There's no denying the fact that my father was a larger
than life character. He was tall (six foot even), big in both size, stature,
and weight (though he barely topped the scales at over 300 lbs during his
heaviest) and lit up a room whenever he was in it. He was the life of the
party, the center of attention, and the focus on some silly media scrutiny.
Growing up, I remember reading articles about my dad from some of the famous
Chicago columnists - Bill Gleason being an actual friend of the family - and
within many of these feature pieces, you'd find lots of mythologizing and
exaggeration. Could my dad curse a blue streak? Heck, where do you think
"I" got it from? Did he enjoy his adult beverages? Absolutely. Was
eating a recreational activity for him? Well, not really, but based on the
stories you will see below, many felt that his obvious girth came from
somewhere.
Like that childhood game of Telephone, however, the
stories circling around Abe Gibron and food are almost always embellished. For
those on the outside looking in, no one with his outsized personality could
partake of things in normal moderation. No, every meal was a feast, every
outing a life-changing experience worthy of an epic poem. He didn't eat ice
cream - he ate GALLONS of same. He didn't sip scotch - he gulped down bottles
of booze before taking on the evening's vast victuals. As part of his path to
eventual placement in the National Football League's Hall of Fame, I thought
some personal insights into my dad's character were/are warranted. I sense his
reputation suffers from people making light of his personality while otherwise dismissing
his very serious feelings toward football. Abe Gibron was much more than his
overblown reputation. By bringing some perspective to his personal life, maybe
his achievements on the football field will stand out a bit more (not like they
need to).
Anyway, I will tackle these celebrated stories over the
next few months. I'll begin with three of the most frequently mentioned:
#1 - Abe once
ordered an entire baby lamb - and then proceeding to eat it in one sitting.
FALSE
First of all, what restaurant serves up an entire baby
lamb. Not the meat equivalent of an entire baby lamb, but AN ENTIRE BABY LAMB
ITSELF! Over the years, the story has been amplified. At first, it was a
massive plate of leg of lamb. Then it was an entire leg (with the bone, one
assumes). Then two legs. Finally, the leap to an entire animal. Being Lebanese,
my dad was a true connoisseur of all things pre-mutton, and he instilled a
similar love in me. I can tear into a bunch of chops and don't even get me started
on the raw brilliance of kibbeh! Needless to say, my father could eat lamb
until he popped, and that's exactly what would happen to him if he tried to sit
down to an entire baby. On average, they weigh between 30 and 40 lbs., and
while not all of that is good eatin', that's a Nathan's Hot Dog Contest sized
portion, and something my father could never have managed.
He did eat a lamb's head once (I helped...a bit) and he
was known to roast whole lambs (and goats, and chickens, and pigs) on an open
spit, but he never took down an entire creature for the sake of cuisine. Sorry
to burst that particular gourmand bubble.
#2 - Abe once sat
down with a group of friends and ate for six hours straight.
PARTIALLY TRUE
I should know. I was there. Now, granted, there is still
a great deal of hyperbole here, but there were actually two times in my entire
life when I sat down across from my dad and didn't get up again until a good
four to five hours later. Once was at a place called Generro's in East Chicago,
and the massive round table probably held 24 diners. When you consider that my
family took up five seats, and that dad's pals took up another 10, the nine or
so hangers on really didn't matter (my guess would be that they were all part
of my parent's particular outer Rat Pack back then). Still, we filled the
middle of the main dining room and by the time everyone was done, we had stayed
from five in the afternoon to after 10:30PM. No, we didn't eat continuously the
entire time. As was the etiquette, there were multiple rounds of X-proof
highballs, a regular complement of appetizers, several main courses, dessert,
coffee, and the mandatory after dinner aperitif. There was also a lot of
conversation, and when you consider my dad's storytelling skills, that meant a
lot of pauses between bites...to laugh. To look astonished.
The other instance was in Hawaii. My father, two of his
friends, and a local man who used to play professional football, took me to a
little hole in the wall Chinese place for my first taste of real authentic
Asian cuisine. After years of Chung King and La Choy, this was a real
eye-opener. The meal was amazing, served in several courses on a Lazy Susan in
the middle of the table. I remember eating duck and pork and chicken and beef
and seafood and various unique vegetables which, by 1974 standards, could have
come from the moon for all I knew. Again, we didn't eat continuously and the
meal only lasted a little over four hours. Still, this is a story with a
particular facet of truth at its core.
#3 - After one
particularly scorching training camp practice, Abe sat down and drank 24 beers.
FALSE
The number changes frequently. Sometimes it's a mere 10.
In other instances, it's an entire case. A few recall they were just the
"pony" size cans, so any large number would have been understandable
considering their combined volume. Others insist, however, that my father came
off the practice field, sweating profusely and clearly dehydrated (though
everyone took salt pills before heading out for the afternoon) and then sat
down to guzzle two dozen brews - without stopping. Oh, you don't know that
part, do you? Apparently, this wasn't some pre-dinner repast. Abe wasn't just
settling in for a long night of imbibing. Instead, the myth makes it very clear
that only a gross of fine pilsner would quench his insatiable thirst. At that singular
moment. At the single sitting.
Now, it's no secret that my dad enjoyed alcohol.
Everyone's parents in the '60s and '70s did. As a matter of fact, many of us
grew up recognizing what I would call the "three stages of liquid
maturity." First, all kids started out with milk. Eventually, as you
turned into a teenager, you could introduce an occasional soft drink, or soda
pop if you like, into your regime. Eventually, you turned 18 and could legally
enter many of the finer restaurants in town (ah...those were the days) and at
that point, you were supposed to graduate to liquor. No middle stage. No measured
introduction into the joys of fermented grains. One day, you're sipping coke.
The next, a obligatory addition of rum was called for. Anyway, my dad was a
notorious drinker. He could, when he wanted to, pack the potent potables away.
However, he never drank 24 beers in a single sitting, especially not after a
hot July afternoon in the Rensselaer, Indiana heat.
