By John Kass

April 12, 2026

Life is a fight.

I wish that weren’t so, and that instead of fighting to live we could sit out on soft freshly-mown grass on the top of a sunny hill, nibbling cookies, sipping Coke Zero while teaching the world to sing.

But God didn’t make life like that.

Not for many of us. And certainly not for me.

Life is a desperate contest against illness, disease and against others.

We humans are contentious creatures, fighting for resourses, food, water, land, mates, and liberty.

If you’ve spent any time in with animals, or any time studying nature in the wild lands, you know this.

All men deal with it, some better than others. And some simply sigh, give up, lie down and die.

So why is George Bellows’ 1909 oil painting A Stag at Sharkey’s up there as the lede image for this column?

To remind me of what shouldn’t have to be be reminded of:  that I’m in a fight for my life.

Not that I need too much reminding. My claw-foot cane tells me, and so do some recent messages from some subscribers that they didn’t sign up to read guest columnists.

The guest writers are doing their best. I think they’re great and carry professional grade. And I’m sorry, but I’m doing my best, too. I know you don’t mean me any harm.

But I’ve had two recent strokes. So I’ve had three altogether. But I won’t sigh and lay down and quit. I can’t. I won’t.

I’m doing my best to fight through it with the help of my wife, and the wonderful therapists at Shirley Ryan Ability Labs and good friends like Thom Serafin and the (retired) Chicago Fire Department paramedic chief Pat Fitzmaurice.  And all the great guest writers at johnkassnews.com who are helping me keep my dream alive.

So, what happened?

If you want to hear whole tragic-comic opera, I’ve told this Saga of Kasso on the Crisis Cast podcast with friends Thom Serafin and Lissa Druss.

You can hear the drama and details on the Crisis Cast

I had just delivered an important lecture at Hillsdale College. It was called The Loss of Trust in Legacy Media.

Hillsdale is a special place. I see it as a peaceful institution of civility in a crumbling world, like some ancient walled medieval town with the Mongols on the horizon and the  Dark Ages descending. The great American historian Victor Davis Hanson lectures and teaches at Hillsdale. So for me to be asked to give a talk where my hero VDH is also a lecturer was  rather like being invited up to the top of Mt. Olympus for tea.

The lecture went well. At least I didn’t make a great fool of myself and the hall was full and they laughed at my jokes.

The American corporate legacy media suicide from self-inflicted wounds is depressing and a terrible inheritance from the left.

The only thing that was missing from my triumph was a servant from ancient times to place a laurel wreath on my head while whispering “All Glory is Fleeting. All Glory is Fleeting.”

It happened after we flew home from Hillsdale in early February.

I stopped at the restroom at Midway Airport. That’s when the restroom shifted  axis, the floor hit the ceiling and I fell. While on the ground I was able to shout out that immortal line from a TV commercial, a shameful and ridiculous phrase of supreme self-mockery:

“Help!!I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!!!’

A face appeared.

“John don’t you remember me?” said the paramedic. “It’s Jerry from the store.”

It was indeed Jerry Stanislawski, the good and loyal employee  who had worked for our family’s store near Midway before he became a CFD paramedic. He and his Chicago Fire Department colleagues rushed me by ambulance to Christ Hospital or, as I now call it “The Hospital from Hell.”

They had no place for me so they just rolled me out into the hallway and left me there overnight. And just around the corner there was the psych ward where the night screams came from.

 

It was the Hospital from Hell and I had to get out of there.

“Betty please Betty,” I said to my dear wife who wouldn’t leave my side. “For God’s sake get me to Shirley Ryan please!!!”

She did.

I  don’t fault the ER doctors and staff at Christ Hospital. They didn’t sign up to become health care zombies with the thousand-yard stares of post traumatic stress and shock. They became nurses to help people in pain, not to ignore them or stare past them.

But the Biden-Obama political class called for the surge at the borders and promised them all “free” healthcare.

The illegal aliens  streamed across by the 10s of millions, overwhelming social services, and Sanctuary Cities, and taxpayers and all  hospital emergency rooms. And bureaucratic hell followed with them.

But  miracles do happen. My wife reached out to Shirley Ryan Ability Lab where I last worked through my last stroke three years ago. And thank heaven they found a place for me.

There was another challenge.

I was COVID positive.

So they set up an isolation room for me where I could get therapy. I told Kevin, my nurse who once played football at Leo HS before college at Notre Dame and then on to a long  career as a Chicago lawyer, that the isolation room was great, but I told Kevin that  it needed a sign:

Please Don’t FEED The Velociraptor.

“OK smart alec,”  Kevin said.

When you’re isolated in the hospital you have to keep working and keep your mind active. I did that.

And my ace Speech therapist, Max was my first victim. In my speech therapy to improve my verbal skills, I would teach something simple and delicious:

Linguini Aglio e Olio.

A simple, classic Italian pasta dish with olive oil, garlic, and often red pepper flakes, parsley, and Parmesan cheese. The key is to gently sauté sliced garlic in olive oil until fragrant and golden (not brown), then toss with cooked spaghetti, reserved pasta water, and fresh parsley to create a light sauce. It only costs a few dollars to make.

Max was eager but slightly suspicious.

I asked him to watch a YouTube video from New York pasta master Jim Delmage of “Sip and Feast.”

The therapists at Shirley Ryan humor me, and I keep pushing them to watch Jim on You tube and make tasty, good food for their families. As far as work is concerned, I’m working hard to get back to where I once was. I have much  work to do, a lot of work for me that has nothing to do with treadmills.

It is spiritual work. Who ever said Greek Orthodox Christianity was easy? Nobody ever said that.

I hope to get back to writing two pieces a week, and doing the Chicago Way podcast with Jeff Carlin, which is always free. We’re not spit roasting whole lamb this Easter as we’ve done in years past. But Betty is making another crowd-pleaser for Easter dinner: My favorite, Greek comfort food; braised lamb shanks giouvetsi with tomato and mizithra cheese.

Therapy is grueling but the alternative is to sigh, close my eyes and sleep. I can’t to that. I won’t do that.

Our twin sons Peter and Spiro will be at our house on Sunday here with their fiancées Krista and Michelle. They are lovely and respect our family. I’ve always wanted a daughter. Now I’ll have two, God willing.

It is a good thing to count my blessings. To thank God for all He’s done for me. And again to thank the guest writers and special thanks to my friend and Chicago Way cohost Jeff Carlin. And and all of you faithful subscribers who’ve been on this journey with me.   I started writing this Sunday column at the beginning of Holy Week and now it it is Holy Saturday.

Sunday is Holy Easter.

And we will sing Christos Anesti!

Christ is Risen from the dead!

Truly He is risen!

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About the author: John Kass spent decades as a political writer and news columnist in Chicago working at a major metropolitan newspaper. He is co-host of The Chicago Way podcast. And he just loves his “No Chumbolone” hat, because johnkassnews.com is a “No Chumbolone” Zone where you can always get a cup of common sense.

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