I can’t accept the standard label of long-suffering Cub fan. It certainly fits my fellow newsroom Cub fan Tim Woodward. But as long-time Idaho Statesman readers of Tim’s columns on his vacations and his home improvement projects know, “long suffering” are adjectives that go beyond Tim’s forlorn love for the Cubs.

Sure, I’ve watched my Cubbies blow their seasons in 1969, 1984 and 2004 in epic fashion. I’ve never seen them in the World Series. But my grandfather did and his ties to them are among the family jewels I hand down to my children and grandchildren.

The Cubs are back in the playoffs and the conventional wisdom says I’m supposed to be in angst. But I’m celebrating the Cubs and Granddad.

Roland F. Barker was the son of a single mom, Mary who was a teacher in Chicago. He excelled in sports and won a scholarship to play football for Amos Alonzo Stagg at the University of Chicago.

There he met and married Ruth Hess and after serving in the Marines during World War I and graduating, he went to work for Hart Schaffner Marx, the men’s clothiers, and had three sons, one who was my Dad. Roland lost his job when the market crashed and was forced to move his family out to Ruth family’s second home, a farm, where I eventually grew up.

He had to go back into the city to get a job unloading cane sugar from boxcars for Wrigley’s Gum. My uncle, Joe, who was born during the war, remembers his mother telling the story of how Roland’s only pair of shoes was a pair of formal shoes left over from good times.

The guys at the dock chided him for his shoes until they saw how hard he worked. By the time I came along in the 1950s, Roland had risen to the job of personnel director for Wrigleys.

We watched the Cubs and my hero Ernie Banks on his old Magnavox TV in the living room of the farm house, he sitting in his big plastic-covered yellow chair and I on the Persian rug that now sits in my living room. My great-grandmother Mary sometimes joined us because she too was a big Cubs fan until her dying day.

After he retired we went to a few games at Wrigley Field together. Those games and afternoons in front of the television set outweighed any disappointment the Cubs produced on the field.

He was my biggest fan from Little League to high school football. For one playoff game on a Saturday morning he rousted me from bed at his house to the field. His kind words after my strikeout ended the game in defeat helped ease disappointment far tougher than watching the Cubs lose the pennant.

On August 19, 1969, he and I went to watch the Cubs play the Atlanta Braves. We parked downtown and rode the Red Line “L,” to Addison Street and Wrigley Field.

Only a month before my Grandfather had lost Ruth. It was a sudden death from which he never recovered.

As we sailed across the North side he told stories of living in Chicago and of past sporting events at Wrigleys. Things couldn’t be better.

The Cubs were up nine games on the Mets and had a line-up of All Stars you could bet on. Ernie signed my program before the game.

I bought a ball that had all of their autographs printed on it, Billy Williams, Ferguson Jenkins, Ron Santo, Don Kessinger, Glenn Beckert and Randy Huntley.

Ken Holtzman was pitching that day and we sat in box seat on the third base side. Santo hit a three run homer but otherwise there was little offense. In the 7th Inning, Holtzman didn’t have a strikeout but he had a no-hitter going.

Hank Aaron hit a strong high line drive into left field. It looked like it was heading out to Waveland Avenue, ending Holtzman’s hopes. But the wind was blowing in from Lake Michigan.

Billy Williams ran to the vine-covered wall and pulled the ball in, saving the no-hitter. Two innings later Aaron hit a ground ball to Beckert who threw to Banks at first, ending the game.

My grandfather was happy perhaps for the first time since my Grandmother died. He recalled watching Sam “Toothpick” Jones in 1955 strike out the last three batters after walking the bases loaded in the first no-hitter in Wrigley since 1917. He could remember their last pennant in 1908.

The Cubs collapsed and the Mets won the World Series. For me the far greater 1969 loss was Grandfather, who died in December.

I can’t think of the Cubs without thinking of him. That makes it hard to truly suffer no matter what they do.

I hope they go this year to the World Series and I hope they win it. But if they don’t, I’ll be spending the winter sharing anticipation with fellow Cub fan Tim Woodward who will exclaim repeatedly: “Wait until next year...” even if they win.

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