Progress

In the last 10 years or so, I have made the trip from Cincinnati to Chicago probably between 40 and 50 times and all but a few of those times, I have made the trip by car. Many of those times I was returning to Chicago, as a poor disillusioned law student looking for temporary asylum from the rigors of academia. Several of those times, I was coming for a rendezvous with Jesika, who at that time was coming from New York for the weekend. One of those times, I even rode with one of my best friends to say my final goodbyes to my beloved father. And with each those rides, I took the same route home. I-74 West to I-65 North all the way to the Chicago Skyway. On each of these trips I can tell you the precise moment I felt like I was back home. Passing through the large Skyway toll booth, a driver is probably about 100 feet over the city streets and all you can really see ahead of you is Chicago’s colossal skyline. Believe it or not, that’s not the moment I feel I have returned to my city of origin. A couple of minutes past the Skyway toll booth, a driver reaches the Stony Island exit, and when you take that exit you begin a descent into Chicago South Shore neighborhood at about 77th Street. As I would slowly lower to street level, I see the Regal Theatre, and Leon’s BBQ, and the Jackson Park Hospital on my right. On my left side, I see the north bound Stony Island traffic. Once I make it to street level, I continue north and pass the Mosque Maryam, Moo & Oink, and Red’s Lounge before I make the right on 67th street on my way to my mother’s house. This is the south east side of Chicago. This is Kevin Smith’s Chicago. And on my return trips to Chicago, it is when I make it to north bound Stony Island that I really feel like I am home.

However, on this day, I was again venturing outside of “my Chicago” for the next installment of my monthly lunch series with Becky. This month was her choice and she selected America’s Dog, a lunch spot specializing in the frank and its interpretation in cities from around the country. Now I am only a novice in navigating around the north side of town, so I will break “man laws #4&5” and admit that I had to borrow my mother’s GPS to find my way to AD. After about a 25 minute drive, I made it to the Lincoln Park eatery which was across the street from Children’s Memorial Hospital. When I walked in, Becky was already sitting at a table towards the back of the restaurant, so I quickly greeted her and went to order my food.

Now as I said before, America’s Dog’s specializes in hot dogs and their customary preparations in cities around the country. As I perused the menu and saw the different preparations, I figured I would choose two dogs from two different cities. Now with me being from Chicago, some of the selections I felt were just too far outside my hot dog sensibilities to even try. Like the Atlanta Dog with coleslaw and ketchup or the Buffalo Dog with hot sauce and blue cheese. (Cringing at the thought of ketchup on a hot dog). Furthermore, I noticed the absence of the Cincinnati Coney dog which was the often the fuel of choice during late night study sessions when I was a student at UC. Anyway, I decided on two selections: the Dallas Dog with chili, onion, and shredded cheddar and the Baltimore Dog, a deep fried hot dog with melted cheese and grilled onions. My order was ready pretty quickly, and I soon found myself sitting at Becky’s table. Becky chose the “Salt and Pepper Shrimp Wrap which looked fresh and healthy, and seemed to defeat the purpose of the entire exercise. But she seemed to enjoy it so no harm, no foul.

So the lunch meeting started pretty much as they have the previous times Becky and I have met. The first thing we did was kind of check and see how the other was doing. Becky had just gotten some great news in the form of a new job where she has to go around Chicago, find and write about interesting things to do. She said that her first trip was to South Chicago, so I eagerly await her first report. Becky’s first question to me was just a general how have you been doing? She remarked how I had kind of gone “off the grid” for about a month, and she wanted to know if I was struggling. I told her that I had kind of been struggling in a few different life areas, but I was kind of coming out of the pit and trying some new things. I don’t want to reveal too much about my new projects because I am still in the “setting up infrastructure” phase and over the years I have heard that nothing jinxes a project more quickly than announcing it too soon. But I will fill all of you in when I have good foot hold on this project.

So back to the hot dogs…not bad. The Dallas Dog was pretty much just a well executed standard chili cheese dog. Not much unlike the ones my father would make on Sunday afternoons to accompany the gridiron games. The Baltimore Dog was a bit of a disappointment in that I think when we hear deep fried; we usually see that as a value add. I think in this case, the novelty of deep frying was wasted on a delicacy that doesn’t benefit much from it. Anyway, overall, not a bad lunch.


The majority of the conversation was spent discussing the, at that time, pending decision of which city would host the 2016 Olympic Games. A couple days prior, Becky had written an impassioned article about why she was vehemently opposed to Chicago hosting the Olympic Games in ’16. I agree with her wholeheartedly for all of the reasons that she outlined. But as I told Becky, there is one more reason that I have that to be totally honest, is kind of selfish and maybe even a little racist. That day, we were dining near the corner of Lincoln and Halsted, in the middle of Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood. In our immediate surroundings were several Irish Pubs, and trendy coffee shops, and comfy condominiums, and many very stylish, young, and almost invariably white Chicagoans buzzing about on foot and on bicycles. As I told Becky, when I come to neighborhoods like this here in Chicago, I feel very little connection. Not that I feel uncomfortable or threatened in these neighborhoods, it’s just I feel very much like a visitor. Much of the plans for development of the proposed Olympic Village would have taken place on the south east side of town in neighborhoods like Bronzeville, Washington Park, and maybe even Jackson Park. I think my resistance to the Olympics really centers around my concern that in the name of progress, “my Chicago” would end up becoming a thing of the past. Moo & Oink might be replaced by Jamba Juice. The Taurus Flavors on 83rd might the newest site for a Whole Foods Express. And dare I even say it; the Regal Theatre might become the new Chicago venue for the Warped Tour. Now I fully admit that these feelings just might be a function of some irrational fear of further change in my life. After so much transition forced upon me in the last few years, I am just longing for certain things to remain unchanged, and comfortable, and familiar. Anyway, this is all a moot point, because Chicago was eliminated in the first round, the games were awarded to the picture of urban safety, Rio De Janeiro, and minus a kid or two getting stomped to death, the south side of Chicago is safe – for now.

On the corner of 71st and Stony Island, where for much of my life an open lot and then a Rally’s Burger stood, now hosts a Starbucks and a Bank of America. The fact of the matter is that plans to develop the city’s south east side are in motion, whether I like it or not. Once the real estate market begins to rebound, I imagine the almost natural process of gentrification will ensue and the complexion of my Chicago, both literally and figuratively, will change. Because honestly, in life, the only constant is change. This will be just another change I will have to learn to accept, and maybe even one day, believe in.