Dan Pieczonka, ran fly-fishing business out of Bucktown home, dead at 72

Dan Pieczonka could build you a custom-made fly rod that nestled just so in your hand.

He’d take into account the size of your fingers and whether you were left or right-handed. If a customer had a sore shoulder or bad back, he’d craft a rod to work around that, too.

And he could do all of this while discussing polytheistic religions, the sacred feminine, military history and the merits of Johnnie Walker Black Label vs. Johnnie Walker Red.

Mr. Pieczonka, 72, who taught rod-making and sold fly-fishing gear out of the second floor of the Bucktown home where he lived his whole life, died Sept. 5 after a struggle with kidney and heart problems.

His home and business shared space in a nondescript, 1,600-square-foot house built a few years after the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 in a neighborhood where real estate now goes for six and seven figures.

Every morning, he would flip over the “OPEN” sign, signalling Dan’s Tackle Service at 2237 W. McLean was ready for business, said a friend, Carl Vizzone. Arriving customers would climb the creaky, uncarpeted stairs to the second floor. Instead of bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room, the rooms were filled with fishing gear. One had feathers and other fly-tying materials. Another had rods and reels. One room was filled with waders and fishing bags.

Jazz and classical music poured from a great sound system.

“Often, people were sitting around having drinks at 11 o’clock” in the morning there, said Bob Long, “The Fishin’ Guy” at the Chicago Park District’s Fish’N Kids program.

“It was fishing heaven,” said Long. “It was a real man cave before that term even existed.

“No one else has a shop in their house,” said Long. “All of us had a ‘Dan’ habit. Some of us might spend $5,000 to $8,000 a year’’ at his shop.

Mr. Pieczonka was patient and gentle with customers who came to learn. But he could be prickly when confronted with know-it-alls who said they’d already gleaned all they needed to know by googling. He might suggest that they head over to Orvis instead, or come back only after they’d read a few books about fishing.

“Dan would say, ‘I’d rather not have the sale than to put up with that kind of attitude,’ ” Long said. “A $700 rod is only worth $700 if you know what it can do.”

He didn’t carry a product unless he believed in it or had tested it himself. It wasn’t unusual for him to lend a regular customer a $300 rod for the weekend if they wanted to see if it felt right.

When his health began to fail, he moved to his sister’s Woodstock house, and they sold the place on McLean that had been home to family members for nearly 100 years.

Even in his last couple of weeks, “He did finish some poles and tied some flies,” said his sister, Christine Horlacher.

Mr. Pieczonka’s father, Marion, was born in Poland and worked as a printer’s apprentice. His mother, Cecilia, whose parents were from Poznan, Poland, helped Margie Poulos make treats at Margie’s Candies.

Young Dan cleaned the blackboards for Sr. Stanisia at St. Hedwig’s grade school. Like many Polish-American boys, he went to Weber High School, 5252 W. Palmer. He served in the Navy during the Vietnam War, where he said he saw whales swimming next to his destroyer, the USS John A Bole. A true city kid, he never learned to drive.

His expertise brought the wealthy and powerful to his door. They’d hire him to accompany them on fishing trips to Alaska, the Bahamas, Florida, Mexico and South America. If they were going to try to haul in a 500-pound swordfish, Long said, “They knew Dan would tie a knot that held.”

One of the flies Mr. Pieczonka originated, the “Translucent Wiggler,” is featured in the “Fly Fisher’s Pattern Book.” He used maribou feathers and chenille threads to mimic a leech to lure bass and walleye.

Every New Year’s Eve, he enjoyed ice fishing with old Navy buddies in Minnesota.

Mr. Pieczonka is also survived by a niece, Margaret Mora-Amador, a nephew, John Horlacher, and three great-nephews. A memorial is being planned for November.

Contributing: Dale Bowman