Commuter Tales - Crossing the South Side
The first time is always the scariest. 
Back when I was an UIC, I used to buy eggs and a few other things in Chinatown (where they were cheapest). It didn't take me long to see something interesting. As the 'L' train moved further and further from the Loop, the ethnic make-up of the commuters shifted. White people got off, Black people got on. You'll see Chinese and Chinese-Americans riding for a few stops, but they'd almost always exist at Chinatown. A few white people would stay in until the 35th/Sox station, but after that... Well, that;s just a thing. For a long time, I didn't go any further then that. Didn't see the need.
Well, that and, once the 'L' train crossed 35th Street, the train rode through some of the poorest, most crime-ridden sections of Chicago's South Side. As you can imagine, that gave me a pause
And, yes, I should mention that I haven't visited a majority-Black neighborhood at the time(except that one time I unknowingly walked through Cabrini-Green). So, much as I hate to say it (after all, I am a bleeding-heart liberal) that might have been a factor, too.
But one day, almost three years ago, I decided to go further. Just to see what happens. Because, as nervous as I was, I was too curious not try it.
I boarded at Jackson/State. The riders were a mixed bunch - a few whites, a few blacks and a couple of Chinese-Americans. Things went pretty much expected. Most white people left at Harrison and Roosevelt. All Chinese-Americans left at Chinatown. At Sox-35th, most white people left. Only 40-something man with graying hair and a heavy gut stayed. Aside from yours truly, he was the only white person on the train.
It was an odd sensation. More than anything, it reminded me of the first time I set foot in an American school. It was like I suddenly set foot in an alien world, a world where I didn't quite belong. My nervousness increased, but I reminded myself that the train will soon reach 47th Street stop, so it wasn't like I could back out now.
I glanced around the train. A teenage girl from a few rows back eyed me suspiciously, but other than that, everybody was either reading, listening to music, napping and otherwise not particularly caring that two white people just crossed one of the most entrenched boundaries in Chicago's collective culture, the boundaries that ensures that Chicago will remain one of the most segregated cities in United States.
The 'L' train rode in the middle of Dan Ryan expressway. Aging home stood on the right, while miles and miles of empty space loomed on the left. A few years ago, I would have seen Robert Taylor Homes, the biggest, most crime-ridden public housing project in the city. But those battered buildings were already torn down by then, leaving nothing but vast, terrifyingly empty fields.
At 47th Street, the landscape shifted. A few industrial buildings started popping up, along with more aging homes. The train composition changed little. A middle-aged woman with an enormous black hat got off and 47th Street and a young couple got on. Nobody said a world.
A group of women in nurses' uniforms got on at Garfield. The 'L' train kept riding, passing under a web of railroad and highway bridges. Stores started popping up on the left side, while the houses on the right got slightly taller and prettier.
The train passed under the Green 'L' Line tracks as they crossed Dan Ryan before making a 90-degree turn to the left, trailing along the highway until it reached 63rd Street. Once, a train station was perched near the crossing, and you could technically transfer between the two lines, but those days are long gone. Now, the tracks tower high above the street, higher than they do anywhere else in Chicago, and the Green Line train pass everything by.
Most nurses get off at 63rd. A few stay behind and wait until the 69th Street station. The 40-something white guy leaves with them.
I was now the only white person in the train car... And it didn't matter. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Even the teenage girl who eyed me suspiciously a few stops ago was engrossed in her book.
Oddly enough, that put me at ease. I still felt like a stranger, an alien from another world, but the nervousness that kept bottling up since I boarded the train started to dissipate.i got out a book and started reading. Every once in a while, I looked out the window just to see where we were, but the landscape didn't change much, so I didn't stare for long.
The train went past a few more stops. 79th. 89th. A few people got on, a few got off, but that didn't matter so much. It was just part of the normal commuting pattern.
At 95th Street, the train came to it's final stop. I got off the train and headed up the stairs, stepping into a busy park-and-ride. CTA and PACE buses lined up in several rows, picking up and dropping off passengers as the 95th Street traffic zoomed past.
I made it to the end of the Red Line.
That was three years ago. Since then, I visited the majority-Black sections of the South Side several times. I discovered that while there were neighborhoods that matched South Side's fearsome reputation, just as many didn't. I discovered some lovely communities with nice stores and interesting places to visit.
It can still feel a little odd, being the only white person on the block. But, at the same time, going to the South Side isn't that big of a deal anymore.Looking back, I am surprised by just how ordinary this sort of commute has become. And I discovered that most people seem to assume that if I am in their neighborhood, I must have a reason to be here and leave it at that. And it suits me just fine. Because, for all it's problems, for all it's history of discrimination and neglect, the South Side as a whole has much to offer.
You just have to be willing to cross that invisible line.
Back when I was an UIC, I used to buy eggs and a few other things in Chinatown (where they were cheapest). It didn't take me long to see something interesting. As the 'L' train moved further and further from the Loop, the ethnic make-up of the commuters shifted. White people got off, Black people got on. You'll see Chinese and Chinese-Americans riding for a few stops, but they'd almost always exist at Chinatown. A few white people would stay in until the 35th/Sox station, but after that... Well, that;s just a thing. For a long time, I didn't go any further then that. Didn't see the need.
Well, that and, once the 'L' train crossed 35th Street, the train rode through some of the poorest, most crime-ridden sections of Chicago's South Side. As you can imagine, that gave me a pause
And, yes, I should mention that I haven't visited a majority-Black neighborhood at the time(except that one time I unknowingly walked through Cabrini-Green). So, much as I hate to say it (after all, I am a bleeding-heart liberal) that might have been a factor, too.
But one day, almost three years ago, I decided to go further. Just to see what happens. Because, as nervous as I was, I was too curious not try it.
I boarded at Jackson/State. The riders were a mixed bunch - a few whites, a few blacks and a couple of Chinese-Americans. Things went pretty much expected. Most white people left at Harrison and Roosevelt. All Chinese-Americans left at Chinatown. At Sox-35th, most white people left. Only 40-something man with graying hair and a heavy gut stayed. Aside from yours truly, he was the only white person on the train.
It was an odd sensation. More than anything, it reminded me of the first time I set foot in an American school. It was like I suddenly set foot in an alien world, a world where I didn't quite belong. My nervousness increased, but I reminded myself that the train will soon reach 47th Street stop, so it wasn't like I could back out now.
I glanced around the train. A teenage girl from a few rows back eyed me suspiciously, but other than that, everybody was either reading, listening to music, napping and otherwise not particularly caring that two white people just crossed one of the most entrenched boundaries in Chicago's collective culture, the boundaries that ensures that Chicago will remain one of the most segregated cities in United States.
The 'L' train rode in the middle of Dan Ryan expressway. Aging home stood on the right, while miles and miles of empty space loomed on the left. A few years ago, I would have seen Robert Taylor Homes, the biggest, most crime-ridden public housing project in the city. But those battered buildings were already torn down by then, leaving nothing but vast, terrifyingly empty fields.
At 47th Street, the landscape shifted. A few industrial buildings started popping up, along with more aging homes. The train composition changed little. A middle-aged woman with an enormous black hat got off and 47th Street and a young couple got on. Nobody said a world.
A group of women in nurses' uniforms got on at Garfield. The 'L' train kept riding, passing under a web of railroad and highway bridges. Stores started popping up on the left side, while the houses on the right got slightly taller and prettier.
The train passed under the Green 'L' Line tracks as they crossed Dan Ryan before making a 90-degree turn to the left, trailing along the highway until it reached 63rd Street. Once, a train station was perched near the crossing, and you could technically transfer between the two lines, but those days are long gone. Now, the tracks tower high above the street, higher than they do anywhere else in Chicago, and the Green Line train pass everything by.
Most nurses get off at 63rd. A few stay behind and wait until the 69th Street station. The 40-something white guy leaves with them.
I was now the only white person in the train car... And it didn't matter. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Even the teenage girl who eyed me suspiciously a few stops ago was engrossed in her book.
Oddly enough, that put me at ease. I still felt like a stranger, an alien from another world, but the nervousness that kept bottling up since I boarded the train started to dissipate.i got out a book and started reading. Every once in a while, I looked out the window just to see where we were, but the landscape didn't change much, so I didn't stare for long.
The train went past a few more stops. 79th. 89th. A few people got on, a few got off, but that didn't matter so much. It was just part of the normal commuting pattern.
At 95th Street, the train came to it's final stop. I got off the train and headed up the stairs, stepping into a busy park-and-ride. CTA and PACE buses lined up in several rows, picking up and dropping off passengers as the 95th Street traffic zoomed past.
I made it to the end of the Red Line.
That was three years ago. Since then, I visited the majority-Black sections of the South Side several times. I discovered that while there were neighborhoods that matched South Side's fearsome reputation, just as many didn't. I discovered some lovely communities with nice stores and interesting places to visit.
It can still feel a little odd, being the only white person on the block. But, at the same time, going to the South Side isn't that big of a deal anymore.Looking back, I am surprised by just how ordinary this sort of commute has become. And I discovered that most people seem to assume that if I am in their neighborhood, I must have a reason to be here and leave it at that. And it suits me just fine. Because, for all it's problems, for all it's history of discrimination and neglect, the South Side as a whole has much to offer.
You just have to be willing to cross that invisible line.