Well, one day it got a little more complicated than he expected. "Prominent Chicago attorney Jack Barry is at the game with his son today," Harry began. "His son played for Frank Leahy, Jack Barry did, and his son, Jack Barry the third, he has his son here, and that's probably Jack Barry the fourth, and Frank Barry, no Leahy. Barry Leahy and Jack Barry went to Notre Dame and played college football with Barry Leahy, whose son Jack Barry is here with his son today and ..."
And on and on Harry went about the Jack Barrys, leaving us all in a cloud of Barrys, with no idea which one he was talking about. He went on for about an inning-and-a-half and the whole time Arne was in my earpiece telling me to, "Get him off the Barrys, will you?"
I broke in with a little levity ... or so I thought. "Harry," I asked. "Would that make Jack Barry the 'elder-Berry'?"
"No!" Harry screamed. "Whadaya talking about! No. No. No. That's Jack Barry Sr., and he passed away! This is my friend Jack Barry and he's Jack Barry, son of ..."
And there he was, back into the Barrys again. He'd missed my weak attempt at a joke and kept on hammering away at the Barrys. My reward was another inning of Barrys and Arne yelling in my ear to get him off the Barrys. In truth, getting him off the Barrys wasn't the solution.
Where's Harry? by Steve Stone
Taylor Publishing, Dallas, 1999, page 53