Nobody's Perfik

     We just got home from a summer trip that included some fine educational opportunities.  For one, we visited the Cantigny Museum in Wheaton, IL.  There, I was motivated to learn all about Colonel Robert R. “Bob” McCormick. 

     Trying to be prepared, as always, I anticipated this stop along our route.  Just before we checked out of the previous night’s hotel, I went to the computer in the lobby to find out what I could about this guy.

     It had been a challenging stay at the Radisson Hotel in Moline, IL which featured “Sleep Number” beds.  With my characteristic senior citizen short-term memory loss, we had two number-related issues in that hotel – one was after breakfast we tried to return to our room.  After three hotels in three nights, when we got to our sixth floor (at least we remembered that), we forgot our room number.  We knew it was near the elevator, but which of those rooms was ours? 

     At 6:45 in the morning, we met some not so friendly people in various states of dress (or undress) as we tried each of the doors until our door lock card opened into a room where the luggage looked familiar and there was no one surprised by our visit.

     It was not room number 612 where the newlyweds were staying, or 613 where it was some businessman and his “secretary” obviously who’d been taking dictation all night, nor was it room numbers 614 or 615. 

     Our room was 618 and why hadn’t we been able to remember that?  I’ll tell you why…(second reason) it was because of those damn sleep number beds where I spent the whole night trying to find the number that would make my bed more comfortable than sleeping on a set of railroad tracks. 

     The bed was controlled by a remote device and every time I tried it, the TV would go on or off, change channels or the sound would mute.  Then I tried another remote and garage doors across the street began rising and lowering. Finally I tried the third remote and the bed instantly resembled the Great SanFrancisco earthquake before settling in to the South Dakota Badlands. When it got to the railroad tracks setting I resigned and gave the remote a flying lesson.

    So getting back to my original point…the next morning I was running on an empty tank with the windshield clouded over when I went to the computer in the lobby to “Goggle” (as they say) Colonel Bob McCormick.  

     On this Goggle (I think I had the right website that everyone always mentions, “Wanna know something?  Just Goggle it!”) website I learned that way back in the ancient times in which this McCormick guy lived, he was one of only two Colonels – for the sake of comparison, these days we have 32,746 of them -  you have to understand this was a long time ago. 

     One Colonel was, of course, McCormick, who later became the renowned pepper and ground clove magnate and the other Colonel went by the name of Sanders who later became very big in chickens. 

     The story goes that both were due for retirement from their Colonelship on the same fateful day in 18…something or other and showed up at the retirement place at the same time.  The processing line continued to get longer and more frustrating due to the retiring Generals who constantly cut in ahead of them. Even though waiting in line is one of the great skills one learns in the military, the wait was long and tough – in fact it was so long that Sanders grew a white beard as he waited. 

     In any event, the two Colonels spent their time in line talking about their plans after retirement. 

     McCormick was going to build himself and his family a great estate in the Chicago suburbs so his kids could go to good schools and breathe fresh air.  Sanders was returning to his ancestral home of Kentucky and had an idea for a new business – he’d wear a white suit and sell highly seasoned fried chicken with his secret blend of ten herbs and spices. 

     Ever the opportunist, McCormick listened intently while he fished around in the breast pocket of his perfectly pressed blue Colonel jacket.  Then he withdrew a red and white tin of his famous ground black pepper and presented it to Sanders – “Why don’t you make it eleven herbs and spices?  This final secret ingredient will be safe with me!”

    Colonel Sanders smiled and graciously accepted the offer and as we now know, the rest is history. 

     So with all that information swimming around in my head, I tucked my copy of the Chicago Sun-Times under my arm and turned down the offer of a tour of the McCormick mansion because I already knew all that stuff about its famous inhabitant.

     Travel is a great way to learn new things.