Anniversary

Eight years ago yesterday, I closed on my current home and began my adventures on the south side.

If they (and I)knew what they (and I) know now.

A toast to beautiful Woodlawn and the wonders she holds.

Restless

It seems that my fellow Woodlandites are none too happy with the shenanigans and foolishness going on around 61st Street/South Campus area.

If you didn’t know, South Campus is the new name for that part of Woodlawn just south of the Midway (60th Street). Commonly recognized as the dividing line between University of Chicago and Woodlawn.

In the past the University of Chicago specifically told their students and faculty not to go south of the Midway. While that stance has been eradicated, the perception persists that once you cross that boundary, your physical being and immortal soul are in peril.

Nonetheless, those brave souls who have done just that and decided to make their homes in Woodlawn are pissed.

Potholes and gunfire just don’t seem to be their cup of tea.

As a matter of fact, one new blogger is simply furious at The Woodlawn Organization.

So much so that his whole blog is dedicated to shine a light on what he perceives as mismanagement of the subsidized housing managed by the organization.

Oooh Whee…

South side stand up.

West Side meets East Side

Right before Christmas I had the pleasure of meeting a few of my neighbors who live in the western part of Woodlawn.

They found me via this blog and after a few e-mails back and forth we decided to meet.

The young woman who had initially contacted me also said that a few of her neighbors were going to tag along for kicks.

“No worries.” I said but strongly suspected that they wanted to make sure I wasn’t a freak show. Perhaps they thought there was greater safety in numbers.

Or maybe they were all curious to see the woman behind the curtain.

Either way we finally set a date and time to meet at one of my regular watering holes.

I met three ladies and one gentleman who seemed to be a bit taken aback yet utterly fascinated with the environment around them. So much so, that I wasn’t sure at the beginning they were listening to me after we made our introductions.

Silly me---I should of given them a head’s up to the type of place where we were meeting.

I tend to forget that not everybody may be used to a place that sells $20 martinis.

The crowd this type of place tends to attract is a bit “different” than the crowd you may get at your local corner bar.

While it makes for great people watching, to the uninitiated I can see how it can be a bit intimidating.

I personally could give a flying fig but it is interesting to know that at the end of the day the person sitting next to you could be your friendly neighborhood billionaire.

Well not exactly my friendly neighborhood billionaire but your get my sentiment.

Nonetheless, my neighbors all happened to be white and three out of the four graduated from either the University of Chicago undergrad or Law School.

Talking with them, their concerns about Woodlawn seemed to echo most of the themes that I’ve written about in the past. But because they live west of me and in the 20th ward, they had additional issues that don’t figure into my day-to-day living.

Since I have the school across the street as a neighbor, the amount of apartment buildings has been severely reduced in my neck of the woods.

My west Woodlawn living neighbors aren’t so lucky.

In their opinion, some nearby apartment buildings are poorly managed and seem to be havens for crime and quality of life issues in their immediate neighborhood.

I was told of blatant drug dealing & usage, shootings, and a near riot last summer.

You know I’m schlepping over there during the summer to enjoy cocktails on the porch and watch the crack heads and civil unrest.

It’ll remind me of Uptown back in the day.

Aside from our commonalities, my neighbors wove a fascinating tale of what it’s like to be white in Woodlawn.

While I write about the few white people that I know who live on the south side, the stories have more of a humorous slant.

And what’s not funny about a fish out of water tale?

Urban ills aside, my neighbors like their community and seem fully committed to remaining long-term residents. Yet what I found interesting is not the reactions they received from black people but the reactions that they receive from other white people.

The University of Chicago Law School grad works at a large downtown firm and routinely gets questions on why she lives on the south side.

After all she graduated law school and has a good job, why on earth would she choose to stay in Woodlawn?

While no one said it, I’m sure that quite a few of their families were (and are) a tad concerned when they decided to put down roots south of the University of Chicago.

And I’m sure the recent high profile shooting scant blocks from their home didn’t help perceptions either.

But my west Woodlawn dwelling neighbors seem to take it all in stride.

They remain active in their community, attend public meetings, strive to improve the quality of their community and continue to keep their fingers crossed for a dog park.

Next time we meet they can pick the bar.

Young Mr. Whitefolks' Delivery Dilemma

I saw Young Mr. Whitefolks recently and he was a little confused about why it was so difficult to order a meal to his home.

“I looked up restaurants that Grub Hub said deliver to my neighborhood but when I call to place an order they tell me that they don’t deliver to my address.”

“Does that surprise you?” I asked.

“Yes---if the restaurants don’t want to deliver to my neighborhood they should just say so.”

God, I just love this kid.

He further stated, “Why don’t they just say that they won’t deliver to 35th & King?”

Welcome to being black, dearest. Rather I should say, welcome to living with blacks, baby. You’re one of us now.

“It’s so frustrating. I only want food.”

At this point all I could do is give him a look of sympathy. He truly didn’t (and doesn't) know the totality of moving into a black neighborhood.

He didn’t know that in order to subsist, you have to go out and get the things you need. The luxury of having things brought to you other than the mail, UPS & Peapod is a rare occurrence.

But that wasn’t all Young Mr. Whitefolks had to say.

He also noticed that when he went to fast food restaurants that on more than one occasion he couldn’t order food that was printed on the menu boards.

“Dearest why would you expect to be able to order items that are advertised for sale?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was nuts.

Now I’m sure this isn’t a south side thing or a black thing but rather a bad service and not watching the stock thing. If your tastes tend to run towards fruit and yogurt parfaits and salads rather than burgers and fries you’re kinda out of luck.

You’ll either have to wait for your food or just be told that the restaurant doesn’t have what you want.

Apparently Young Mr. Whitefolks is used to being able to order whatever he wants off of the menu.

What a precious pumpkin.

In both cases, I strongly suggested that he put pen to paper and let the powers that be know about the lack of services in his neighborhood and to carbon copy everyone he could think of from his Alderman to Oprah.

He waved me off.

Not only did I tell him that the squeaky wheel gets the grease but he and his immediate neighbors will continue to be ignored and their hard earned money disrespected until they advocate for change.

Or in other words, attitudes won’t change until you demand that they change.

Companies also tend to think that if one person is concerned enough to put pen to paper, that a great many people may carry the same sentiment as well.

He was then amazed that other people were amazed at how livable his neighborhood was.

When cab drivers would reluctantly take him home from his late night job they were shocked to find a wide, green tree lined street instead of some languishing ghetto.

The drivers were concerned about his safety if they dropped him off on the south side. Apparently his statements of “I live in this neighborhood” did nothing to assuage their fears.

Go figure.

I told YMWF that some people’s perceptions of the south side may never change. You just have to look at them like they’ve lost their minds when they speak such foolishness.

It’s not our fault that they haven’t received the memo about the hotness of the south side.

3% Moves In

Since my layoff I've been able to closely observer the hoody hoo during the day.

Unlike previous years I've been a little surprised about how quiet it's been (thank you Chicago Police for beefing up the Hyde Park High School patrols) and how diverse our little piece of paradise has gotten.

That's just a nice way of saying where did all of my white neighbors come from.

I try not dwell on this subject even though I've written several posts about it, but anyone who thinks race dosen't continue to be an issue in the greater metropolitan Chicagoland area is trying to blow sunshine up your skirt.

Just today driving down Stony Island I was wondering where some of the white people I saw walking down the street came from.

Let me explain and give you some background.

When I moved down here in 2001, the University of Chicago had officially abandoned it's mantra cautioning people from going south of 60th Street. It was believed that traveling anywhere south of that boundary would be dangerous for it's students, faculty and staff.

Despite the reversal of policy, old perceptions die hard.

I quickly discovered that after a long day of moving and unpacking, I couldn't even get a pizza delivered.

At the time Peapod did not service my area.

It was made clear by the greater business community and most of the Hyde Park establishment that Woodlawn really didn't matter.

Fast forward six years and a different tune is being played.

While I still jokingly refer to Woodlawn as Hyde Park's ugly step sister, we are starting to get some love.

Apparantly that also translates into who now calls Woodlawn home.

I was taking a disco nap when the moving of furniture across the floor woke me up. I knew that my new neighbor(s) had arrived.

As usual I planted myself outside on the front balcony and almost passed out.

Sweet Fanny Adams, my new neighbor's white.

Jesus take the wheel.

I'm curious to know if she knows that most of us are of color and if that will be an issue. I don't anticipate it being one but people are strange.

And no I don't anticipate it being an issue with anyone who currently lives here.

I wonder if I should introduce her to the Cake?

Perhaps I should start with a "welcome to the association" and build from there.

The Cake, Revisited

As luck would have it, I saw Patty Cake last Thursday at a social function.

She was resplendent in fuchsia and looked like she had never been pregnant. The baby weight had just melted away.

Naturally I asked her about life is in South Shore.

If I understood her correctly---after all it was a social function and I was drinking---she had taken a few of my earlier suggestions.

For starters, she put on the dog (translation: Got dressed up) took herself and her baby up to her condo development’s management company. Like a miracle from above, half finished projects at her development were fast tracked and completed.

Now I’m sure the other complaining owners were also a motivating factor, but I find it somewhat coincidental that after she did exactly what I told her to do things started shaping up.

I told her she’s using her whiteness for good. Why have power if you’re not going to use it responsibly?

She also stated that she’s been strolling about with her man.

Good work ‘Cake, it’s important to be seen with your man. That way people know that you belong to someone.

While this fact may not prevent anything from happening to her, at least if she goes missing or something happens, her presence---or lack thereof---will be missed.

Plus some guys tend to leave you alone when they know you have a man in your life.

I know it’s sad that in this day and age a woman’s firm “no” isn’t enough to ward off the unwanted attentions of a masher. But as I’ve stated before, I deal in reality.

Interestingly enough Patty Cake also happened to mention that there was a great deal of shootings that have occured since the weather warmed up.

Ironically my friend Rita, South Shore go to girl extraordinaire, also counseled against falling asleep on the south bound 6 bus this summer.

Apparently winding up at the final stop of the 6---South Shore’s Rainbow Beach---and having to walk home may not be in anyone’s best interest right now.

Seeing that I’ve fallen asleep and have had to walk home from Rainbow Beach three times in the past two years I tend to listen to sage advice.

So with all of the shenanigans going on around the neighborhood, Patty was somewhat dismayed by the lack of immediate police response.

At least that was her perception.

Now it also may be just another huge coincidence, but after she started calling 911 response times dropped.

Go figure?

What can a sister such as myself say to that type of effectiveness?

At this rate the ‘Cake may have this whole Afghan, Iraq & Israeli/Palestinian thing figured out by the year’s end.

Represent!

Check out this story on Woodlawn from the nice people at Eight Forty Eight from Chicago Public Radio.

Recognize and Represent!

Learning Curve

Young Mr. Whitefolks has now lived with and by us for the last six months.

By “us” I mean black people.

I’m sure being a minority in a minority neighborhood makes for some interesting stories for the relatives back in Wisconsin.

While Young Mr. Whitefolks enjoys Bronzeville, I’m sure he might still have some questions about black culture at large.

If he were going to ask questions about his neighbors and his neighborhood, this is what I’d imagine he’d say:


Why do you stop the car in the middle of the street to hold a conversation?

Where exactly is this Moo & Oink?

Bud Billiken? Who is Bud Billiken?

So what’s with the spinners?

Must there be two beauty supply stores per block?

What exactly is a square* and why would I have one?

Why does a straight man need a roller set?

So the CTA doesn’t run on time down here?


Despite the questions, I would imagine that Young Mr. Whitefolks has learned two important things about living amongst the peeps.

The first would be to try and buy stock in Newport cigarettes.

The second (and most important) would be to never, ever question a black woman about her hair.

Don’t ask why it’s long one day and short the next.

Don’t ask why some black women’s hair will be colors not found in nature.

Don’t ask about the package of hair.

Don’t pull an Imus.

Don’t ask why you’ll see some black women give the appearance of hitting themselves in the head. She’s scratching her head but is doing so in a manner that won’t mess up the hair style.

Just trust me on this one.

But Mr. Young Whitefolks may have also learned that if you ever touch a black woman’s hair unsolicited may put his physical being at risk.

I can’t wait to talk to him to hear his reflections on six months of south side urban living.

*A square is slang for a cigarette

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

It’s difficult to realize that despite all of your hard work, that there are some things you just can’t control.

Such is the way of the foreclosures in my association and on my block.

Despite the fact the process started over two years ago, the repercussions of those foreclosures linger like a bad stench.

I was surprised to see a much lower value for my unit once the appraisal came back last Thursday afternoon.

I cursed the name of the former owners in our association who only seemed to care about their bottom lines and nothing else.

After gulping down that big glass of haterade, I rallied the forces of good and countered with supporting comps of units that weren’t exactly like mine but provided a basis for a much higher appraisal.

An extra $40,000 is nothing to sneeze at.

As of this writing, the appraisal department has the paperwork and will render a decision in the next day or two.

That still leaves me and any other people in my association who try to refi or sell in a hell of a predicament.

Do we accept shit comps from someone who can’t even pull values from around the corner? Do we fight it and hope for the best or do you lower your selling price (and grab your ankles) as the market is still very much tipped toward the buyer?

So like the nice article said, do some homework prior to plunking down your hard earned cash for a place.

If you’ve got a high number of foreclosures and investors with rental properties you may want to steer clear or have a diamond in the rough. It all depends on your outlook.

Let’s say you’re only going to stay for a short while or you’re not the type who’s not into community involvement.

My suggestion would be to head for the hills.

You’re the type of person who wants a ready made hood. A neighborhood with bright young things strolling the boulevards, people with good dental plans, shopping, nightlife and all of that jazz.

And if you have the money, and some do, head for one of the many neighborhoods in Chicago that will fulfill your urban desires.

But for those of us with Tiffany wishes in a Jewelry Exchange world, we have to look elsewhere.

If you are the type who can make a dollar out of fifteen cents and plan on staying put five years or longer, an “emerging” neighborhood may be for you.

You may not have the fabulousness of the ready made hood and you won’t have grocery store anywhere around you, but eventually you will be thought of as the forward thinking type as you had enough foresight to see potential.

Kinda like Gloria Estefan before Emilio got to her.

After all, anyone with money can buy fabulousness; it takes a special breed of person to make fabulousness.

You, my urban pioneer, can consider what type of new construction is (or may be) happening in the neighborhood over the next few years.

While prices may be depressed now, in a year and a half to two years, its gonna be a whole new ball game.

How so?

For those of you who don’t know, real estate appraisal comps are comprised of what has recently sold in your neighborhood or in my case my building and my neighborhood.

Because of the low selling foreclosures in my building (a 2 br for $108K), and three other low selling foreclosures down the block (on average $130K a piece) I should have anticipated that I would have trouble.

Had my appraiser simply taken into consideration the recent sales of the condos around the corner I’d have a whole different ballgame.

Now I don’t have all of the bells and whistles that the units around the corner have (stainless appliances, granite, half bath or parking space) but according to a friend’s calculations that should of only knocked my appraisal down $20,000---not $55,000.

But on the bright side when the proposed developments behind me either get built or sell, real estate in east Woodlawn is quite literally going to go through the roof.

That will take about two to three years to happen, but I’m not in a hurry.

I’ll simply continue to make improvements to my unit so it can be on par with my new neighbors.

Ms. White Folks

Lord Jesus protect us. There’s a new white girl in town.

Patty Cake has moved to South Shore with her man and her baby.

She was formerly a Hyde Parker but she and her man took the plunge and became home owners with the arrival of the little one.

Loving a good deal and not afraid to be a minority in her own neighborhood, she and her family moved to 76th & Essex.

Do’h!

Child, please.

Patty Cake can literally roll with anyone. She is one of the few white people that I know that will actually live in a mostly black neighborhood and not think that it was odd.

Hell, Patty Cake might even have an afro pick somewhere on her dresser.

While she’s a down ass broad, don’t mistake her coolness for either liberal guilt or an attempt to launch a career as a white rapper. She knows she’s white.

No disaffected speech, no baggy clothes and thank God she hasn’t french braided her hair.

She keeps it real Patty Cake style.

Last Sunday another mutual friend Nasir and I stopped by the Cake’s house for a chat and to see the new digs.

Unfortunately we dropped by too late to see the baby but Patty Cake’s fish out of water stories did not disappoint.

“You know Woody the kids have kind of adopted me around here and shepherded me through these first few months.”

“Ya don’t say?”

Did I mention that the ‘Cake is an educator so she has a natural rapport with the pre-teen set.

“Yeah, they’ve told me to stay out of the Family Dollar and off of Hamilton street.”

Now I don’t know jack about the South Shore neighborhood so I generally accepted this as wise decisions from the tykes.

“It’s like my neighbors have adopted me.”

“Probably.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“To keep you safe. Everyone knows if something happens to you and that baby the police will be all over this neighborhood like stink on shit.”

Patty Cake shot me a quizzical look

“Heavy police presence will disturb the ebb and flow of the streets. No one will make any money. It’s just easier to keep you and the baby safe.”

She then told of how the older women across the street advised her to make a small slice in her city and license plate sticker.

‘Cause everyone knows that if you put them in you window or on you plates intact they’ll both be gone in less than 24 hours.

Well everyone knew that except the ‘Cake.

God bless her.

She also told of the helpful police officers and random people who stop and ask her if she wants a ride back to her car or if she needs any help.

They stare in amazement when she tells them that she lives in the hoody hoo.

As our conversation wore on and we talked on various subjects, Patty Cake would remark: That’s exactly what the ladies across the street said!

I told her that I’ve been at this black thing for a couple of years and might have learned a thing or two.

Nonetheless she was perplexed at why her repeated calls to her management company to fix the front gate had fallen on deaf ears.

I told her the answer was simple, “They think you’re black.”

I hated to tell her that in 2007 laws have changed but many things are still the same.

I further stated that they either think you’re black or that you’re not a very respectable white person.

“Why would they think that?”

“Cause what type of white person would live in a neighborhood with all of these niggers?” I replied.

You could hear Patty Cake and Nassir suck the air out of the room as my last comment caught them off guard

“I’m just telling you how it works ‘Cake. Your best bet is to take you and your baby down to the management office and present yourself.”

“Why bring the baby?”

“To show that your living at 76th and Essex is not the result of a mixed marriage. In my opinion they’ll take you more seriously if they know an honest to god white couple with a child lives in the development.”

Such is the state of things in Chicago these days.

“Cake, it doesn’t phase me anymore when people meet me after they talk to me on the phone---they’re totally expecting a white woman. I just use it to my advantage.”

Speaking the King’s English is not necessarily a bad thing.

When I mentioned to my friend Rita that I was in her old stomping grounds and told her where I was she whipped around and said, “Why were YOU there?”

“Visting a friend”

“I didn’t know you rolled like that over in Terror Town.”

“Oh no Rita, this a friend who just bought a condo.”

“At 76th and Essex? Are you bullshitting me?”

“Nope…And she’s white.”

“What did she do that for?”

I generally took this as a sign that perhaps Patty Cake hadn’t moved to the Gold Coast. From my limited observation I can tell you that Jamba Juice has yet to scout locations close to her house.

In parting I told her that I would visit more often as her everyday life would be better than any admission based entertainment currently offered in the city limits.

Think about it, Patty Cake sitting on a folding chair eating watermelon (no, I’m NOT making this up) with mature black women on a hot summer’s day.

Pass the salt, child. Pass the salt.

Young Mr. Whitefolks

Two of my favorite bartenders have taken the leap and will be moving to the south side prior to the holidays.

One gentleman has purchased a three flat not too far from me while the other will be nestled in bosom of Bronzeville.

Mr. Three Flat is a cuter version of Tiger Woods. I’ve seen people literally stop and stare at him behind the bar. They think that Ashton is around the corner and that everyone is about to get punk’d.

Celebrity look alike + liquor = hilarity

My other bartender friend is a tall drink of water with an affinity towards DJing and a easygoing demeanor.

When he told me that he and the wife were putting down roots a tad north of me, I was thrilled but concerned.

While some may disagree, as minorities in this country we’ve always had to straddle two or three cultures in order to negotiate our day to day living situations.

Knowing that you don’t want to purchase any loose squares (cigarettes) at the entrance to the “L” and being able to discuss the fact that Wagner must have been on crack when writing his Ring Cycle can come in handy.

Even when things were segregated we all knew that we didn’t like in a completely Black world. In order to get by we had to know something about the dominate culture.

It was (and is) a matter of survival.

While much has changed in the last 60 or so years and Black culture has been incorporated into the mainstream, I am still amazed at how much some White people don’t know about Blacks and other minorities.

Then of course I was thoroughly confused at the bi-racial, Mexican Catholic wedding I was at a month ago so I guess that knife cuts both ways.

In short we could all stand to go outside our usual comfort zones to experience other people’s cultures.

Nonetheless my tall bartender friend, I’ll call him Young Mr. Whitefolks, probably hasn’t had the pleasure of being one of the few people that look like you where you live.

Or maybe he has.

Maybe he’s been in the Peace Corp and I’m talking out of my ass.

I doubt it though.

Because he’s so tall and solid, I doubt he’ll have any trouble once the neighborhood gets to know him and the lovely Young Mrs. Whitefolks.

From what he’s been telling me, she was the one who recognized the beauty and value of the south side.

Obviously this young woman has an eye for real estate and is good with a dollar.

But I think the both of them discovering south side culture, particularly Black culture, is going to be a hoot.

Perhaps they should start reading ChiKat’s blog.

Young Mr. Whitefolks didn’t even know he is directly on the route for the Bud Bilikin Parade.

It’s only like the second (or third?) largest parade in the nation and if memory serves me correctly the largest parade in the city.

Saying that everything shuts down on the south side on parade day is an understatement.

I’ve already advised him to purchase his collard greens early.