Life, on the Line (24 page)

It was a point of fascination among my friends' parents that Nicky Kokonas, as I was known then, only ate hot dog buns for breakfast. On trips with friends up to their summer homes in Wisconsin, or skiing in Michigan, or simply on a sleepover on a weekend, I would make the faux pas of querying, “Do you have any hot dog buns?” when asked what I would prefer for breakfast. It is safe to say that I did not grow up in a home steeped in food culture.

My father had owned a green grocery on Chicago Avenue after serving in both the Army and Navy. He had worked at the shop since he was fourteen, when his father fell ill to a series of strokes, and had saved up enough over the years to make a down payment on the Royal Food Store. My mom, of Polish descent, lived in the area and frequented the butcher across the street. “I bet that man across the street is married with ten kids. And how he flirts and looks at all the ladies walking down the street, pretending to sweep!” my mom said to the butcher.

“No ma'am. He isn't married. Takes care of his mom who lives with him and his sisters. Nicest guy in the world.”

My mom headed directly across the street. Walking through the store, she bought the cheapest thing she could find, a single Twinkie. And that is how she met my dad.

My dad later owned a small diner, James Lunch, in addition to the grocery. But by the time I was born, he was nearly forty-one and his work revolved around Reliable Labor, a temporary labor office that he opened with his best friend from high school, George Karkazis. I never saw him work with food, although he cooked a mean omelette on Sundays.

My mom feared food. She had phobias about all sorts of foods. Olives stank. Chili was too spicy. Sushi or Thai food or even Mexican all had major issues. These dislikes were passed on fully to me. To say I grew up as a picky eater would be an understatement. I loved pasta, but only with a simple red sauce. I ate lots of chicken, lots of steak. Potatoes in any form were acceptable. Vegetables were to be avoided, with the exception of corn. Most vegetables that I had growing up were cooked in the fashion that my mom grew up with, which meant that they were soggy, gray, and mushy. Salt was the only seasoning used. Any others had a “funny smell” or were “too spicy,” according to my mom.

Her biggest phobia was cheese. Yes, cheese. According to my mom cheese is “rotten milk” and “smells awful.” “When your dad brings home the feta I don't even want to open the refrigerator!” So when I attended a friend's birthday party in seventh grade and all that was offered for dinner was pizza, I asked if they had anything else.

“Why, Nick,” my friend's mom said, laughing, “don't you like pizza?”

“Well, to be honest I've never tried pizza.” The look on everyone's face was astounding. I was instantly embarrassed, so embarrassed that I put a slice of the pizza on my plate and pretended I was kidding. I took a bite.

“Wow, that's fantastic!”

I gobbled down four or five slices. When I got home my mom asked me about the party.

“It was great. We had the whole gym to ourselves to play basketball, then they served pizza for lunch.” I knew that would get a rise out of her.

“Do you want something to eat, honey?” she asked, assuming I had not eaten the foul substance.

“No. I ate plenty there,” I said. My dad shot me a look.

“You like pizza?” he asked.

“Like it? It is the single greatest thing I have ever eaten. Delicious. Why don't you guys eat pizza?”

My mom looked at my dad, and my dad looked at me and smiled. “Next time you want a pizza, Nick, just let me know.”

“How about tonight?”

A small fissure in the home cracked open, and nearly every Sunday during football season my dad and I would order a pizza from our favorite local place and enjoy it for lunch during the Bears game. Very occasionally, my dad would also have a beer, something I never, ever saw him do any other time. “Beer and pizza just go together. I used to have plenty of both before you were born.” And just like that, I learned that my dad loved food, all kinds of food.

My parents encouraged academic discipline over sports or any other outside activities. I went to high school at the same school that John Hughes attended and wrote about in his trilogy of now-famous 1980s movies.
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
was filmed at Glenbrook North, and yes, I was an extra and can be seen in the film. But I wasn't Ferris or Cameron in real life. I was pretty much anonymous. In 1986 I headed off to Colgate University.

 

“Mr. Kokonas, where is your book?”

“I'm afraid I left it at my apartment, Professor Balmuth,” I answered. It was week four of my freshman year at Colgate University, and I was taking Introduction to Logic with the esteemed but highly feared Professor Jerome Balmuth.

As many upperclassmen told me, Professor Balmuth was brilliant but difficult. He was demanding one moment, belittling the next. He was Colgate's answer to the John Houseman character of Professor Kingsfield from
The Paper Chase
.

“Well, Mr. Kokonas, a lot of good it is doing you there.”

“On the contrary, Professor, it appears that it is doing me some good. That is why I was able to whisper the answer to Jim, and why you immediately called on me.”The class remained silent, and Jim, an upperclassman who shared with me the secrets of his fraternity brothers' notes on the class, shot me a look to let me know that he was not pleased that I had acknowledged the indiscretion.

“Mr. Kokonas, I called on you because you did not have your book.” Professor Balmuth's back was to me and he was still facing the blackboard on which he had written a symbolic logic problem. He had not written my answer—despite the fact that it was correct—and he had somehow noticed that I had not put my book on my desk, despite the fact that I was one of about fifty people in class and sitting in the fourth row. “Please see me after class, Mr. Kokonas.”

My heart raced and Jim lifted a finger, shaped it into the form of a gun, and pretended to shoot me dead. It was no secret that in the first few weeks Professor Balmuth wanted to separate the “wheat from the chaff, as it were” and thin the class. Fifty-plus people was a huge class at Colgate, but Intro to Logic was a requirement for many majors, from mathematics to philosophy to economics. Eight students left the first week. He had more thinning to do. I was next.

A line formed at the front of the class and Balmuth answered questions calmly one by one. Another dropped out in front of me, and when I reached the front of the line, Balmuth asked me to go to the back of the line and wait. I was toast for sure. The two people in front of me now asked a few questions about “supplemental work”—really just trying to kiss some ass—and then I sheepishly was left alone in the class.

“Professor, I am . . .”

Professor Balmuth interrupted me as he threw his trademark scarf around his neck and moved a lock of hair. “Mr. Kokonas, you're a real smartass, huh?”

“I am, Professor. And I'm sorry if I was rude. I thought you would find it kind of funny, because, you know, you kind of are too.” I couldn't believe I said that.

Betraying no emotion, no smile, he said simply, “Follow me to my office.” That was it—he was going to sign some paper and have me shipped out. I walked across the quad to the small building that housed the philosophy staff, trailing a few feet behind Balmuth, who was practically jogging. I followed him up a flight of stairs and into his office. “Please close the door behind you and take a seat.”

I closed the door, and as I turned around, Balmuth had a big smile on his face and his feet were up on his desk as he reclined back with his hands behind his head. “So, Mr. Kokonas, please tell me about yourself.”

I was shocked. Why was he smiling? “What do you, uh, want to know, Professor?”

“Everything. Who are your parents, where do you come from, what do you intend to study at this institution? What do you do for fun? What do you find interesting, or hard, or easy, or amusing?”

I muttered through a story about my existence to that point. He listened while staring up at the ceiling away from me, occasionally letting out a “huh” or a “reaaaallly . . . ?” while grinning at odd moments that to me felt insignificant.

“I figure I'll study economics, because I want to go into business, with political science as a minor because my dad wants me to go to law school.”

For the first time in twenty minutes Professor Balmuth looked directly at me. “No, I don't think that is such a good idea. I think you will become a philosophy major and I will be your advisor. Every student here needs an advisor when they take on a major, and I only take a few each year. I will ensure that the huge amounts of money your parents are investing in this great institution, and in you, are not wasted. You will leave here with a real education. So what else are you taking this semester? We will go through that, make necessary changes, and then talk about next semester.”

I was floored. Everyone had told me to fear this man, to muddle through his class, to study harder than you thought necessary just to eke by. And now he was telling me not only what I should study, but also that he would personally help to craft my four years at Colgate. I didn't know if I should be afraid, thankful, or completely perplexed. “Well, I hadn't thought about philosophy. What can I do with a philosophy major?”

“Economists, Nick, like to call what they do a science. Political scientists put it right in their name! Ha! But neither is a science. They are both philosophy as well, but a rung or two down. Learn how to learn, Mr. Kokonas, and the rest will take care of itself.”

I left his office without committing. And that night I called my dad and told him what had happened. “You know, your grandfather used to read Greek philosophy to me at night when I was a kid. He was a totally uneducated man, and really broken at that point, but he loved to read philosophy. Plato. Aristotle. It makes sense. If that's what you want to do, that's fine by me.”

The next day I brought my book to Intro to Logic and Jim was surprised to see me. “What happened?” he asked.

“Uh, nothing really. He dragged me back to his office and told me that he wanted to be my advisor and that I should study philosophy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Screw you too, Nick!” Jim was an aspiring philosophy major and wanted nothing more than to have Balmuth as his advisor. He shook his head, and didn't look at me for the rest of the class. I realized then what exactly the offer from Professor Balmuth meant. I waited in the back of the class until everyone left.

“Mr. Kokonas, can I help you?” It was as if the conversation in his office had never happened.

“Yes, Professor. I spoke to my dad last night and thought about what you said. I'm happy to accept your offer. What do I have to do now?”

“Nothing at all. I reviewed your class schedule already and everything is fine for this semester. All you have to do now is perform twice as well as nearly everyone else in this class to earn an A. I expect nothing less of my advisees.”

 

I spent the fall of my junior year, as many Colgate students do, abroad in London. I then returned to Colgate to find that my housing situation had fallen apart and that I was back in the freshman dorms. I met a few fellow musicians and formed a band—Rare Form—and slogged through the spring semester.

When I returned for my senior year I found everyone worried about their careers or graduate school exams. I took the LSAT and did well, and I figured I would head to law school. I wrote my senior honors thesis on the philosophy of international law, and never really worried about getting into a law school or finding a job. Because I pushed hard my first two years taking extra classes and some summer school, I had a light load senior year. I spent most of my time playing in the band, hanging out, and reading for pleasure.

Then I met my wife.

I was sitting in the third row of an ethics class when I heard someone say, “Yeah, I guess my next boyfriend should be from Chicago,” and then laugh. I looked up and it was a woman who was also in my philosophy of law class. She was beautiful and somehow different. She wore clothes that were a few years older than her age, but she carried it with sex appeal. When she spoke in class her statements were reasoned and clear. I saw that as an opportunity to introduce myself. “Hey, I'm from Chicago. My name is Nick.”

“Dagmara,” she said. “Nice to meet you.” She gathered up her books and walked out the door. That was that. Total indifference.

I began to notice her around campus, and we would strike up short conversations. But she would always end them and head off. I left my sweater on the back of a chair, and she returned it to me. We knew each other, but didn't say much.

Late on a Friday night my band was playing at the campus pub, the last band of the night. Halfway through our late set I noticed Dagmara, wearing sweats and a T-shirt, being dragged in by her roommate Jen, seemingly against her will. They sat at a table in the front. Jen was staring at me the entire time in a way that made me uncomfortable, self-conscious, and really happy. As soon as I began to flirt with her, she pointed at Dagmara and mouthed something to me. I tried to find them after the show but they had left.

And then, finally, Jen found me out one night and told me, “You know, my roommate really likes you a ton. Here, come with me. She's home studying. I'll bring her a present.” I thought it was a bad idea—and a terrific one. I followed Jen to their apartment and walked in to find Dagmara reading. “Hi.” We were inseparable after that.

 

When I graduated, I couldn't imagine working in an office every day for the rest of my life. Nor could I imagine myself as a professor or academic in philosophy. I'd gotten into law school at the University of Pennsylvania, but decided to defer a year. All I wanted to do was start some business that afforded me the opportunity to work my own hours and live or die by my own decisions. My dad and I pursued an opportunity to buy a landmark Chicago diner when its ailing Greek owner had to sell, but my dad didn't want his now “educated” son to do that sort of work. The deal fell through. When it came time the following fall to head to law school, I instead bought a ticket for Japan and visited Dagmara, where she'd taken a job. We came back to the U.S. together. I never thought of law school again.