Chicago

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

I grew up in Chicago. I was born elsewhere, in a crime free upper middle class suburb. When I was 9, I moved to Chicago. I was not happy. At first glance of my new neighborhood, I was shocked. I was a naive little white kid, and I found myself in quite a cultural melting pot, to say the least. It was Rogers Park, 1980. You learn things the hard way in a place like Chicago; it’s a tough city that will always call your bluff. It called mine, everytime, and I took away a great number of lessons from that. And a few ass-kickings, to boot. My teenage years were quite turbulent. It was at this time, I found myself at the bottom. To go any lower than I was would have been to die. At times, I came very close to that. It was also here, at this time, I learned some things. I guess I was always learning, along the way, and at some point I began to apply these lessons in life- these rules of survival. Along this path I took, I remember being a part of this city. Not just a resident, but a part of it. That city has its own existence, of which I was a part of. I used to be one those “bleacher bums” of Wrigley Field. $2.00 on game day would get you in, and you became a part of that crowd, as belonging as the stranger next to you. But he wasn’t really a stranger, he was a Chicagoan, and like you, he eagerly awaited Harry Carry in the 7th. It wasn’t about whether the Cubs won or lost, it just about being there. “Hope Springs Eternal”

I’ve since picked myself up, and moved on. I’ve created a good life for myself and my family. It’s a simple one, and I’m enjoying every minute. I’ll never return to Chicago to live, and that will be by choice. I’ve since discovered the pleasures of rural living. Not the suburbs, but real rural life. But there’s just something about that city that makes me miss it so. I did a lot of living there, and my life is richer because of it-despite the pains it caused at times. Every year, around the 4th of July, I long to be at Grant Park. The taste of Chicago was a truly remarkable event. Or any event, for that matter; Blues fest, Jazz fest, it doesn’t matter. All these millions of people packed together, coming from every walk of life, every type of backround, and it just seems that for those few hours, they all really enjoy each others company. They all got along, their individual indentities mattered not-they were all Chicagoans. I can’t help but think that I’m better off for having been so immersed in culture. That city has 10 million stories to tell, and they all have something in common. I also miss taking in a show at Second City, wondering if I’ll see them on TV one day, or eating at Billy Goats Tavern, hoping to catch Mike Royko. Mike knows what I’m talking about, he made a career of it. I wish he were still around, he can tell it much better than I can. I miss riding my bike along the lakeside, and up into the suburbs of Evanston and Wilmette, on the way to the ravines. I miss the aunthenticity of the food there, and I would pay much money for a Carmens stuffed pizza right now. I miss the summer days, waking up early to hear Jonathon Brandmeiers entire show, then lounging on the beach all afternoon and evening, drifting in the breeze. I swear, everyday in that city was its own adventure. I’ve been fortunate enough to visit all those museums, some many times. World class quality, those museums are.

I could go on all day, but I’ll end this thought here. That city taught me much about life, for good and for bad. I may or may not ever see Chicago again, and if I don’t, it doesn’t matter. My life is richer for just having been there the first time.

2

Ok, I feel pity. bump

3

My mom and dad laugh at me whenever they come visit me in Chicago because I’m so ‘gung ho’ about it.

There’s something about driving up Lakeshore Drive, turning the corner by the Field Museum and looking at that glittering skyline. A sapphire blue lake to your right, and a jagged army of buildings to your left. The beautiful Buckingham fountain, surrounded by tourists as it fires fifty feet into the air, the Stone Container building with it’s Diamond facade, and Sears Tower and the Hancock Building holding court.

I can never stop myself from squealing with delight. “Look at this city! How gorgeous! And I live here!”

I feel a sort of loyalty to Chicago that can’t be matched by my love of anything else. I was born here, moved away for 15 years, and have been back for almost seven.

If it were up to me, I’d never leave. I may move to a suburb like Oak Park or Evanston, but I always want to be in spittin’ distance of the Magnificent Mile!

YAY Chicago!

4

I’m gonna start waxing nostalgic. I miss Chicago, but I’m not ready to return to live there quite yet. Chicago is a feeling in the blood; it’s an imperfect city; Nelson Algren had this quote which I adore: “Loving Chicago is like loving a woman with a broken nose.”

My childhood heroes were Studs Terkel, Mike Royko, Ryne Sandberg, Walter Payton, etc. When Royko died, I called my best friend up and we drove down to the Billy Goat for the impromptu vigil. I really felt like a part of Chicago died that day, and judging by the others gathered around, I wasn’t the only one. I met Royko’s son there, who now lives in Florida. We talked over beers, he shared some secrets, and even though I’ve never met him before in my life, it somehow felt like a family reunion.

But I love the people. There’s something about the no-nonsense approach of Chicagoans; their instinctive b.s. meters and their general honesty. You normally could tell how somebody stands with you in Chicago. Other places I’ve been, if people don’t like you, they still act like you’re best friends. In Chicago, you know who your friends are. I am amazed at how people can remember you. I go back to Chicago once a year, and at the Billy Goat, people act as if I’ve never left. Bartenders whose names I can’t even remember ask me “How’ve you been? How’s europe. Here’s some cognac on the house.” Beautiful.

But of course, Chicago is also hugely corrupt, segregated as all hell, and makes you want to, oh, hop on a plane and move to Budapest, say, sometimes…

But we Chicagoans are a proud people. I think we’re touchy about our “second city” status and the fact that we’re a sort of waypoint between New York and Los Angeles. But if there’s any city that, to me, represents the quintessential American city, then Chicago would be it. New York, which I love as well, is in a category of its own.

The view of the Drake Hotel at night while coming in southbound on Lake Shore Drive is still one of my favorite images in the world. The only road that’s ever entranced me as much as LSD would be the Pacific Coast Highway.

I can go on for pages about the food, the architecture, the universities and colleges, the art, but it’s simpler to just say, dittos, jarbabyj. YAY Chicago!