Why Slats Grobnik Left Chicago to Meet Up With Greg

After Mike Royko died, Slats about drank himself to death

By Greg Szymanski, JD
Dec. 12, 2009

Until that fateful day in 2006 when he came knocking on my door, Slats Grobnik remained quiet as a Chicago church mouse.

More than likely he was spending all his time day and night at Sam’s Tavern or Billy Goat’s on the north side.

Life had become not worth living, according to some of his bar napkin notes found by Sam the bartender who told me when I called the bar:

“After Daley and then Royko passed, I thought he’d drink himself to death until he blurted out the name ‘SZYMANSKI’ for the whole bar to hear. Before he ran out like a crazed lunatic, he told me ‘he’s a Polock, too, he used to drink like Mike, he thinks like Mike, he was in newspapers like Mike and now this Polock is taking on the big enchiladas.’

“Like I said, Greg, we haven’t seen him since and that was, I think, in 2006.”

“I know where he’s at. He’s holed up in a bunker in a Kansas cornfield building a replica of the Roman Coliseum.”

“What the hell!”

“It’s a long story, Sam. I’ll tell you the next time I’m in town for a Cubs game.”

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