What's Your Agenda?
A question someone asked me once that changed the way I look at...everything.
The black 1983 Honda Goldwing had been sitting in Chuck’s garage so long that the fuel had dried up and turned into varnish It ran, sort of. We bought it anyway. My husband at the time had a friend (also named Fred) who maintained a motorcycle shop on the second floor of a warehouse on Goose Island, and he agreed to fix it for us for a nominal fee.
Thus, we gained entry to Chicago’s then vibrant motorcycle community, in the mid-1990s.
Photo Credit: Michael Baier, public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
One of our Sunday morning rituals was to meet up with our friends at the Highland House, a restaurant in Highland Park, on Hwy 41, 25 minutes north of Chicago.
On a typical Sunday, about 300-400 bikes would come through between 7am when the place opened and noon, when people began to disperse.
We’d roll in, find a parking space, go inside to the counter and get a cup of coffee and pre-made breakfast sandwich (forget about trying to sit down if you got there after 9 a.m.) and then stroll around the parking lots of the restaurant and adjoining gas station checking out the bikes. Old Indians, Harleys of every vintage, touring bikes (basically cars on two wheels), Ducatis, custom choppers, bikes with sidecars, trikes, you name it.
There also were groups of people who got together to ride, usually meeting at Highland House and then trekking further north to Fox Lake and the Broken Oar for lunch and onto Wisconsin’s two-lane highways where they could open it up and relax because there was less traffic.
One of those groups was “Zell’s Angels.” Zell as in Sam Zell, the billionaire Chicago real estate magnate, who was an avid biker. One of Zell’s Angels was a guy named Peter Szollosi.
My ex had worked for Sam’s son Matt, and so he already knew Peter and so we’d chat him up sometimes at the Highland House. Peter and I got to talking and I found out he was Sam’s go-to guy for marketing, special events, anything creative. Intrigued, I asked if I could come downtown some time for an “informational interview.” He gave me his card and told me to email him and set up a time and we’d do it.
At the time, I was looking to change jobs, and I hoped maybe he might be able to help me out. That didn’t happen, but what did would change my life.
***
Peter’s studio was on the 26th (top) floor of Riverside Plaza, considered Chicago’s finest Art Deco building, which began life as the Chicago Daily News building in 1929.
Instead of a desk, there was a high drafting table with a bar height stool, which faced a large window. The walls were museum white and festooned with drawings and cartoons. There were shelves full of books on art and media.
After some light chit chat (probably about motorcycles) I mumbled something about looking for a new opportunity.
I’m not great at talking when I’m stressed to begin with, and here I was punching way over my weight and I knew it.
Peter thought a minute, and then he said this:
“What’s your agenda?”
I asked him what he meant by that.
He said, “What is it you want out of this at the end? What’s your agenda?”
I’d already mumbled the thing about the job, and he didn’t bite, so I knew that wasn’t happening.
So I said, “That’s a good question. I have to think about it.”
We concluded our conversation and he gave me a quick tour of Sam’s sumptuous wood-paneled office, which was filled with several desktop automatons.
Peter explained that they were just a few examples of the end-of-the-year gifts Sam sent to associates all over the world, and that he was the one who came up with the concepts and got them produced. He then turned a few of them on, and they were truly spectacular.
After the tour, Peter showed me to the elevator, and I hopped a Metra train home, head spinning.
What was my agenda? Not just in regard to Peter, but in general?
From then on, whenever I felt stuck or unclear, I would go back to that question. It has never failed to clear the fog.
***
After that meeting, we emailed back and forth about once a year or so, until one time I emailed him to check in but got no reply, which was strange because he’d always replied before.
I searched online to see if I could figure out where he went.
What I found was his obituary. A lovely piece in the Chicago Tribune that explained in detail just what a creative force of nature he was.
The cause was kidney cancer. He was just 56 years old.
***
The Highland House, previously a pizza place called Hal’s, had been welcoming bikers since the 1950’s when the clientele was more Marlon Brando’s the Wild Ones and less weekend warriors with pristine leathers riding spendy Ducati Monsters. It closed in June of 2003. The owners wanted to retire and sold the one acre site to an Acura dealership who turned it into a parking lot.
***
I’d give anything to be able to talk to Peter again and let him know what I did with his question and how many other people I’ve shared it with.
So in his memory, I pass it on to you to use when you are stuck and need to figure out next steps on something.
So, let me be the one to ask you: What’s your agenda?