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Something looked different about Falls Street Louie.
Walking through E. Dent Lackey Plaza last Friday afternoon, admiring the concrete expanses with an eye toward the darkening sky, it was easy to pick out his overcoat. Then there's the fact that you almost never see anyone else sitting there.
Then it hit me -- the red, white and blue tie.
"What's the occasion, Louie?"
"Don Glynn's retiring today," Louie said, shaking his head as he offered me a seat. "They're having a party over at the Arterial, but I like to be fashionably late."
"Semi-retiring," I corrected him. "He's still going to work a couple days a week. It's not like he's moving to Florida."
"Why would he want to retire at all? What a job -- plenty of free meals and no heavy lifting."
Not wanting to debate the work quotient involved in journalism, I steered the subject back to the pending festivities.
"I'm heading to the party, too, in a few minutes" I said, noticing that he was wadding up pieces of bread and throwing them on the ground, where they remained untouched. "What are you feeding, Louie?"
"Force of habit," he said. "Not even the pigeons come around here anymore. I was going to go over to the OTB and have a sandwich, but you can't even do that now."
Louie's never exactly what you'd call cheery, but he seemed especially down today.
"What's the matter, Louie? You should be happy for Don. Now he can do some traveling, spend time with the Missus, and enjoy himself a little."
"I know. It's just one of those things, like when your kids graduate from high school. Reminds you how fast the years are passing. Don and me went through a lot together."
"C'mon, Louie. You sound like you're going to his wake, not his retirement party."
"Well, he's certainly old enough," Louie said, a smile finally cracking his weathered face. "I've heard that when Father Hennepin got to the falls, Donny was there to interview him."
"Geez, that's a cheap shot."
"Yeah, but I'm entitled. We've seen an awful lot together. All the politicians, Urban Renewal, Love Canal, Don Stefano ... and all you newspaper people."
Louie stopped tossing hunks of bread and looked at me.
"You were all pretty lucky to have a guy like him around. Don could always see through the nonsense all those politicians spout. But he finds the good in people, too, even when things aren't going so well. He always kept things in perspective, and did it with class and a sense of humor. That's one thing all you young punks could learn -- a jab can be more effective than a right cross."
"How long have you known Don?" I asked him.
"Back when I was working on the power project, he'd come around in a new suit with his notebook. 'Jimmy Olsen,' we called him. A lot of people forget we lost 22 men building that place. But Donny always remembers."
"It's hard to imagine what it must have been like around here back then," I said, again surveying the barren concrete surrounding us.
"More than 100,000 people in town, 'help wanted' signs hanging in front of just about every factory on Buffalo Avenue -- this place was humming. All the restaurants and bars were full. You'd see those guys all over the place -- Don, John Hanchette, Jerry Brydges -- rest his soul. Now, those were reporters. They knew everybody, and knew what everybody was doing."
"You know a few things yourself, judging from the columns you were quoted in," I said. "You should have been a writer."
"I was always too busy working, but I always got a kick out of Don writing about our talks," Louie said before chuckling. "Just last spring, something I said got the Mayor so fired up that Herroner called him wanting to know my phone number. Wanted to chew me out for something I said, I guess. He wouldn't give it to her. I told him, 'Donny, at my age, I'll take all the phone calls from a woman I can get.'"
The clouds started to open, splattering drops around us and turning the pieces of bread into mush.
"C'mon, Louie," I said, standing up. "Let's get over there before Don does."
"OK, but I've only got time for one quick drink," he said. "I've got to get to a street dance in Grimsby."
"Hey, that's Don's line."
"Or so he would have you believe. He's been 'borrowing' my material for years. But that's OK -- he's under a lot of pressure."
We started walking toward Niagara Street. As we stood, waiting for the light to change, Louie shook his head.
"You know, I'm going to miss stopping at Wilson Farms for the Gazette every morning," he said. "Not much point without Don around."
"Louie, hate to repeat myself, but he's still going to be writing his column and covering stories part-time. And at your age, you'd better check to make sure you're not in the obits."
"Yeah, I guess there are still reasons to pick it up," Falls Street Louie said. "Just not as many."