East Side travels - how I went to the other end of the city for a writing group
On Monday, August 27, I went to Chicago's East Side neighborhood for a reason that may seem kind of silly. I regularly check Chicago Public Library system's calendar of events for writing/literature events, and I saw a mention of a writing group that meets at the neighborhood's branch library. That was one of the few Mondays I had free, and I decided to check it out.
Now, among Chicago's tapestry of neighborhoods, East Side tends to be overlooked. I remember back when I pitched an article about it for Chicago Flame, my editor couldn't believe it actually exists. I don't think he fully believed me until I brought back an article and pictures. It wound up a pretty neat double-page spread, with those photos front and center, as if to say "no, seriously - this is a real place."
A lot of it has to do with the fact that most Chicagoans assume that the only thing that's east is the lake. And that's true - except for the spot where the lake curves southward, where Chicago (and Illinois) ends and Indiana begins.
As I've written in that article - and a few pieces since then - East Side is separated from most of the city by Calumet River and lots of post-industrial wasteland. Metra Electric Line's South Chicago branch stops just short of the neighborhood. Aside from the rush hour express buses, only bus route that goes there on regular basis is Route 30. A bus used to link the neighborhood to two towns on the other side of the border - Whiting and Hammond- but that ended in July 2012, further reinforcing the neighborhood's relative isolation.
***
I reach the library 15 minutes before the group was supposed to start. It's more than a little warm, and I admit that I was hoping to get a drink from the drinking fountain. But I must have looked worse than I felt, because the security guard looked at me with genuine concern. Even after I got the drink of water from the building's drinking fountain, she seemed worried. She guided me to the meeting room where the writing group was supposed to, well, meet, and while I wanted to say that I was perfectly happy to try to do some writing in the library's common area, I decided not to argue the point.
***
The writing group was led by Matt - a broad-shouldered, muscular man with a bit of a belly, ruddy complexion and hair cut really short. At the first glance, I assumed he was a construction worker, or a factory worker - a perfectly ordinary sight in a blue-collar neighborhood like the East Side. But I soon found out that my initial impression was wrong. He was actually the library's reference librarian who earned a degree in English in college. And, later, when I poked around the Internet, discovered that he had some experience with web design. Goes to show, once again, that one can't always judge a book by his cover.
The other members attending were Matt's wife (a guidance councilor at the local high school) who haven't done much writing lately and was looking to get back into it, and another local - a graphic novelist who self-published some of his work. I made no secret about why I was there, and the rest of the group was pretty impressed that I came all the way from Edgewater. And that a North Sider like me even knew East Side existed.
By the way, MAtt brought me a large cup of iced water. Apparently, the security guard was still worried about me.
It was a nice meeting. We talked about what we'd be doing, some of the rules and expectations. We did a prompt, and shared some of our work. I read the bit of Chasing New Dawn that I, ironically enough, completed in another writing group much closer to home. And it went over well, considering that it's a part of a much bigger thing that riffed on tropes a lot of people weren't familiar with.
I made no bones about the fact that I couldn't regularly attend meetings. The group is meeting second and forth Mondays of the month. On second Monday, I am usually covering meetings in some suburb or another. Fourth Mondays are more free, but even there, I had to add the usual "so long as I don't get sent to cover something" disclaimer. And Matt and others were understanding. And said that they'd love to see me back, if I can.
***
The meeting wrapped up a little after 7:00 PM, and I was already trying to figure out which would be faster - try to run to the Metra station and catch a train that I was all but certain to miss, or wait for Route 30 bus that, runs more frequently but would take longer.
The bus pulling up at the stop just as I approached it solved that dilemma for me.
As the bus approached the Calumet River bridge, I heard the driver stop and let out a string of curses. And I soon realized why. The bridge was rising. Lake Calumet may not get as many ships as it used to, but it's still home to Chicago's main port. And, as some of the passengers pointed out, those freight ships could get quite long.
At that point, I was certain getting on the bus was the right call. Even if I tried running, with the bridge raised, there was no way I would make the 7:20 PM train. And the next train would arrive until more than an hour later.
The boat ultimately wasn't that long, and the bus continued on its way about five minutes later.
Route 30 takes a long, diagonal trip across South Chicago and South Shore neighborhoods, mostly following the path of the Norfolk Southern freight embankment and the Chicago Skyway. I looked out the window, watching the passing homes, warehouses and parking lots. Against the light of dust, they made for a starkly beautiful sight.
At 79th Street, within walking distance of the Nation of Islam headquarters, two young men in neat suits and bowties - practically a Nation of Islam uniform - approached the driver and asked if they could leave some copies of the Nation's paper, The Final Call on the bus.
"Nah, it's cool," he responded, in the tone that all but said 'I don't want to offend you, but I don't want your papers, either.'
The young men said their thanks and politely withdrew, and I remembered that time (late last year) when I would up in what turned out to be a Nation of Islam bookstore, listening politely to a man around my age talking about how all the rumors about the Nation's prejudices weren't true, all while I could see the DVDs talking about evil Jewish schemes on the shelves behind him.
As I've written before, now that so many of my Jewish relatives are dead, I've become more conscious of that sort of thing.
***
When I went to the East Side, I really was planning to only see the group once. But I liked the vibe of the group. Traveling literally to the other end of town just for a writing group may seem insane... But, as the forth Monday of September approaches, I find myself pretty certain that I will go.
Unless I really do get another assignment dropped on my lap.
Now, among Chicago's tapestry of neighborhoods, East Side tends to be overlooked. I remember back when I pitched an article about it for Chicago Flame, my editor couldn't believe it actually exists. I don't think he fully believed me until I brought back an article and pictures. It wound up a pretty neat double-page spread, with those photos front and center, as if to say "no, seriously - this is a real place."
A lot of it has to do with the fact that most Chicagoans assume that the only thing that's east is the lake. And that's true - except for the spot where the lake curves southward, where Chicago (and Illinois) ends and Indiana begins.
As I've written in that article - and a few pieces since then - East Side is separated from most of the city by Calumet River and lots of post-industrial wasteland. Metra Electric Line's South Chicago branch stops just short of the neighborhood. Aside from the rush hour express buses, only bus route that goes there on regular basis is Route 30. A bus used to link the neighborhood to two towns on the other side of the border - Whiting and Hammond- but that ended in July 2012, further reinforcing the neighborhood's relative isolation.
***
I reach the library 15 minutes before the group was supposed to start. It's more than a little warm, and I admit that I was hoping to get a drink from the drinking fountain. But I must have looked worse than I felt, because the security guard looked at me with genuine concern. Even after I got the drink of water from the building's drinking fountain, she seemed worried. She guided me to the meeting room where the writing group was supposed to, well, meet, and while I wanted to say that I was perfectly happy to try to do some writing in the library's common area, I decided not to argue the point.
***
The writing group was led by Matt - a broad-shouldered, muscular man with a bit of a belly, ruddy complexion and hair cut really short. At the first glance, I assumed he was a construction worker, or a factory worker - a perfectly ordinary sight in a blue-collar neighborhood like the East Side. But I soon found out that my initial impression was wrong. He was actually the library's reference librarian who earned a degree in English in college. And, later, when I poked around the Internet, discovered that he had some experience with web design. Goes to show, once again, that one can't always judge a book by his cover.
The other members attending were Matt's wife (a guidance councilor at the local high school) who haven't done much writing lately and was looking to get back into it, and another local - a graphic novelist who self-published some of his work. I made no secret about why I was there, and the rest of the group was pretty impressed that I came all the way from Edgewater. And that a North Sider like me even knew East Side existed.
By the way, MAtt brought me a large cup of iced water. Apparently, the security guard was still worried about me.
It was a nice meeting. We talked about what we'd be doing, some of the rules and expectations. We did a prompt, and shared some of our work. I read the bit of Chasing New Dawn that I, ironically enough, completed in another writing group much closer to home. And it went over well, considering that it's a part of a much bigger thing that riffed on tropes a lot of people weren't familiar with.
I made no bones about the fact that I couldn't regularly attend meetings. The group is meeting second and forth Mondays of the month. On second Monday, I am usually covering meetings in some suburb or another. Fourth Mondays are more free, but even there, I had to add the usual "so long as I don't get sent to cover something" disclaimer. And Matt and others were understanding. And said that they'd love to see me back, if I can.
***
The meeting wrapped up a little after 7:00 PM, and I was already trying to figure out which would be faster - try to run to the Metra station and catch a train that I was all but certain to miss, or wait for Route 30 bus that, runs more frequently but would take longer.
The bus pulling up at the stop just as I approached it solved that dilemma for me.
As the bus approached the Calumet River bridge, I heard the driver stop and let out a string of curses. And I soon realized why. The bridge was rising. Lake Calumet may not get as many ships as it used to, but it's still home to Chicago's main port. And, as some of the passengers pointed out, those freight ships could get quite long.
At that point, I was certain getting on the bus was the right call. Even if I tried running, with the bridge raised, there was no way I would make the 7:20 PM train. And the next train would arrive until more than an hour later.
The boat ultimately wasn't that long, and the bus continued on its way about five minutes later.
Route 30 takes a long, diagonal trip across South Chicago and South Shore neighborhoods, mostly following the path of the Norfolk Southern freight embankment and the Chicago Skyway. I looked out the window, watching the passing homes, warehouses and parking lots. Against the light of dust, they made for a starkly beautiful sight.
At 79th Street, within walking distance of the Nation of Islam headquarters, two young men in neat suits and bowties - practically a Nation of Islam uniform - approached the driver and asked if they could leave some copies of the Nation's paper, The Final Call on the bus.
"Nah, it's cool," he responded, in the tone that all but said 'I don't want to offend you, but I don't want your papers, either.'
The young men said their thanks and politely withdrew, and I remembered that time (late last year) when I would up in what turned out to be a Nation of Islam bookstore, listening politely to a man around my age talking about how all the rumors about the Nation's prejudices weren't true, all while I could see the DVDs talking about evil Jewish schemes on the shelves behind him.
As I've written before, now that so many of my Jewish relatives are dead, I've become more conscious of that sort of thing.
***
When I went to the East Side, I really was planning to only see the group once. But I liked the vibe of the group. Traveling literally to the other end of town just for a writing group may seem insane... But, as the forth Monday of September approaches, I find myself pretty certain that I will go.
Unless I really do get another assignment dropped on my lap.