our Padres out of the playoffs (and out of the National League while we were at it). When the Cubs were done with us, Royko sneered, we could resume eating our sushi or go back to the beach (where we belonged) and catch a few more rays.

Like so many other objects of his daily scorn, us Padre fans were outraged. So outraged, in fact, that we rallied around our mutual animosity and cheered our team on to a comeback win over the Cubs in the playoffs. People were burning Royko in effigy at Jack Murphy Stadium.

As I've since learned, however, Royko saw his likeness burned about as often as most of us see our faces in the mirror. Royko's stock in trade was the deadly accurate, acerbic swipe. (Even Padre fans had to admit that yes, we did spend lots of time at the beach, and yes, they did sell sushi at the baseball park.)

In a way, Padre fans had been elevated into some rather elite company by virtue of being skewered by Royko. Royko wasn't afraid of a few thousand baseball fans -- he took on bigger prey than this virtually every week. Politicians local and national, federal government departments, entire foreign nations -- Royko wasn't afraid to blast any of them if he saw hypocrisy or corruption in action. (Given all his experience with Chicago politics, it's no wonder he could spot these traits instantly.)

It took reading Royko daily for months at a time before I fully appreciated his unique talents. No one could crank out five columns a week with a solid nugget of truth in every one better than Royko. I disagreed with him at least once a week (being so prolific, I'm sure he disagreed with himself at least that often) but it was never a boring morning with Royko around.

Readers in Chicago and across the nation became familiar with the Royko environment. This included people -- Chicago pols from Daley to Rostenkowski to Washington to Daley again -- and also businesses and areas of town. Most beloved was his longtime hangout, the Billy Goat Tavern, on lower Wacker down the block from the Tribune building. Royko had his own corner booth there and was so protective of the tavern that he tried to keep President Bush (not a Royko favorite) from making a campaign stop there in 1992.

While Royko was certainly a muckraker, his vitriol crackled with working-class intelligence. Sheer shock value can make you a star these days, but to couple fearlessness with real intellect remains a rare pairing. Howard Stern puts people on the air because of the noises they can make with various parts of their bodies. Mike Royko saw through hype and pointed out previously unseen hypocrisy. That's quite a contrast.

With Royko gone, America's public discourse loses a valuable irritant. But as long as people still get up in the morning, open their newspaper and spout obscenities at a column that makes them think, he can rest assured that in some isolated way, his crusty spirit lingers.

©1997 Richard Craig. All rights reserved.

Unsubstantiated Facts Column Archive