Mac’s Place takes you from the Peninsula to the North Side in record time
By Patrick Graham
Fourteen years ago, I was in Joliet, Illinois visiting my grandmother when I had some free time. I mean free time, like the whole day free time. I decided to pull a Ferris Bueller and head up I-55 into downtown Chicago because I had never done it of my own free will. I decided to do Chicago. It was a Sunday, so not much was going on. It was late March, so the Cubs were still in Arizona, the Bulls were on the road, and the Bears were sleeping off a 4-12 season. St. Patrick’s Day had come and gone, and the forecast was a 100% chance of gray. These conditions, however, did not sway my determination to go see what I wanted to see since I was about fifteen or sixteen: the inside of an Irish pub in the Second City. O’Callaghan’s on West Hubbard Street was the prototypical Mick joint of the day, with a long bar, wood floors, bar tables on the opposite wall, and the appropriate amount of televisions. I was delighted and sad at the same time. I believed that I had crossed off something on a relatively short bucket list, but I feared I would have to return to the 312 area code in order to experience it again.