Sweet Home Chicago | That day in Chicago I kept running in the ghetto
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Chicago has one of the most insane winters on earth. Of course, I happened to be there for one of the worst recorded in decades, with temperatures reaching -40 degrees. Icicles as long as Oktoberfest tables, sheets of ice covering the streets and sidewalks, blocks filling the ever frozen lake. Ice everywhere, too much ice.
Today was a beautiful day and god knows how Chicagoans appreciate good weather. I decided to go for a run. I put on my beautiful fluorescent New Balance, my skintight running pants, a white shirt with red stripes found a few months ago on the street in a box full of clothes on which someone had written FREEEEEE, with all those E, I took my Ipod and went.
- Garfield
There’s a park in front of my building: a small one, nothing special. On days like these it’s always taken hostage by Logan Square people feasting, playing Frisbee, guitars, bongos all while competing on who has the loudest laugh, something in which the Americans are undeniable masters.
I did not have the heart to run there, I wanted to take the way of the west, down the long and spacious boulevard that cuts my area like a knife.
As Forrest Gump would say: “I just felt like running”. I ran to the end of my block, not ready to stop, I continued until Humboldt Park, a huge, green public complex filled with soccer and baseball fields, lakes, verdant paths, a swimming pool and even a beach.
- Logan Square
While running I was smiling at life. There was a little white dog that was following me and I passed a guy laying in a hammock reading a book. Once I reached Humboldt Park I could see the endless verdant park on the left, and prominent and proud skyscrapers standing out against the blue Chicago sky.
There were two baseball games in progress. It was a curious thing. It seemed like I was thrown into an American movie. You would think baseball games are only real in American movies: truth is they’re not an urban legend at all. Sensational discovery!
Baseball really exists! Practiced by so many people, wearing those awesome striped suits, those gloves, those nice shiny bats. Surrounded by a big crowd watching the game.
My race continues with “In the Aeroplane over the Sea” by Neutral Milk Hotel reassuringly and slowly accompanying me. Further down is the turn of the football field. There is a game going on that I don’t want to miss. I start to run backwards. A guy misses a very good chance to score: I start swearing at him.
I go straight on my way, very disappointed. I’ve been running for half an hour now: the sun and the music are pushing me to go farther. I remember I passed trough these areas in my car a couple days before and that I bumped into a neighborhood called Garfield Park. A sinister and dark district, a real ghetto, one of those for which Chicago is famous.
I decided to take a tour of the area. Chicago has this really crazy thing that you can find yourself in areas of absurd degradation to nice and shiny neighborhoods by only running for 20 minutes. It is literally a matter of a block. Between one block and another you can plunge into a totally different dimension. It’s something terribly fascinating. By taking the long stretch of Chicago Ave I was seeing an unpublished America, the one I was looking for since the first day I got to Chicago.
- Garfield
A scruffy area, solely populated by African Americans. Chicago is known for being a highly segregated city. And the feeling of segregation has a strong and pungent flavour.
On this sunny Sunday, the people of Garfield Park gave me the impression of literally being “thrown” in the street. They look at you with expressions on their faces hard to decrypt. A white guy running in an entirely black district who seems not to care much about the context. Garfield Park is one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Chicago, with one of the highest crime and murder rates. Perhaps not everyone knows that Chicago is the first city in the United States for murder victims. Every day there are shootings and death reports, it is something absolutely incredible. Basically most of the violence takes place in the notorious South Side, an African American enclave. In Englewood, probably the most violent district of the city, the municipality gives the opportunity to buy homes for a dollar to encourage the transfer from other areas of the city.
Running in Garfield Park gives you a strong feeling of adrenaline. Guys sitting outside in front of stores staring at you, children playing basketball like professionals in the street. Knots of people on street corners, sitting on benches, power generators, they observe the road with empty looks.
There are few cars whizzing by the mighty boulevard. Churches and crosses are everywhere. The shabby streets are full of dirt and barred shutters. The houses have pretty degraded aspects. Many of these have wooden panels instead of real windows.
- Garfield
I decide that I want to leave the main road and get lost in the residential area, where I see a lot of movement and authenticity. Townhouses, endless terraced houses next to each other. Locals sit on those stairways with that enigmatic look on their faces. Kids riding their bikes, a guy in the middle of the road stares at me: it looks like he’s looking forward to challenge me on something.
A big black woman sits on one of her porch steps while a child is working on her braids. They have happy but still resigned looks.
Girls with gorgeous hairstyles look at you and smile softly, they think you’re a little crazy, they think it’s funny. It is funny, and incredible, and beautiful.
Guys with pants down to below their butts.
There is a party in a house and there are containers of all colors on the balcony, curious drinks, perhaps Italian ice. All colours of balloons hang on the windows. Music coming from the house echoes throughout the block.
I am now taken by a thousand emotions, with my lopsided stride. Where am I? What’s happening around me? Around the corner I find myself at an intersection where a couple of fast food places catalyze a lively crowd of guys from the area. They all seem to be part of the same family, same gestures, signs of understanding and smiles. All of this suggests that instead of a neighborhood made of separated residential bubbles I find myself in a real community that shares space, life and experiences.
I’m alive, taken by the spectacle of the humanity around me. My legs tense up and the desire to sail the whole way back takes possession of me. I need to get on the way home.
The neighborhoods meet again and Garfield Park disappears out of the blue behind me. An immense avenue, surrounded by beautiful townhouses and green takes over again. I’m back in the sly and carefree Chicago. I keep running, kissed by the sun, listening to the delirious rock of Neutral Milk Hotel. I think I have a mad crush on this city.
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