Chapter 3 - Chicago

"It was while I was in this region that I finally decided to extend my tour in the direction of Chicago and I can assure you that it was a great journey. I was not in any hurry so my daily average was only a little over a hundred miles, my total mileage being fifteen hundred and thirty six, and the time taken was fourteen days. I believe I was meant to be a wanderer as I am never more in my element than when I am living close to nature and roughing it....
On the outskirts of Chicago, I camped until I could find work and lodging in the city, and on the evening of the second day of my search I was successful in both respects. It was with reluctance that I packed my outfit and went to work...

My plans for the future are somewhat indefinite just now. The old desire to write still being to the fore, I am inclined to think that in travel I have the best immediate future, but occasionally I become uncomfortably aware of my abbreviated education, and although I believe that I have the ability to put my thoughts on paper, (also I may add that I have heard many a queer tale), I find myself greatly lacking when it comes to phrasing and punctuation. So my decision at it stands just now, but which is liable to be changed at any time, is that I will remain in Chicago at present, and in a year or so if I am no further ahead in the march of commercial life, I will start on an extensive “work and jump” tour of the world, during which, I have no doubt, I will visit Britain.”

One of the stories I remember Dad telling is about his short stint driving a Yellow Cab in Chicago during the twenties. On several occasions as a cabbie, he was dispatched to make pick- ups at the Metropole Hotel, where Al Capone and his associates were headquartered. Stepping out of the elevator, two armed men would flank him on either side asking what his business was. Announcing himself as a cab driver, he would then be escorted to the room where his fare was waiting. I also remember something about him ending up in a blind alley at gunpoint, a narrow escape and a change of career. Chicago sounds like a crazy place in those days.

This was the last letter written to his family in Scotland in 1926. As far as I know, they may not have heard from Dad again for another two and a half years.