Cheerleaders save puppies from massacre - or not?
As you might guess when you search this column for the accompanying photographs, that headline about poms, bikinis, puppies and an ax murderer is a big, fat lie.
And that's OK with Sheri Reda, a Wood Dale native whose inventive storytelling has propelled her into the finals of The 43rd Annual Chicago's Biggest Liar Contest, to be held March 31 in a Lakeview funeral home.
"Even in true stories, you have to lie a little," Reda says, noting that the most honest of writers (such as biographers, historians and newspaper columnists) must omit some observations and truths if only to condense their stories to a manageable size.
I could, for instance, go into great detail about how Scott Whitehair, the 36-year-old leader in the local story community, hatched The 43rd Annual Chicago's Biggest Liar Contest just a few weeks ago but figured the inaugural event would garner more free publicity if it appeared to have the weight of history on its side, so he opted to include "43rd Annual" in the title. Now he is wondering if he might do better next year by referring to the Second Annual competition as the "25th Annual." At least that's what I was told by Whitehair, if that is his real name.
Nailing down the truth among competitors in a liars contest is like administering eye drops to a toddler. You're never quite sure how much, or any, of what you want actually hits the target. For instance, is Reda telling the truth about some of her lies?
"In the audition for the liars contest, I put together a lot of true stories about other people and I claimed them as mine," says Reda, who apparently co-opted stories of friends, an aunt or two, and other loved ones.
Reda once said, "I grew up in the suburbs in a family that valued the entertainment value of a story over its truth value," according to Whitehair.
The liar contest is an extension of a vibrant local story community that is growing and easy to access, Whitehair says. His reading series, "This Much is True," meets at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday (and every second Tuesday of every month) upstairs at the Hopleaf Bar, 5148 N. Clark St., in Chicago, and Story Lab Chicago meets at 7:30 p.m. on the third Wednesday of every month at the Black Rock Pub, 3614 N. Damen Ave. in Chicago. For more information visit thismuchistruechicago.com and storylabchicago.com.
"I want these shows to be free because I think these stories belong to the city," Whitehair says. There is, however, a $15 admission fee for the liar contest, which starts at 8 p.m. March 31 at Herdegen-Brieske Funeral Home, 1356 W. Wellington Ave., Chicago. The show is hosted by one of Whitehair's puppets. For tickets and information visit brownpapertickets.com/event/228747.
"Some of the lies are over-the-top ridiculous, and some of them sound like real stories," Whitehair says.
A professional educator and writer, Reda has taught at institutions such as the College of DuPage and Oakton Community College, edited magazines and written scores of articles, stories and poems and more than a half-dozen books for children.
"I make my living as a writer," the 54-year-old Reda says. "But I think, in my heart, I'm more of a performer."
As an elementary student at St. Peter the Apostle School in Itasca and later at Driscoll High School in Addison, now both defunct, Reda says she was a "weird kid" and a bit of a "misfit," a problem made even worse because her parents, Frank and Micki, were good-looking and "Rat Pack popular." She remembers reading a lot and listening to classical music.
"But it might not have been classical," Reda says, her teeth clenching as she suddenly doubts her memory. "It might have been 'easy listening.'"
She always wrote.
"I wrote a 12-verse poem about 'The Scarlet Letter,' and every line began with the letter A," she says. "I wrote a story about wanting to be a martyr. But I couldn't find anybody who would murder me for being a vegetarian."
The oldest of five kids ("I'm the most resistant to having a real job," she quips), Reda now is married, the mother of a 22-year-old actress and a 12-year-old boy, and lives in the city. But she says she still harvests stories from her suburban roots.
"There were two big streets of houses, and all around were farms that weren't farms anymore but were holes in the ground waiting for houses. We used to go for walks in the meadow that was under the high-tension wires," Reda remembers.
One of the stories she tells is about how her close-knit neighborhood wasn't sure how to deal with an Asian family who moved in down the street, so they didn't.
"Nobody talked to them because we were afraid of offending them," Reda says. "Don't tell them they're Japanese."
Reda says she might tweak the story she used to win one of the 10 finalist spots among the 37 entrants in the liar competition, or she might show up with a new lie. In either case, the liar contest should sell out fast, especially if word gets out that the ushers will be bikini-clad poms with puppies.