Block Party Post Mortem

Back to local news, at least for this post. Last Saturday night was the block party. Though I was in Raleigh, last night I got plenty of gossip about it from three or four different houses.

Mr. Worrisome's sister and her friends in the house down the block told me they have had it with our block captain. (I think I told you all way back when that I didn't get a good vibe from her.) She drove by us last night and called out that she wanted to talk to me. I told her to come by the house when she was free. I thought she would stop by last night, but the doorbell rang twice and both times it was Dee, the hooker who took Priscilla's place on the corner back last winter. (For once I didn't give her some cash--I was on the phone and told her to come back another day.)

The only thing that holds true in everybody's story is that the police were called Saturday night. The detailed version from Sister W and Co. was that Block Capt. wanted to open the fire hydrant, but Co. objected, saying the water would flood her basement. So they didn't open that hydrant but words were exchanged, and Co's niece and lots of her friends showed up to back up her auntie. This made Block Capt. nervous and she called the 5-0, who took them to the station for mob action. Seems highly unnecessary to me that it got to that point.

By the way, apparently it was Co's kids who came over and got some cake and got in the water fight at my birthday party. I didn't know who she was, but apparently she moved on the block about the same time I did.

Anyway, now Sister W and friends want a new block captain, maybe me, but I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole right now. Apparently our current block captain is buds with the alderman, and until 2010 and the remap comes around, I have no intention of crossing wires with the alderman. They want to know where all the money Block Capt. collected for the party went, since she charged like 10 or 15 bucks a household and told people if they didn't pay they couldn't eat. They say she said the DJ cost $250, but they asked the DJ and he said he only got paid $60. I don't know if what they said is true, but it's certainly pretty funny to hear from a lady who refused to come to my housewarming party because it was potluck. "You ain't spending nothin!" she chided me.

I'm willing to see if they'll go to the alderman's monthly meeting in force to complain, however. I'll be very curious to see if they still have juice about this two weeks from now.

I still have plenty to say about Colombia, but it will be interesting to see whether I find time to post it here.

Back in the US...

But still not back in Chicago. Am in Raleigh,North Carolina for a cousin's wedding.

During the trip, one of my fellow delegation members said she would be having her partner do the grocery shopping for the first week after she got home because she couldn't bear the sight of a US grocery store after hanging out with very poor people for two weeks straight. Although I know what she means, I don't personally have the same feeling about a grocery store, not least because I went to the big superstores in Cartagena and Medellin, Vivero and the French chain, Carrefour, so it's not like they don't exist there.

What I think about after any international trip is water. Even coming back from Europe. Even after Medellin, which has astoundingly great water supplies by Latin American, and really, everywhere but US and maybe Japanese standards--I had great showers in Medellin. And I never got sick from Medellin tap water, unlike tap water in rural Ireland. (There was a water alert upstream from my great aunt's house and we didn't get word on the radio until it was too late for me. I had a raging case of turista on the bus to Dublin as a result. I bet you didn't expect to hear that about a trip to Ireland, did you?)

However, even the nice suburbs of Medellin run out of hot water pretty fast, which the shower at my godfather's house in an upscale suburb of North Carolina doesn't do.

The other thing I noticed this weekend was electricity. The power went out twice in less than three days in Sincelejo, and went out almost all night once in Cartagena when a transformer blew out, which is unusual. I went around turning off lights in empty rooms at my cousins' house with particular fervor this weekend.

And I thought a lot about the oddity of driving an air-conditioned rental car with fake-leather seats and power everything two days after watching the occasional horse-drawn cart along side the Renaults and diesel trucks filling Medellin's autopistas.

Goin' to the zoo, zoo, zoo

Leidi and I went to the zoo today. I figured even if it was a cheesy zoo, it would probably have animals not common in U.S. zoos, and really just a spot of green and some local wildlife seemed like a nice change of pace from city and museums. Leidi was really fired up to go--she told me she loves the zoo but not many Spanish students want to go, so she doesn't get there very often.

Getting there was a bit of a challenge. Originally we were going right after lunch, but then the teenage man of the house had something for Leidi to do, so she couldn´t leave until 4 p.m. So we had to find the zoo in the phone book to see how late it would stay open. Dear Leidi is not too strong on spelling, although she likes to read, so she was looking for the zoo under the letter S. Oops. And then it took me a few tries to get her in the Zs because I forgot the word in Spanish for Z is zeta and kept saying zed. LOL. We were a hell of a great pair, I'll tell ya.

Well, Leidi got through to the zoo and it appeared to stay open late enough to make it worth going. I suggested a taxi but she said no, we can take the bus. I said, OK, I'm afraid of taking the bus by myself because I don't know my way around but if you're coming we can take the bus. So we took the bus and we got lost. I think we ended up in San Antonio but I'm still not too sure. Someplace downtownish with lots of stores and concrete and loud music playing that I almost mistook for a live concert or something.

I said, 'Leidi, how bout a taxi?'

She started freaking out. 'It's more expensive from here and I don't have the money.'

'I have money,' I said. 'Come on!'

So we got a taxi--that one had a very friendly driver who tried out his miniscule English for fun--but I'll tell you going through Medellín afternoon rush hour in something lower to the ground than a bus was the second-worst driving experience here, or maybe the third. (I forgot to mention our drunk taxi driver on Friday night, but he didn't actually worry me as much as the guy tonight did, probably because even drunk off his ass he still got us there with a minimum of fuss.)

The owner asked me to get off the Internet, so that's it for now. Zoo part two.

¡Felíz Cumpleanos!

The live vallenato band is thumping and grinding (organ-grinding, that is) at a cheerful and volumious level two flights down here in the backpacker hostel I'm crashing in for two nights. I couldn't take it in the suburbs any more, so I booked a room at the Palm Tree Hostel in Medellín proper. Here it is:

http://www.palmtreemedellin.com/

Somebody´s niece is having her 18th birthday tonight, so there´s a band and an incredible amount of grilled meat piled up. Hostal guests are invited to join the party for 10,000 pesos, but I'm not hungry right now and not entirely sure I'm ready to party in español with total strangers. I did meet one of the other guests earlier when I was checking out the festivities--she's from Seattle and working on her master's in public health. For those who are curious, we spoke quite a bit in Spanish, and then one of the aunts of the birthday girl joined us for a little bailar (dancing) up here on the top floor by the computer.

Getting here verged on my worst nightmare about traveling solo in Colombia, but gracias a Dios, everything turned out fine. Taxis are muy interesante here, to say the least. First of all it's worth your life to drive in the traffic, and the back seats of taxis mostly don't have seatbelts. I would say my Spanish is good enough to chat up taxi drivers a bit, but not good enough to get out of trouble if they don't know where they're going. Let's just say that has put a bit of a damper on my ability to take in Medellín nightlife.

So tonight I took my very first solo taxi ride at night. Leidi, the maid out in Envigado, called the taxi. I tried to give the driver the Palm Tree's street address but he didn´t pay attention to the A in Calle 52A and just made like he knew where he was going. He didn't. I spent 10,000 pesos and my blood pressure went through the roof during our tour of some shady-looking neighborhoods, during which I was beginning to wonder if he was lost, running up the meter, or planning to mug me or worse, especially when we appeared to be hitting a dead end in one of the shady backstreets. In the end, I think he was just lost, but it was enough to make me quite nervous. Finally we passed a Metro station and I said '¡dejame por favor!' which I hoped meant Let me out! Whatever it meant, it worked. The guy told me the station was Estadio but when I got inside I discovered it was Poblado, which isn´t even on the same line. I was just grateful to be out of the cab, even if it meant hauling my now rather heavy suitcase a few blocks.

So then I got here and walked into a fiesta muy grande. And I have a room on the first floor right in the middle of the action. And I'm supposed to be back at that same Poblado station at 7:45 a.m. to go to a colegio (school). Whee!

Medellín

To see a bit of Medellín, check out this link:

http://www.abel-art.com/medellin/

I´m writing this from the Internet café at the Hotel Nutibara in downtown Medellín. Once the fanciest hotel in town, I'm told, its elegance may be a little faded, but it is a great spot to take a load off after lots of walking and window-shopping downtown. Here it is:

http://www.hotelnutibara.com/sitioweb/hotel.php

I keep getting lost here in downtown. Somehow I'm not following the Lonely Planet map's orientation. I keep having to ask directions which is always an adventure since I'm never too clear how well I understood whatever was said. A very nice older gentleman walked me here to the hotel when it was all of about two and a half blocks away. I'm sure he could tell I was pretty disoriented and that just telling me directions wasn't going to penetrate my language barrier.

Things I´m loving about Medellín: climate (perfect!), scenery (spectacular!), potable water (in plenty, and even a hot shower in my suburban apartment), the Metro (newer, nicer and cleaner than any US public transit system I've ever been on), the vast majority of people I've encountered (friendly and helpful), the play I went to last night, which starred one of my Spanish teachers.

Things I´m not loving about the experience, none of which are Medellín's fault, most of which have to do with my lodgings, which were arranged by the Nueva Lengua language school. NB: I have two teachers at the school, both of whom are female--my first female Spanish teachers, gracias a Dios--both of whom are good, and both of whom are interesting people who extend themselves beyond the classroom. For that, I'm very grateful to Nueva Lengua.

But I wouldn't recommend the school unless you're someone who wants to stay in the suburbs. They put their students up in Envigado, which is a middle to upper-middle class suburb of the city. It is close to the Zona Rosa, aka party central, and to lots of great shopping, but our lodging is not that close to the Metro and taxis don't know where it is. So if you came with the idea of exploring the city, it's not so fun. And the so-called homestay is very unhomey. There is no dad, the mom is on vacation, the son is 20-something and working (selling cookies, he tells me), and we get to hang out with the maid. No disrespect intended to her, she's great and I like her a lot, but if I wanted a family homestay I could have stayed home and hung out at Dawn's house and saved a pile of cash!

It's also been more than a little weird to go from visiting country folk without mucho dinero to probably the most bustling commercial center in Colombia, and hanging out in some of its posher areas. My homestay here only confirms my observation that worldwide, it's generally the poorest people who are the most generous with their hospitality. And frankly that was so heartbreaking to be the object of for ten days straight, followed by the coldness and stinginess present in my current homestay--my fellow classmate says before I got there they weren´t feeding her enough!--it was all enough to make me cry in front of one of my teachers during class yesterday.

Viva Italia!

Saludos desde Cartagena--Greetings from Cartagena! I just finished watching the World Cup final in a little bar not far from Plaza San Pedro Claver, where I was the only female in the joint. The two guys on either side of me were Italy fans--I was quietly rooting for France until some French guy slammed an Italian. (They were playing really dirty today, IMHO, so I changed allegiance pretty fast. But the hyperactive French coach in his fancy suit was cracking me up. The Italian coach seemed much more relaxed in both dress and manner.)

This bar was great--they had a nice big but not overwhelming TV, and they turned off the sound, so we just listened to salsa while they ran up and down the field. Everybody could argue and talk and cheer. I didnt understand everything and frankly it took most of the last period for me to figure out which was France and which was Italy, but by overtime I knew what was going on. As the overtime penalty shootout was coming to a close, three other women walked in to catch the last of the action. One lady Italy fan squeezed my hand on the way out. The lone French fan got a lot of ribbing.

I had been looking forward to going to Mass at the Jesuit church today, but it didnt quite live up to my expectations. I had been told by some locals to come check out the noon Mass, where they include Afro-Caribbean drumming. Yes, they had the drum, and they had a guitar and some singers, but it was a lot less intense than I expected. And it was a lot more tourists than parishioners, was my general sense. But Padre Pacho, whom I met earlier this week, was presiding, and he recognized me when I went up for Communion. The biggest pleasant surprise was that not everyone knelt during the Eucharistic prayer. I dont mind kneeling but I used to stand up all the time and I havent for years. And I certainly didnt expect to find anyone standing up in a Latin American church. That was the biggest indicator to me that these guys are pretty darn progressive. Anyway, I heard the drum, I stood up, and Padre Pacho remembered my name. So not too bad for a city Id never seen a week ago.

ajiaco (chicken soup)

Bogota is famous for its chicken soup, served with a variety of starches in the broth plus rice and avocado on the side. At church yesterday Hernando served it with capers and sour cream. Today´s lunch in the dusty Cauzca neighborhood left off those frills, but the soup was hot and may have been even tastier on its merits than Hernando´s. But don´t tell him I said that. I told him yesterday I had tried that kind of soup last Sunday in Chicago for the first time, and of course he wanted to know afterwards which was better, Chicago or here.

"Here, of course!" I told him. I think it was even true. But I´d have to tell him he only managed to tie with the ladies from Cauzca, even though they lacked the capers. (I skipped the cream yesterday, so I can´t tell you what difference it might make.)

One of my travel companions, Myra, was teasing me about my appreciation for all the starches:
three kinds of potatoes, yucca and plantain. Plus rice on the side, which I was cleaning up at a rapid clip. "You´re gonna crash this afternoon," she warned me, thinking I´d be sleeping off my starchfest by now. But no, instead I´m telling you about it.

mucho polvo en Colombia

...or, lots of dust in Colombia. So a little boy told me today as we were walking along a dusty unpaved road in his neighborhood outside Bogota. It´s a neighborhood way up in the hills, where water arrives through rubber tubes and you have to pay off someone to get access to it twice a week, if you´re lucky. (Other neighborhoods even worse off may only get water for an hour a week.)

Yet business appears to be booming. There certainly are plenty of houses and lots for sale. Only trouble is, it´s virtually impossible to get real title to the land, so you can pay someone for it, receive a piece of paper for your trouble, and then be told a week later by someone else, probably armed, that it´s their house, not yours, so adios.

I´ve drunk a bottle of water and still can´t get the dust out of my throat.

Change of Topic Ahead

Warning to all readers: I'm leaving for Colombia this Thursday and will be out of the neighborhood for much of July. So Marshfield Tattler may take a brief spell as a travel blog, but I won't be getting out of my hammock in Cartagena just to write a post!

So expect fewer posts and all of them on faraway topics for the next three weeks.

Mr. Worrisome Butts In

Next door, that is. Dawn's dad was out with her brothers putting in a new walk from the front steps to the sidewalk on Sunday night. Her mom was watching and so was she.

Mr. Worrisome had to butt in and be annoying. He kept asking me to translate questions and comments to Dawn's dad, like "wow, it's getting beautifuller and beautifuller." He wanted to know why they were putting sand under the bricks. He wanted to know how much the bricks cost. He wanted a drink of the juice they gave me. He thought it was mine. I wouldn't give him a drink out of my glass if he were dying of thirst--I don't know what I would catch.

He only stopped bothering me long enough to ask the time of a nice-looking younger African-American lady who had the misfortune to walk down the sidewalk in his view. She wisely said, "I don't know," and kept on going despite his next effort to engage in conversation.

He also had to bring his dad out of the house to tell them to turn their music down. The family informed me that they don't do that when Joey is playing rap--only when they are playing Mexican music. I grant it was up pretty loud next to the senior Worrisome's room, and I'm not getting into anybody's racial/ethnic music wars. I told Dawn's mom I bought earplugs last summer because it was that or call the police at 2 a.m.

But meanwhile, Dawn's family's front yard is looking nice. They took out the mulberry tree because Dawn's mom didn't like all the squashed berries lying around, and they put in a little pine tree instead. It'll get big. They planted grass seed, which is coming up fast, and they are putting in a brick walkway in the front and eventually to the side. Dawn's dad has ideas about a higher wrought-iron fence on the Worrisome side. I should have said let's go in together on a wooden privacy fence over there. I like Mr. Worrisome's sister and her daughter, and his mom and dad seem fine, but he's annoying and some other guy over there is downright creepy (that's the one I think is actually the sex offender in that house--see earlier post. Mr. Worrisome himself just wishes he were a sex offender, I suspect.)

Anyway, Mr. Worrisome became so annoying that I went in the house and got Joey to do his writing homework. So he was a force for good despite himself.

Sacred Music of All Stripes

Saturday afternoon two of the workers at Su Casa got married at the little Baptist church just south of the house, on 51st St. The Lutheran wedding featured a Baptist gospel choir, a Church of the Brethren violinist (Yeah, Becky!), and plenty of Catholics in the audience. (At least one of us took Communion--don't tell the pope! Yours truly may have been the only one, but maybe not.)

Afterwards there was a reception in the Su Casa garden. The day was perfect--clear, not too hot and not too cold. Liz looked fabulous in her dress and Mark got in a beige suit for the occasion. I'm sure there's a more high-fashion word for the color of that suit but it escapes me at the moment.

Meanwhile, over on Paulina at the church next to Big Picture, they had a live, sanctified salsa band switching off with some singers from Bishop Arthur Brazier's Apostolic Church of God in Woodlawn. I saw one of the Chavez ladies sitting in the sunshine. It was pretty much their block party--tables of food, a moonwalk, street blocked off and live music. I could not get over the sanctified salsa--I couldn't make out all the words but when they got into the hallelujahs with the tick-tick-tick, tick-tick-tick clave beat going, I was cracking up.

Playtime, First Aid & Errands

Busy night last night--I got off my bike and the kids next door wanted me to run races with them. First, we had ice cream.

Eddie asked me what flavor I like. Coffee, I said. "That's cool!" he said with great enthusiasm. "I like vanilla and strawberry!" We played rock/paper/scissors with our free hands while eating ice cream cones. They use a different order, though. They call "Paper! Scissors! Rock!"

Then we ran races down the sidewalk and played hide and seek. We were joined by a litte girl from across the street--that's a nice family I haven't met yet, but her dad and I smiled at each other from across the street. Her brother couldn't come because he's too small to cross the street by himself.

The oldest girl on the first floor south of me had a nasty bruise on her hand--her little brother hit her (he must have hit her with a stick or something, and I think by accident). I was worried she sprained her finger. We need a first-aid class in Spanish for the moms. Her hand was bound up in a ribbon (I think that's bad)--the second floor neighbor put a hot cream on it (something from Mexico--I don't know if it was like Ben-Gay or worse), and then she was massaging the kid's hand. The poor girl was crying in pain.

I suggested ice and her mother went in and came back out with some ice cubes in a bowl, and put her daughter's hand right in it. She started crying again, no surprise.

"No, no," I said. "Voy a volver." (I'm coming back.) I went in my house and got a clean dish towel, wet it a little and put the ice in that. Then I went back and told the girl to just rest her hand on the cloth and when it got too cold, take it away, and when her hand got too hot or too painful, put it back.

I tried to convince the other neighbor not to massage her hand but I don't know if the message got through. Fortunately I heard later they were going to take her to the doctor. I don't know if that meant they were going to go sit in the emergency room somewhere. A lot of people here can't afford doctors.

I had to excuse myself to go see if Isabel was home and make a haircut appointment. The bad news was she wasn't there, but the good news was her husband gave mer her cell number and we made an appointment for Saturday. So I'll have nice hair in time for the big Su Casa wedding on Saturday.

Last Day of School

Guess I should put up the words to "School's Out" or something like that, but in case I didn't mention sooner, Julian pulled his social studies grade from an F to a B. Whoo-hoo!

I need to find out if he's in summer school. That's for next week.

Later I'll tell y'all about watching Don Fernando (Univision talk show host) on female sexuality with Dawn and her mom. Wow.

Neighbors in the News

Dawn got the Most Improved Student award at Big Picture yesterday! Whoo-hoo! Of course, then she promptly lost the certificate. I think her mom told me she found it balled up on the floor and put it in a book to iron it out. She was annoyed--she was all set to hang it up on the wall and be proud of her daughter, but it needs a bit of repair first.

Meanwhile, Dawn's dad's company made headlines again yesterday and not for good reason. There was a fire at the factory that injured six people, including two firefighters. At least one of the six was in critical condition last night. It is possible that hazardous chemicals were involved, so I'm worried about how long it will take them to clean up and get the place working again. I don't suppose Julian, Sr. will be getting paid in the meantime.

Fr. Bruce from Holy Cross was on Channel 2 today talking about plans for the new high school in our neighborhood. The mayor has announced he's pulling money out of city TIF funds (I'll explain them another day) to build 15 new schools, including our long-awaited high school. The papers said the site will be at 35th and California, which isn't even in Back of the Yards, but apparently Fr. Bruce says the site is still not set.

Last I heard, they were talking about putting the building on the vacant lots by 51st and Ashland. Stay tuned--we may get our high school yet.

Two Storms in One House

Friends of mine called last night to inquire about the weather, since Hurricane Alberto was on its way. Of course, the latest from Reuters downgraded to a mere tropical storm:

http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/N13374198.htm

Just like my living arrangements.

The big weather news last night was that Alberto and Camille were in my house at the same time, and so was I. I don't think all three of us have been in the house at the same time in a while, maybe not since Memorial Day weekend.

Camille made dinner last night--shrimp in garlic sauce over rice, plus a salad of greens, tomato, avocado and mozzarella. "What restaurant are you working at?" I asked. "I'll be there for dinner very soon!" She "auditioned" for a restaurant gig at a new place on North Avenue. If she gets it for sure I will send all of you there.

While we were inside, Julian and a buddy of his were playing soccer out in the yard. Camille started at the thumps and bumps. "It's just the kids," I said. "No worries." They watched my bike for me and stayed out there long enough to remember I'd forgotten to put it in the basement. That's how the last one got stolen. Glad they were there this time.

Dawn's final exhibition this year

Dawn did her final exhibition for the year on Thursday morning. I came out the door and found her dad and her uncle talking to Camille, my houseguest--they had a job tip for her. I asked Dawn's dad if he was going to the exhibition and he said yes, but he was waiting for his wife. I went over without them.

Good thing--I had lost track of time and Dawn had already started. I got there and she was already getting into her report on the light bulb. She really got into that project, without much help from me. We got together on Memorial Day when she and Gladys were revising their research papers, but that was it. Dawn did a research paper, put together a booklet of drawings she did of various stages of the light bulb's development, and did a quantitative project analyzing her family's electric bill and what the charges were for.

Her presentation had fewer bells and whistles this time--she didn't have Power Point, for example--but she really did the work on her own. Her advisor said she had noticed Dawn buckling down in class and independent work time to get projects done on time, which was a change from previous quarters. I can vouch for the fact I did not come in on a white horse this quarter to pull her grade out of the fire.

Julian's presentation is Tuesday. I wonder if I can go. I'd like to but work is kicking my butt.

Long time no post

Sorry it's been so long! And there's so much to say....

Weather Report: Tropical Storm Alberto, a/k/a my roommate, delivered a surprise last month. A friend of his is relocating here from Washington, DC. She's been staying in the house since May 19 or so. For lack of a better naming scheme, let's call her Camille, more because I think the name is pretty than because of the destruction that particular hurricane wreaked, as shown here:

http://www.geocities.com/hurricanene/hurricanecamille.htm

In case you're wondering, Alberto and Camille are just friends, people. She's staying in the guest room. And her arrival forced Alberto to bring his girlfriend over for dinner a couple of nights. Now we know where he's been all that time!

Birthday party: Alberto and Camille were instrumental in helping me throw a birthday bash over Memorial Day weekend. Others deserving of major shout-outs for their help include Dawn's mom, dad and brother, and the LSC lady from Chavez who is also big in CAPS. She and Dawn's dad took over the grill. Dawn's mom made rice. Her big brother cut the lawn. And a big thanks to Su Casa for the loan of chairs, a table and the lawnmower!

We broke out the good tequila friends brought back for me from Guadalajara. On my weak stomach, it takes a village to drink a bottle of the stuff, so I'm glad real aficionados got to enjoy most of it. I just had a small taste.

The kids had a big water fight out front. My front lawn is still recovering.

Recent travels: I went to New Orleans for a conference last weekend. New Orleans is still in post-Katrina gridlock. It was shocking to see how little rebuilding has happened yet. The t-shirts said it all: "FEMA: Fix Everything My Ass;" "FEMA Evacuation Plan: Run M-F, Run"
"Meet the Fockers:" with pictures of Ray Nagin, Kathleen Blanco, Michael Brown (the FEMA guy). From what we heard at the conference, it sounds like they could have done that shirt with reps from the state and the New Orleans school board on them, too.

I did get Alberto a graduation present that wasn't any of those t-shirts. I went to a fun jazz benefit party last Saturday night at Donna's in the 7th Ward, and found a great t-shirt put out by a very Catholic Workerish group called Common Ground. They got their start last fall when a former Black Panther and New Orleans resident starting working to get doctors back in the city. Now they're doing all kinds of stuff, and they have really cool t-shirts, too:

http://www.commongroundrelief.org/

Back to neighborhood news in the next post!

Big Picture Meeting

About 75 people attended a meeting at Big Picture last night to discuss the board's plan for the school. I think a number of the most vocal people there were parents of current 8th-graders who planned to attend Big Picture. Principal Alfredo Nambo says district officials have decided the school will not be allowed to take in 9th-graders next fall, but all the current students in grades 9,10, and 11 will be allowed to stay. I think that means through graduation, but I'm not sure. At first I thought only the 11th graders would be able to stay, but last night Alfredo assured everyone that all the current students will be staying on and not have to transfer. That's a big relief.

Alfredo says the school has decided not to fight the board's decision about stopping the flow of incoming freshmen, and instead staff will concentrate their efforts on making sure all the current students are succeeding. I can't argue with that, given what I'm seeing from Julian and Dawn. Julian is not succeeding, though he told me last night he's a lot more on top of his work this quarter than he has been in the past, and I'm glad to hear that. With about a 2.5 GPA, Dawn is doing OK but not great, and she needs to do great to have a shot at real success in college. I'm also disappointed that neither of them will be participating in an organized summer program. I know how hard it is to get kids to do that, but there are students going to Colorado, Montana, and other places and I was really hoping Dawn and/or Julian would be among them. Many factors are responsible for that, including their own lack of initative and my lack of being on top of them about getting it done, but I do wish the school was also more on top of them about applications. I was really hoping Dawn would do the Lincoln Park Zoo internship but we missed the application deadline and neither her advisor nor the LTI coordinator were on top of it. (I grant the LTI person was very new in the job at that point.)

The other Big Picture is in exactly the same boat. I think CPS is having a really hard time accepting how this model of education works when its own internal thrust is largely about test scores. While I can see that the execution of the model here needs work, if CPS had its eye on the most important indicators--dropout/graduation rate and college readiness--I think it would be a lot easier to find a meeting of minds. I also can't argue that it's not expensive. It is.

I also wish I could do more directly to be of help.

More Bad News

I got home from my trip Tuesday night. As usual, something always happens right when I get home that smacks me in the face to say. "Welcome back to the hood, b---h."

On Tuesday it was the cops stopping Julian and Chava four times in five minutes. Apparently someone was spotted with a gun on the south end of the block, and the boys had the misfortune of taking 51st to walk to the store. There were cop cars all over our block around 8:30.

I was at Dawn's house watching TV with her and her mom. Dawn saw the cars and went outside. "Ama! Donde esta Julian?" she called. Her mom flipped, not surprisingly. We all went out and she took the cell phone.

We could see them coming up the block, grinning sheepishly. Fortunately, they survived three pickups and pat-downs with no confrontations. The fourth one came while we were all standing in front of the house. A police car drove down the block the wrong way, flashing that outside searchlight thing into the yard.

"I hate that light," Chava muttered. (He's seen it all too often, I'm sure.)

The cops started driving away, slowly, then backed up and told the guys to come to the car. They patted them down and another car pulled up. I remember that one had two blonde female officers.

The boys were very polite. Everything was very low-key. The cops were not confrontational; they were very professional. But I have to say I was more than a little annoyed.

However, I was very polite. "These boys live here, officers," I said. "He lives here. This is his friend."

"Oh," said a cop. They wrapped up the pat-down quickly and left. White privilege at its finest--if you've got it, share it, I always say. :-)

Chava earned points for manners later on, it must be noted. "Thanks for trying to help us with the 5-0," he said.

Last night Julian and his mom got in a shouting match. He wanted to go out; his mom wanted him to stay in and do homework and not put himself at risk of getting picked up by cops. THey fought mostly in Spanish. Julian tried to enlist my aid by repeating himself in English, "It's five weeks til the end of the semester, right?"

"Yes," I said evenly, "but you need to be doing the work now." He stopped talking to me.

Teenage boys are just hard. I wish I knew how to help, but I really don't.

Really Bad News

The Big Picture High School in Back of the Yards is being threatened with closure. The Board of Education has told the school not to accept new freshmen for next fall. I'm told the current juniors will be able to stay and graduate in June of 07, but there's no word yet about what happens to the sophomores and freshmen, including Dawn and Julian.

My friend Mike Klonsky went ballistic over this on his blog, sparing me from having to do it here. Here's the link:
http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-6z6IhP08cqXp9kfshYQPv87gCfJyFg--

There's a meeting tonight at 6 at the school for parents and community to strategize.

I will tell you all that at the Neighborhood Housing Services board meeting last night I did not hear resounding support for saving Big Picture. The Peace and Education Coalition is focused on getting a new high school building in the neighborhood with enough space to serve a lot of kids, and frankly Big Picture has not been involved in the Coalition, so it hasn't won their backing. They've never been to a meeting, I've been told.

What I heard was a lot of griping--they don't serve many kids, how many of them are from the neighborhood anyway? (the first class had a lot from Little Village, which I think left a bad taste in some people's mouths) all the schools here need help, we need a real high school in here, etc. etc.

I tried to be sympathetic (and we do need a real high school, that will serve more kids--but it needs to be done right or it won't serve them well), but finally I told everyone in that room straight out: "My concern here is for the 80 kids in that building right now, especially for the two of them who live next door to me. If the school closes, what happens to them?"

One person said: "They'll transfer." Yes, probably to Richards, one of the worst high schools in the city. Great.

Another person said, more thoughtfully, "Probably if they have to transfer, a lot of them will drop out." Bingo.

I think I'm gearing up to pay tuition for Dawn to go to Our Lady of Tepeyac in Little Village. I don't know what to do about Julian. Frankly, I'm tempted to tell him to just goof around at Richards until he can drop out and go to Second Chance, where he might get some education. Ouch.

DC Dispatch

This morning at the Senate's Dirksen building, the 8th-grade class from San Miguel School had coffee with Senators Dick Durbin and Barack Obama. I know because I was there.

I'm in DC for my sister's wedding, but had time this morning to go to the Illinois senators' weekly constituent coffee. When I walked in the door, I spotted one of the San Miguel teachers immediately. So funny! Last week a friend of mine told me there is a phrase for "small world" in Spanish which literally translates, "the world is a handkerchief."

There were at least five different school groups there, and one student from each group got to ask a question. One of the girls from San Miguel asked: "What will the final version of the immigration bill that comes out of the Senate look like?"

Dick Durbin took the question and said that it will have provisions for border enforcement, a path to citizenship (but a long and an arduous one, that not everybody will be able to complete), and that the version right now includes the DREAM Act, which would open opportunites for legal status for young people who finish high school, pass a criminal background check, and go to college or serve in the military.

Durbin also took a moment to talk up San Miguel. "I know that school. It's an excellent school in Back of the Yards. You are all lucky to be there." No foolin'. San Miguel in the house!! (Excuse me, make that San Miguel in the Senate!)

Lawn Care Follies

Who knew lawn care had racial politics? (Well, anyone who watched the movie "A Day without a Mexican," but these racial politics didn't make it into that movie.)

Here's the politics of lawn care in my 'hood, racial or otherwise: I hired Junior's dad to do my lawn. As I suspected, I didn't understand the full implications of what I had done because I don't speak Spanish well enough to understand what I got into. So I found out tonight that I hired him for the season to take care of getting my yard and garden together.

But I didn't know I had done this on Sunday, when Mr. Worrisome and his brother showed up with a bunch of rolls of sod and tried to sell me some. They actually succeeded in selling me a few rolls.

"How much?" I asked Mr. W.
"A dollar seventy-five," he said.
"So, three for seven?" I said. (I was just ballparking and I knew it was a low-ball estimate.)
Mr. W's math isn't that great, or he just wanted to unload them. "Sure."

Later, Julian told me I could have gotten them for a dollar apiece from his uncle or cousin or something.

"I'm gonna marry you in two years," Mr. Worrisome informed me, once I had agreed to buy his sod. "We're going to Paris. You speak French?"

"Jai oubliee tout le francais," I told him. "That means, 'I forgot all the French.'"

"Guess I won't marry you, then," he said.

(Whew! I thought. That was easy.)

Mr Worrisome was all pissy about the fact he had tried to sell his crappy-ass, dried-out, yellow-grassed sod to Dawn's family, but they said no. "They have a relative who's in the business," I told him. It sort of shut him up.

Anyway, I spent seven bucks and they gave me four or five rolls, I think (more than I was expecting). We laid them on the bare spot in the front yard. "I'd rather just put down seed," I thought to myself.

"Some water and fertilizer, and they'll be green in no time," said Mr. W. Fat chance, I thought to myself.

So last night around midnight I was out in the yard and Julian and his mom were out. Julian wanted to know why I bought that crappy sod, so I explained as best I could, in Spanish for his and his mom's benefit. They informed me that they heard Mr. W is the child molester in that house. (Remember I said there was a sex offender in that house? I think it's not him, though--I think it's his even creepier brother or cousin or something.) Anyway, they got it that I was basically buying my way out of hassle from Mr. W.

However, tonight I had to explain the whole thing over again to Junior's parents. Rosa came over with Junior and Fernando to tell me that her husband had put out seed in the front yard and the sod on top of it would ruin it. So that's how I found out I have full-service lawn care for the entire season.

I had been hoping for a reason to get rid of that sod, so once Rosa gave it to me, I was ready to go. "Well, I'll throw it out then," I said, gesturing to show taking the sod to the garbage. I started rolling it up and spotted some earthworms on the backside, so I stopped and pulled one off and threw it back in my own grass. Rosa was so grossed out she had to turn her back and walk out of the yard! We were all laughing, even Daya's grandmother, a very serious-looking Mexican lady.

Marisol saved the sod from certain death. She was out with Daya and with her in-laws, who are here for the first time ever from a little town outside Guanajuato. Fernando, Danny and Oscar wanted to help move the sod. So between all of us (mostly me and Marisol) we got it over to her yard and rolled it out. Then her father-in-law got out the hose and started soaking it down. He looked like he was happy to have a project.

So now the sod has a home, my seed will sprout, and Mr. Worrisome got paid. A happy ending all around. Who says we can't all just get along?

Tech troubles

OK, guys, I don't know why the main content is publishing so far down the page, and I've tried a few things to fix it that haven't worked (fiddled with settings, tried republishing the blog changing something from floating to fixed). Anway, if any tech geeks or fellow Bloggers have better ideas for me, I'm open.

Junior Reads!

Last night, for once, I got home early enough to hang out with Junior and Oscar. I got home about quarter of eight--so nice that it was still light out and had stopped raining and being cloudy! I invted them over, thenswigged down some OJ and ate some cold black beans with salt straight out of the Tupperware so I wouldn't starve while kicking around a soccer ball.

Fernando didn't have the best luck getting friends to come along. He tried Daniel but either he didn't want to or his mom wouldn't let him because it was late. Then he tried to get the boys down the block to come play but they weren't home. "Aren't they at Gage Park tonight?" I asked, having seen them play on Joey's team in the Park District league.

"Oh, yeah!" said Fernando.

"Why don't you play on that team?" I asked him. He said he used to play, but they lost a lot so he stopped.

Fernando had a lot of great questions for me last night, but we kept getting distracted so I never even really tried to answer them. "Why do the black people hate Mexicans? They want us to go back to Mexico. Even white people say that a lot of times," he observed.

I got as far as "some people are afraid that Mexican people who come to this country will take away jobs for people who are born here, or will work for less money than somebody born here would make," and then..

Oscar said, "I'm thirsty!"

And I said, "Want some orange juice?"

And he said, "Yeah!" and we went back in the house. I'll have to try again with Fernando some other time, maybe when his little brother isn't interrupting.

Oscar wanted to draw, so I got out some paper and my nice pastels. Fernando found my copy of Shel Silverstein's "A Light in the Attic."

"I know that book," he said. "Can I read it?"

"Sure," I replied. "Let's read it together."

So we read the poem about General Gore and General Clay who almost went to the beach instead of fighting their war, but bailed on the beach trip and killed each other instead. Fernando likes that one. He can read it pretty well. We did partner reading for fluency and he didn't even know.

Then I gave a dramatic reading of my favorite poem in there, "Sarah Cynthia Silvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out." Oscar laughed at it, too.

Fernando wanted to borrow the book, so I loaned it to him. I'm going to get him "A Light in the Attic" for his birthday, which is next week, so we'll each have one in our respective houses.

Rosa came and got them around 8:30 because they had to take baths before bed and before school tomorrow.

CAPS & Research Link

I just found a link to the UIC study on immigration and its economic effects in Chicago:

http://www.uic.edu/cuppa/uicued/npublications/recent/undocimmigrants.htm

By the way, in unrelated news--last night's CAPS meeting was attended by three people. No drama there. I heard there was a non-fatal shooting last Thursday night and the police recovered the van from which the shots were fired. The sergeant tells me they are pretty sure who did it, but because it was gang-related the victim will not be wiling to testify so they are just waiting for the next wave of retaliations before they can arrest anyone. Nasty.

What to Do

OK, guys, not to turn this into a political blog, but after reading a lot of uninformed or badly informed posts at Gaper's Block and the Chicago Tribune (Eric Zorn's blog and comments), I have found exactly one post that gets at the real issue with immigration. It's from someone with the handle kds:

>Everyday, I work with individuals who are in the process of immigrating to this country legally. >It is an expensive and time consuming process, with artificial quotas that make it extremely >difficult for individuals from certain countries to be able to work here or gain permanent >residency through legitimate channels. I think the only way we can stem illegal immigration, is >to increase the availability of legitimate immigration into this country. Create laws that more >readily allow workers from Latin America (and the rest of the world) to enter the U.S. to work >and then strictly enforce deportation laws against those who are here illegally.

I would add that in the Mexican case we exacerbate the immediate problem by promoting free trade through NAFTA which has had the short-term effect of destroying local agriculture, leaving small farmers broke. (Think the 80s farm crisis here when people were shooting themselves. Then imagine living somewhere where you can't get a job at McDonald's or the gas station because there isn't one.) My economist friend who is smarter than I am says it will take 50 years for Latin America to develop economies strong enough to discourage economic migration. So what will we do in the meantime?

The net economic gain or loss from illegal immigrants to this country is hotly disputed. Someone on Gaper's Block pointed to the Center for Immigration Studies www.cis.org, which describes itself as "pro-immigrant, low-immigration vision which seeks fewer immigrants but a warmer welcome for those admitted." Apparently their stats say that illegal immigration is an economic loss for the country, but they count children of illegal immigrants, who are U.S. citizens, as part of the cost, which I think is at least debatable.

Last night on TV I saw UIC expert Nik Theodore quoted as saying his research indicates illegal immigrants are a net gain for the state of Illinois. Many people complain about illegals who don't pay taxes, but more do than I think is commonly acknowledged, frankly because many are working using fake Social Security cards, which means they pay into the system and take out nothing. (Not that I think using a fake SSN is so great, but that's what happens when it is done.) What is also well known is that illegal immigrants are much less likely then U.S. citizens of similar income to use social services like Medicaid, food stamps, etc. The one place where I would agree they are a cost is on medical services for the uninsured, but since we can't seem to insure 44 million people in this country, if 12 million of them are all the illegal immigrants we've got, I think there's a bigger problem than immigration at work on access to medical care.

For an on the ground perspective, there is no question in my mind that illegal immigrants are a net asset in my neighborhood. Most of the people standing on the corner selling drugs, pimping and prostituting themselves publicly on my block are U.S. citizens. Most of the people who keep their kids in the house and work jobs are not. (There are exceptions on both sides, but I'm calling it like I see it here.) And I'll save my post about what's going on with the U.S. citizens in my hood for another day.

Anyway, I'm spouting today, but here's my take in a nutshell. The U.S. has a big red tape problem with what legal immigration is and how to do it. The problem is, as often has been true in the past, we have country quotas that don't correspond to where the demand to get here is coming from. And because the high demand is from people with darker skins, we don't want to change the quotas, except maybe when they hold a master's degree in computer science,but I think we don't even have enough H-1 visas to satisfy the demand for highly-skilled workers, right? Anyway, we do a fine job of creating economic conditions around the globe that make it much more difficult for people to earn a good living in their home countries, then we act all pissy when they want to come here and make a better life for their children, just as people have been doing in this country for two hundred years and more. That doesn't seem fair to me.

I see nothing wrong with the McCain-Kennedy plan to give people who have been here for years a way to legalize themselves. They go to the end of the line to get a green card, they don't butt in front of people who made it through the red tape maze legally, they learn English, they pay a fine. Who among us has not paid a speeding or a parking ticket in their lifetime? Let that person cast the first stone about illegal immigration.

And I really support the DREAM Act, which would make it possible for illegal immigrants who arrived here as children, like Dawn, Joey, Danny, Junior, Oscar, Julian, probably Chava, and most of the kids you've read about on this blog, to get financial aid to go to college and to apply for legal status once they've completed two years. If we don't do something to make it possible for young kids who were brought here from Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador and other countries to make a life for themselves in the U.S., we're creating a generation of gangbangers with no future. We're wasting a ton of intellectual potential. And don't talk to me about deporting them. They grew up here. As one other smart poster somewhere said this morning, "They're more American than any immigrant will ever be."

La Segunda Marcha

Around 12:30 this afternoon, a bunch of us here at my office were staring out the window, craning our necks northward to Jackson Boulevard, where the street was blocked off and a motorcade of unmarked police cars was leading today's march for immigrant rights. The crowd was still coming, three hours later.

If that wasn't half a million people, I'll eat my sombrero.

I took my lunch hour to go out and see the crowd. There was a large contingent of organized Muslims, with placards saying "Unite Families" on one side and "Muslims Support the American Dream" on the other. I also spotted Korean drummers, Irish and Polish contingents carrying flags, a couple of my Catholic Worker pals on bicycles, Fr. Bruce and Sister Angie from Holy Cross, and some friends with kids at Pierce Elementary on the North Side, where 150 kids and parents took off. (And that is a pretty muticultural school.)

Last night I was walking down 47th Street and saw lots of signs in the windows announcing stores would be closed today to honor the marchers and their efforts. When I got home, Julian and Chava were out on the front porch next door. They said they were going today. I was so sad to see so many friends but not run into my neighbors. Well, even my luck running into people at demonstrations could run out in a crowd of half a million.

Some more sights: t-shirts with an Uncle Sam-style fist and finger pointing, but words that said: "Hey, Pilgrim! Who you calling illegal!"

A Mexican-American guy taking pictures with his cell phone at the corner of Jackson and Michigan. "Since this whole thing came up, I've been taking some crap at work, but I just tell the guys, 'I'm a Buckeye from Ohio, born and bred,'" he told me. He was surprised I knew enough Spanish to explain "Si se puede" to another bystander.

People chanting the "USA! USA!" cheer. It's the first time ever I've been psyched about cheering "USA" --usually those folks are morons at football games or something.

A few signs saying: "The giant wasn't sleeping, the giant was working," in both English and Spanish.

Cops

Two cop incidents last night:

I was walking down Marshfield after the NHS board meeting and saw a couple of cop cars sitting north of the viaduct. Our sergeant was out of his car, parked on 48th, and was standing talking to an officer in his car, parked on Marshfield.

I went by and said hello, thinking, "How nice to see a cop I know out on the beat and not harassing anybody."

About 90 minutes later, around 8:30, Dawn called me and asked if she could come over. I went out and opened the front gate. It turned out Julian and his buddy Chava had been stopped by the cops just a few minutes earlier. There was a report of a shooting on Paulina, I think--we weren't sure--and the cops went out stopping every young man within a few blocks of the incident. They made a mess out of Julian's bike--knocked the tire and tube off his back wheel and we don't know why. At least they didn't rough up the boys or take them to jail.

Which reminds me--Tony stopped by Sunday night while we were eating hamburgers, and told me he had been picked up by cops and held for 72 hours because he doesn't have any ID. They can hold someone that long while checking their fingerprints to see if they have any outstanding warrants. He didn't. He says the last thing on him was the order of protection, which expired a year ago and which his "baby mama" (for lack of a better description) did not renew.

Burgers & Back Yard

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a back yard. About ten days ago, Fernando and Rosa and their boys showed up on my doorstep--I think it was Thursday night before last--and announced, "We're doing your yard this weekend."

"OK," I said. "I'm going out of town, but you go for it."

We went out back, and I explained that we needed to take out the big rocks, level the ground and roll sod. Sr. asked if I wanted to leave a couple of strips open to garden in and I said yes. So we left open the area where I planted sunflowers last year and a strip alongside the house to the north, where I'll plant sunflowers this year. I'm also getting containers from a friend so I can grow vegetables this summer in lead-free soil.

So I went away for Easter weekend, and when I got back Monday night my yard was level but the sod hadn't been rolled. It went down last Tuesday night. We've been watering like crazy ever since. Dawn and her brother and his friend Chava have been pitching in when I worked late and was too tired to do it myself. I did water Saturday morning and saw three guys staring at me from across the street. I kept wondering if they thought it was weird to see me water my own grass, or if they thought it was too late in the morning (around 11) or if they were just bored and I was their entertainment. Oh, well.

By Sunday night Fernando Sr. said it was OK for people to walk on the grass. So I let Joey and School Lady and her daughters come over. I made hamburgers (on the stove, not the grill--I was too tired to drag the grill out of the cellar), and Joey and the girls played soccer and chased each other around on the grass. Joey rolled around on it a little--I think maybe Sophie did too--the other girls probably thought they were too old and would look unladylike.

I think School Lady has finally decided I'm OK. We're still on a usted basis--though I forget and call her tu (informal you--it's a big deal among Mexicans when they tell you 'call me tu,' which she hasn't done yet. But I mostly talk with people who say call me tu, and I'm an estadounidensa/United Statesian, so I forget the formal distinction a lot). But at the end of the hamburger/lawn party, she came up and touched my elbow and told me if I need help putting my birthday party together to let her know.

The yard feels great--it's so nice to be able to walk around back there and not worry about breaking an ankle in a hole or tripping on a rock! And walking on new sod is like stepping on plush carpet--so fun to run around on. I haven't had time to lie down in the grass in my backyard, but I'm looking forward to doing it before it gets matted down or dries out. Whoopee!

Report Cards

Last night I got home about 9 p.m. and hadn't eaten dinner. Marisol and Daya were on the step next door and said hi. I said hi and went in the house. I had barely washed my hands and was about to eat a piece of gefilte fish straight out of the jar from starvation when the doorbell rang.

I figured it was one of the Tonys looking for a thinly disguised handout, and I was mad. The bell rang again. "Hold on!" I shouted grumpily.

But when I got to the door, it was Marisol, holding a styrofoam plate with two tacos on it. "Oh wow, Marisol, that's so nice!" I said. "I'm so hungry--I haven't had dinner yet. Thank you!"

I think I must have scared her with the initial shout, because she just said good night and vanished immediately. I was so happy not to have to fix dinner I broke into Alberto's brand-new six-pack of ale and took a beer out with me on the step for dinner. (Alberto has apparently swigged most of a large bottle of rum left over from my Christmas party, so I feel pretty justified in swiping a brewski.)

Anyway, they waved from next door but went in to bed pretty soon afterwards. Meanwhile, Dawn and Joey came by while I was still eating. We started talking about report cards and Joey went home to get their and their big brother Julian's.

Let's start with the good news. Dawn's GPA looks like it's about a 2.5 or a little higher. She only has a D in algebra, and she had a C in something else, and the rest were Bs with one A. However, given that the Consortium on Chicago School Research released a report yesterday that says a kid in CPS needs a 3.0 to have any real hope of going to college and making it through, we've got work to do.

The bad news is Julian is not looking like a candidate to beat the stats. Only about 3 percent of the African American and Latino boys who start high school in CPS ever make it to their college diplomas. And an older Consortium study indicates kids who flunk more than two core courses in their first semester are very likely to drop out of high school. Julian had three core Fs and five Fs overall. I knew it would be bad but I didn't think it would be that bad.

Julian and I hung out watering the lawn at 10:30 last night, talking about his grades and what he might be able to do to make up at least some of the work before summer, among other things. He's a nice boy, not sullen or hard, and not stupid-he got a C in algebra without trying-but getting him to do schoolwork is like pulling teeth. He says the after school study period they've forced him to attend is helping him make up some of his first semester work.

Meanwhile, Joey's grades have slipped, too. I don't have the time and energy to do the work all three of them need. We have to get Joey into a more responsive school and that is 18 months away at the soonest.

LSC Election Results

I rode my bike to work this morning, and rode up to the front window at Chavez, where the LSC election results were posted. I did vote in that election, but I missed the high school election at Richards yesterday.

The candidates at Chavez were roughly divided into two slates. The incumbents basically beat out the challengers, including School Lady and her friend who calls me "maestra" on the street.

From talking with people on both sides, I gathered that the challengers weren't too happy with the guy who has been selected to succeed retiring principal Sandy Traback. A big concern, they say, is that he isn't tough enough on discipline. (I'm guessing his youthful appearance might be part of the issue--I remember when I taught desperately wishing I looked older in hopes that would give me a little edge.) Meanwhile, the incumbents and school administration perceived the challengers as just a bunch of nay-sayers who don't really understand the issues invovled in running a school.

To tell you the truth, I split my ticket and voted in favor of two incumbents and two challengers, mostly on the basis of how much I liked them personally. However, as is often the case, the people have spoken in favor of the status quo. Let's hope that was a good thing.

Spring Break Party

My neighbors to the south had a party on Monday night to celebrate spring break and the first really warm night of 2006. I got home around 9 and there were lots of little kids swarming around in the front yard next door and a few grownups settled around the card table with the remains of dinner on it.

"Sorry. We ate already," Herman from the second floor told me. I was sorry to miss the food but I wasn't hungry.

While we were chatting, Tony from Logan Square came by. "You're hard to find," he told me.

"Looking for work?" I asked.

"Looking for my girlfriend," he teased me. But he was willing to settle for a job. He cleaned out my backyard and along the sidewalk.

Alicia and Santiago on the first floor have a passel of kids--I can't always remember how many they have, let alone all their names. There are at least four, maybe even five or six. But little Luis remembers me and so does his big sister. It's bugging me that I can't remember her name. They took me out back to play catch. Luis's big brother (whose name I also forgot) wanted to sing songs for me. He learned a song about English vowels in school that was very good. I should make him teach me it.

His sister taught me a sing and clap game in Spanish and I taught her "Miss Mary Mack" in English. Of course I have totally forgotten the Spanish one. She'll have to play it with me about a hundred times before it sticks.

Then Big Sister wanted to read stories. She went in the house and found a book of stories in Spanish and English. I wondered if it was from school or if Alicia got it somewhere. We read "La Oruga Muy Hambriente" together. That's "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" for those of you who have read it in English. Big Sister and I took turns reading every other page. She is a very good reader in both Spanish and English.

The grownups were pretty surprised that I could read Spanish. (I can read and pronounce it decently but frankly I don't always know what I'm saying. With "La Oruga," though, I did, between the pictures and my vague memories of reading it in English as a kid.) I heard a couple of them saying, "hey, she's pretty good!"

The funniest part was when Santiago came up to me and asked me in Spanish, "How come you talk to me in English if you know Spanish?" I answered in Spansih, "Because you always talk to me in English. If you talk to me in English, I'll talk English to you. If you talk to me in Spanish, I'll talk Spanish." We laughed.

Clandestine CAPS meeting

Apparently some folks showed up at the last CAPS meeting who may have come to get information to feed back to local gangbangers about who is giving the police information. I wasn't there. Someone called me and asked if I would come to a special meeting with the sergeant to give him the real poop. I went.

I'm not going to give any details, except to say the sergeant said, "It was really weird when you all stopped talking at the other meeting. I thought, 'I've been coming to these meetings for two years and they never run out of things to say.'"

We may have to continue holding parallel meetings until the nefarious element quits coming, I've been advised. The sergeant suggested writing stuff down.

I'm glad I wasn't at the meeting where everyone shut up. I might have been too naive to take the hint. Yikes.

Dawn's Exhibtion

Well, after all the storm und drang, Dawn's exhibition went remarkably well yesterday. She held her poise, even when she couldn't find a document or when we pressed her about points of math she didn't know very well. She could just say, "I don't know," and move on. She also managed to talk about all the things she went through this quarter with the house and how that dampened her motivation to get through her school work. She said she is learning the difference between saying you're going to do something and really doing it.

She really knew her stuff in talking about colonization and why Europeans became the colonizers and what weapons they used, including germ warfare (smallpox), to kill off indigenous Americans. She also managed to translate almost her entire report on Madagascar, which she had prepared in English, into Spanish for the presentation. She was translating her power point text on the fly and doing a very good job of it, from what I could tell and from what the bilingual teacher roped into the panel said afterwards.

The only big bummer was she didn't invite her mom. I feel guilty because I knew the night before that she hadn't invited her. I encouraged her to reconsider and asked why she hadn't. She said she didn't invite her because she knew the exhibition wouldn't be as good as it should be and she didn't want her mom riding her back any more than she already it. (Dawn feels very put-upon these days. I'm not sure whether any of it has any legitimacy or if it's all teen angst.)

Anyway, I double-checked if she wanted me to come and she said yes. Then I said, "I really think you should ask your mom." But it didn't even occur to me that I could say something to her myself. The thing is, I do feel like it's Dawn's exhibiton and I wouldn't have the right to invite someone on her behalf. So I didn't. I just hoped that my speech to her about inviting her mom would take.

It didn't. I got there and her advisor told me she literally had just found out five minutes before that Dawn hadn't asked her. I said I knew she hadn't at 10:30 last night but I told her she should and then went to bed and went to work and hadn't followed through to see if she did. Well, her advisor didn't call then. I don't know if she should have or not.

Last night I went to the house--I thought Dawn might at least have said something to her mom about it, so I said, "Muy bien hecho" (Very good work) and pointed at Dawn as soon as I walked in the door. So, the cat was out of the bag. Dawn looked surprised but not too upset. Her mom called her dad at work and told him. I got parts of the conversation but not everything. We were watching a sad TV show about two pregnant women with cancer. Both survived, but one delivered a stillborn baby because they had to give the woman chemo to keep her alive. Anyway, I spotted tears running down Dawn's mom's face and I just didn't know if it was from the show or from finding out Dawn hadn't invited her. So I felt pretty crappy, and of course I don't even know if Dawn noticed. I guess I'll have to talk to her about it.

Library Trip Scores a Foul

The good news: Dawn came over today and we got her a book on Madagascar and a book on hurricanes, so she might be able to salvage her exhibition on Thursday.

The bad news: Dawn told her boss at her internship and told me where she was going, but she didn't tell her parents or her advisor. In a move worthy of Romeo & Juliet, I called her parents looking for her this morning, thinking she had her mom's cell phone, so her parents found out she hauled off to the library without telling them. Oops.

But not totally oops, either. I was expecting Dawn this afternoon, not this morning, and I didn't really think it was a great idea for her to blow off her internship to do this. She also missed one of the exhibitions she was supposed to attend in the process.

Here's what happened. Just as I was about to do my most important interview of the day, the phone rang. It was Dawn, saying she was on her way here to go to the library. I didn't expect to hear that but I didn't have time to argue, so I said OK, come here first and we'll go over and I hung up. Then I got on the phone with my interview subject. The phone rang, and the number calling in flashed but I didn't see it. I thought it was Dawn so after I finished interviewing, I called her mom's cell phone. Her dad answered the phone. I asked if he knew where Aurora was and we had a not very clear conversation in Spanish in which I said I understood she was coming here to get books and I thought she had permission from school, which I did think at that point.

Anyway, she arrived by about 11:30 or so. I told her what happened and she started crying. She said she hadn't told her parents because they were angry at her yesterday for staying at school until 5 p.m. and not telling them where she was. She figured they wouldn't believe her if she told them her plan and they wouldn't let her. I told her I really thought more communication, not less, was the answer in this situation. Then I found out she hadn't spoken with Carolina either. I asked if she wanted to call Carolina and she said, no, she's probably in an exhibition anwyay, which I thought was probably true. Plus, Dawn was going back to school to watch a 2 p.m. exhibition.

We called her mom and told her that Dawn had been here to get books and was going back to school for her 2 p.m. exhibition that ends at 3. I hope everything went OK from here. Whew!

As we were walking back to the office from the library, I said, "Well, if you're grounded for life, at least you can do your reports."

"Yeah," she said. "Now I have somthing to read." (She did have some stuff prior to this, but I think not enough to get a good grade.) Stay tuned. Her exhibition is Thursday afternoon.

Why I hate spring

More reasons to hate spring--there were two shootings in the neighborhood last week.

I heard this from the two neighborhood principals on Friday afternoon. One of them was feeling bad because he thought at least one of them might have been prevented with better adult presence in the vicinity, I gather.

And a last hated vestige of winter--if you live in Chicago you probably saw footage last week of the fire that killed four young kids. It happened at 54th and Honore, within a mile radius of my house. I woke up Wednesday morning and saw helicopters circling overhead. We were all wondering why they were there. I thought it was another big drug bust or something.

School News

My block of South Marshfield Avenue had a lot to brag about this morning at the Chavez LSC meeting. We can boast two Students of the Month--Junior was one of them!!--and a candidate in the hotly contested election for parents on the LSC. There are 15 candidates running for 6 spots, in a city where not every school has enough parents running to fill all the seats, let alone give people choices.

Our community race, by contrast, is lackluster--as comm rep Veronica Lopez put it this morning (via my attempt at translation), "If I vote, I win." She and Fr. Ed, the current reps, are the only folks on the community ballot. I'll go vote for them just to show that there are community people paying attention. (Even if I wanted to run, I can't due to conflicts of interest with my job.)

Anyway, School Lady from down the block is running. I was surprised to see this because she spends so much time over there I thought she was a paid employee. (School employees can't run for LSC at the school where they work, even if they have children enrolled there.) So perhaps she is a volunteer. Wow.

There are clearly some factions involved and I am trying to get a feel for the landscape as quickly as possible. I will be asking the comm reps and School Lady for their opinions as to who the best parent candidates are, even though I can't vote for them.

School Lady's youngest daughter also earned Student of the Month this month. Whoo-hoo! Meanwhile, her oldest daughter is making out OK at Richards, no bad news to report, she tells me. She also tells me there is a contested race for community rep at Richards, so I'll have to go find out who's running and find out who to vote for.

Whose Homework To Do?

I'm busted. My Spanish teacher gave me a ton of homework on Monday night and I have accomplished almost none of it. (I think I wrote no more than two sentences in one of the exercises he assigned to practice the subjunctive. Not too spectacular.) I called and excused myself from class today, pleading an event I "have to" cover tonight. I'll probably stop by, but I really need to go home and help Dawn with her homework.

Last night I got a message from Dawn's teacher at Big Picture saying she had tried to find out what Aurora has to do for her science project, but she hadn't gotten farther than hearing Dawn's friend Gladys did all the work, so Dawn's not getting any credit. Dawn also has a project to do on Madagascar.

Dawn's family moved over the weekend. Someone broke in their old place while they were moving. The thief or thieves got Joey's gold necklace, a couple of cameras, the little TV Julian watches in their van, other stuff like that. Ouch. Aurora says she doesn't feel safe in the new house now, either. I know what she means. Last night they were cleaning the old place and now they are really done being there. I can hardly believe it.

This morning I went to school with Dawn and talked with her advisor and her science teacher. Her advisor scheduled her exhibition for next Thursday so we have a week to get her caught up. Thank goodness! Her teacher was very stern with her: "I did that this time because I knew the circumstances, but next time you have to be prepared. I'm not going to do this again."

I met her science teacher and got a list of all her missing assigments. I think she has only turned in one assignment this quarter, and that is one more than Julian has managed to scrape in. Great.

The science teacher is OK with Dawn doing a project on hurricanes on her own, since Gladys already finished the one they were supposedly doing together. Since Dawn already learned something about hurricanes she doesn't want to start all over this late in the game. I can see we have our work cut out for us this weekend. My poor Spanish homework may or may not get done between taxes, Dawn's quarter of missing work and anything I can do to get Julian to pull it together. Whew.

How I learned to stop worrying and love the Machine

Late last week I called one of Esther's campaign people. "What's going on?" I asked. He assured me everything was OK. I asked which precincts hadn't come in yet, and he said they were in a friendly ward (I'm sorry to say I'm unclear whether they were 3rd or 11th ward precincts). But I got off the phone with the general impression that they were precincts that would put Esther over the top.

And with one precinct left to go, here's what the Board of Election Commissioners has to say:


DEM - Rep. In Gen. Assembly, 6th
113 of 114 precincts counted
99.12%
Samuel T. Bunville 1688 15.85%
Keith B. Kysel 760 7.13%
Esther Golar 4238 39.79%
Darryl Smith 3966 37.23%

Total 10652 100.00%

Spring, my lost love

No, I'm not going to quote Eliot's opening line to The Waste Land. It's not even April yet, for starters. Besides, this less-famous line hits the mark: "Winter kept us warm, covering/Earth in forgetful snow."

Now we have the gray chilling wetness of March air above the naked earth. The bare ground reveals all the trash that stayed planted under snow for the last three months, and the March wind blows it all over the streets, sidewalks and yards.

I bet I pick up more trash in March and April than any other time of the year. And it's all sodden, muddy and prone to fall apart into soggy shards at the first touch.

When I was a little girl in Wilmington, Delaware, there would always be a day in March that was warm and wet. You could smell the earth warming up and the promise of flowers, soon, soon. Back then, I loved spring. This weekend I remembered why. I went home to visit and there were five grape hyacinths and two daffodils in my mother's front yard.

This morning, the traffic circle at Marshfield and 50th has some bulbs peeping out of the ground, but it will be weeks before they flower. Even at 48 degrees there's no promise of spring in the air. Nothing but the gray chill that lasts until May.

It's the worst season of Chicago, bar none. And nothing makes an ugly Chicago neighborhood look uglier than spring.

One Big Win, One Still in Doubt

First, not on the electoral front--Dawn's dad got his job back! He went back to work yesterday. They also won back pay for the week they were suspended from their jobs. Whoo-hoo!

And, I'm sorry to say the jury is still out on whether my pal Esther Golar gets to keep her seat.

Here's what the Sun-Times had to say a few minutes ago:

District 6 Updated: 3:38 p.m.
78.9% of precincts reporting

Darryl Smith 3,245 38.6%
Esther Golar 3,240 38.6%
Samuel Bunville 1,332 15.9%
Keith Kysel 583 6.9%

So I take it that purchasing the services of Joe from Coleman's office was too expensive. And I take it I must have misheard his turnout for Pat Bailey. Maybe he said 4400. Maybe I was high from the glue on the envelopes.

Esther's campaign manager, a nice Irish guy, assured us last night that she had it in the bag when John Daley called to tell us the 11th ward results, where she picked up over 1000 votes and trounced the opposition. The CM opined that even if the other wards were close contests, this would be enough to take her over the top. Well, there's still about a quarter of the precincts yet to come in and the 11th has failed to keep her on top. Ouch. Stay tuned.

Primary Day

Well, when I went to Richards High to vote this morning, my friend the Democratic judge told me I was about the 10th person to vote. He said about 50 percent of the eligible voters turned out in the 04 general election (that's comparable to national, right??), but as usual with a primary they expect a low turnout today. Polls close in less than half an hour.

I've decided somewhat against my better judgment to go ahead and tell you all about my experiences with Esther Golar's run to get elected to her currently appointed seat as state representative in Illinois' 6th District. Esther has been active on the Neighborhood Housing Services board, which is how I know her. When our previous state rep. Patricia Bailey, was found not to be living in the district, she was forced out and Esther was appointed to replace her. That happened since the new year, I believe. So now Esther is running for the seat.

In a boring primary, her race has been pretty live. Originally there were seven candidates, but at least three dropped out. The only ones I've heard much about besides Esther are Darryl Smith and Sam Bunville. The buzz I heard (if I recall right, so this is rumor) is that Smith is allied with Englewood activist Hal Baskin, who has run for alderman unsuccessfully a couple of times. Rumor also has it that he has ties to some less than savory groups in the hood but I think everybody slings those allegations around at election time and I don't know the truth or falsity of it at all.

Esther is the only candidate I'm aware of who has personally made an appearance in our part of the neighborhood. This is something I'm pretty concerned about because I feel like our part of the world is neglected by most of the aldermen who have pieces of it, since their main bases are to the east in Englewood, Woodlawn, etc. Esther, who doesn't speak Spanish, put in time at two Spanish-language Masses this month to be introduced to congregations where we have no idea how many voters there are. (That's true in the black churches, too, but for different reasons.) Anyway, it was clear to me from the git-go that she was my candidate in this race.

So I've been doing some volunteer work for her in my spare time--mostly stuffing and addressing envelopes. I was in the office the weekend before last during an interesting strategy session with the get-out-the-vote guy from Alderman Shirley Coleman's office. He explained that he's interested in making sure there's as high a turnout as possible in this election, even though aldermen aren't in the race this year, because high turnout means a challenger would need more signatures to get on the ballot the next time she has to run. He apparently delivered over 44,000 votes for Bailey in the previous election and was confident he could pull off the same level of support for Esther.

"Let's see how much they charge us," said one of Esther's advisors after he left. I have no idea what the price tag was for that. Esther had some backing from other pols--from being around the office I know state Senator Rickey Hendon sent some cash her way from his war chest--and a friend who checked the campaign finance database informs me she had the big bucks in this race, which didn't surprise me. For once I'm not fighting the machine.

In fact, I'll be at the campaign office tonight to watch the returns. My buddy the Dem judge, who put in more time for Esther than I did, may not be there, though. He's been up since 3 a.m. and there were some snafus getting the new balloting system to work, so he's not sure how long he'll have to stay after the polls close. Gotta say I'm not too fond of the new ballots--no privacy since they are so big and the judge watches you scan it into the machine. I just hope it read properly.

Now that I live in a ward with low turnout, I wonder how closely the alderman's office looks at the returns. Will they be able to tell a north lakefront independent moved into the ward and didn't follow the alderman's sample ballot? Probably. I wonder if that will exacerbate the trouble with getting the streetlights, garbage,, etc. It's like living in a time warp down here. But at least I don't think anybody was voting often...

Slam Dancing for Jesus

That's what we were doing at Su Casa last night. Every Sunday around 8 p.m., workers and the occasional visitor (like yours truly) get together for prayer and reflection. Sometimes it's quiet and candle-y, but last night was basically a sing-a-long.

We sang a bunch of spirituals. Stephanie has a great voice for them. Mark knows quite a repertoire and had us all going. We did a few Taize chants because they're easy. One person was rather wedded to a hymnal and the rest of us were trying to pry us out of that into whatever common songs we all knew by heart or could pick up quickly.

I learned three new ways to sing "Amazing Grace," including to the tune of "Gilligan's Island." I dare you to try it yourself. I think it also works with that great 70s hit, "Peaceful Easy Feeling," which is truly hilarious!

Former St. Francis worker Mary Kay Brennan, who was visiting (yeah!) requested "Finlandia," highly appropriate the night after the peace march in Chicago.

And we wrapped up with the big finish of "Lord of the Dance" which got Mark on his feet doing something between Irish and Russian dancing, which rapidly evolved into Mark and Stephanie slamming with the occasional assist from me, despite the tendonitis in my left foot. Hey, you can always hop on the other one!

Dawn's Dad on TV

Well, given that Dawn's dad got interviewed on cable TV yesterday (Azteca, a Spanish-language cable channel), I guess I'll out him. Juan Garcia spoke on Azteca yesterday and had his mug splashed all over Univision and the front page of this morning's Hoy (the Tribune's Spanish-language daily paper). If you see Hoy today, he's the guy on the left in the back wearing a green t-shirt and jacket and helping to hold up the banner.

Juan and his coworkers have found themselves a kick-ass lawyer, Jose Oliva, from the Interfaith Workers' Rights Center, and they held a press conference yesterday. They have a meeting with company management today, who were quoted in this morning's Hoy saying this all came from "a misunderstaning between supervisors and employees" ('un malentiendo entre supervisores y empleados." They have a meeting with management right now (started at 12:30 p.m.). Let's hope this all gets settled and everybody goes back to work.

Last night I went by the Garcia's old place (the apartment) and sat down to watch the telenovela Alborada with the missis. Juan came in later with a 12-pack of Corona and two bags of Mexican baked goodies to celebrate. They had taped the Univision afternoon broadcast so I got to see him standing in the back.

We're having dinner at my house on Saturday night, featuring Mexican-Irish chili. That would be chili with green, red and orange peppers in it! Let's hope it's a "you got your job back" celebration. Stay tuned.

More March & Fallout

The good news about the march was that somewhere between 100,000 and 500,000 people showed up. That's the police and the organizers' estimates, respectively. Usually splitting it down the middle gives you something about right, so let's say 300,000 folks showed up.

Now here's the bad news. Dawn's dad may be getting fired over it. He and all the other folks working at the factory went Friday, despite being told Thursday night that anyone who went would get the axe. No one has received official termination letters yet. It sounds like the official company staff, including Dawn's dad, may be able to stay on, but the company wants to dump the day labor folks who were working there and chose to march. The company employees are saying they won't stay unless everyone gets their jobs back. I don't know how this will shake out, but it was pretty rough sitting with Dawn and her parents on folding chairs and large buckets in their new house, with dust all over the floor and white paint drying on the walls, wondering whether they're going to be able to make the mortgage payments.

I pitched the story to a reporter friend of mine (won't say which one yet) and am trying to get to a labor lawyer. I think if the company really wants to fire them they can, but I'm hopeful that a bilingual lawyer could put the fear of God in the management and shelve the whole dispute. If any of you readers have any leads on advocates who could help, please post. I've sent an email to a buddy at the Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights, but you can imagine they are swamped with organizing stuff now and who knows when I'll get a response. Thanks for any tips.

This is what democracy looks like! Esta marcha hoy!

March Update

The English language news media in Chicago is finally catching on that this will be a big deal. My colleage and I went to the gym this morning and she saw a spot on the local news showing the route--from Union Park at Ashland and Lake, down to Jackson, then across Jackson Boulevard eastbound to Federal Plaza.

Buses are coming in from all over the Midwest. Organizers have no idea how many people will show--estimates are ranging from 50,000 to 500,000. It's a warm, sunny day, so I'd bet high.

Rosa called this morning. They're going. Junior and his bro are calling in sick to school. I bet half the kids at Chavez call in sick today. Big Picture students are allowed to leave early to go if they have a note from their parents. Dawn is supposed to call me at the office when she gets to Federal Plaza. I may jump on the Green Line at lunchtime to ride past the park and get a look at the crowd from above.

Whee!!

Persuading the Man

I can't remember if I posted this to the blog before, but for a while I've been kind of wondering what I'm doing down here in Back of the Yards. I read about the young college kids who moved into Uptown back in the 60s to organize the poor white Appalachians there to fight The Man. On the one hand, I'm not so down with the "I'm here to organize you" mentality. On the other, they had a vision of where they were going, and sometimes that's a good thing. After months of stumbling around, I was feeling like I lacked purpose.

Well, thanks to Rep. Sensenbrenner and his heinous anti-immigration bill, I no longer lack purpose in my neighborhood. Dawn called me last night to ask if I would help her write a letter to the management at her dad's factory, asking to let the workers off on Friday afternoon to attend the pro-immigration march. So she came over and we worked out a first draft together. Her dad called in the middle of it saying that the floor manager had threatened to fire anybody who didn't show up for work on Friday. She told him the story I heard from Little Village, where a group of workers volunteered to come in Saturday at regular, not overtime pay, to make up the lost time. They may hold that idea in reserve as a Plan B strategy.

Anyway, Dawn and I wrote a very polite letter in which we pointed out the bill would increase penalties on employers who hire undocumented workers (i.e. possibly hit the employers in their wallet) and requested a chance for the workers to make their views known publicly. I don't know that it will have any effect but I'm really happy to be able to lend some of my talents to a project they organized, instead of trying to get them to do something that was on my agenda.

Projections for attendance at tomorrow's rally and march are up to 100,000. I think that would be the largest demonstration here in my 16 years of residence. Stay tuned.

Suspected Drug Drop

You know, I'm a real idiot when it comes to spotting drug activity. For all the years I have spent in rough neighborhoods, I'm really not too clued in to what the guys on the corner are actually doing. I remember I was out on the West Side one day a few years ago and a young man walked up to me and said, "Blow? Blow?"

"No thanks," i said, and kept walking. Honestly, I had not the faintest notion what he was asking me. I thought maybe he wanted a blow job and couldn't figure out for the life of me why he thought I might give him one.

It took a few days for the slang to register. "Oh, blow!" I thought to myself on the bus. "Powder cocaine!! I'm a white lady so I don't want rock. Perhaps I want blow."

I have very occasionally seen money change hands, but have never actually seen the stuff out on the street. Still haven't done that, but I lurched a few steps closer last night.

Ironically, I was on my way home from Chavez Elementary, where a yellow legal paper stuck to the fence proclaimed: "CAPS Meeting Canceled." As I walked down the block south of the viaduct, I saw a huge black pickup truck blocking the street. One African American man was bent down and sticking his hand up against the door of the house like he was putting something there. Another one was on his cell phone on the sidewalk. I nearly ran into him for staring across the street (smart...not!)

"Hello," he said. Quite politely. Not in the least intimidating.

I kept walking very fast, head fixed straight ahead. Yes, I did call 911 when I got inside. Probably should have called the district tactical officers. I may yet.

Alberto told me last night he's seen that black truck around, too.

La Lucha Continua

about immigration, that is. The Archdiocese has a big campaign on to encourage elected officials to find more just solutions than building a wall on the Mexican border. They are not explicitly supporting the Kennedy-McCain bill, but pro-immingration analysts pretty much agree that that is the best proposal out there right now, from what I hear. It creates a guest worker program and provides additional visas to reunite families separated by immigration status. Here's what Ted himself has to say about his bill:

http://www.tedkennedy.com/journal/724/fighting-for-real-immigration-reform

Anyway, yesterday there were big card campaigns going on at Holy Cross and St. Joe's. Unfortunately, they weren't the most highly organized. The college kids at Holy Cross are taking over this weekend to make sure people know who their US Congressman is, and not just to send them to Luis Gutierrez, who already is on their side of the issue. I think I'll have to do this for St. Joe's because more of us probably live in Dan Lipinski's district. Someone other than me had heard about Democrats voting for the nasty Sensenbrenner bill in the house, that would build a wall and criminalize anyone who helped an undocumented immigrant. The story was that some Dems who supported the bill (Lipinski and even Jan Schakowsky-ouch!!) did so knowing it would die in the Senate and getting some Republican votes on some project of theirs in return. The nuance I picked up last night was that this vote was supposed to insulate them from right-wing heat. Well, now they've pissed off at least some of their base instead. Oops!

There's a big march on Friday, which organizers hope will be at least as big as the one last summer (see July posts). So at least 40,000 or more.

Political Doings

It's primary season in Chicago and the 6th district state rep race (mine) is hotter than most this year. Our former state rep, Patricia Bailey was forced out of the seat when it was discovered she didn't live in the district. I think I mentioned before that the person appointed to take her place is someone I know from Neighborhood Housing Services.

So, State Representative Esther Golar (D-6) has at least three challengers, none of whom I'd ever heard of before. Her campaign office is around the corner from my house, so I've been in to address envelopes, etc. While I was there Saturday, Esther herself came by in the middle of the afternoon, after a morning of door knocking. Within five minutes, she was mopping the white-tiled office floor.

"We've got to keep this looking nice," she said.

I teased her. "Esther, how many state reps do you know who mop their own office floors?"

"Not many," she said with a smile.

The Return of Mr. Married

Yep, he's back. Now he's a couple of blocks north of the train tracks. I was walking up to Holy Cross Church on Saturday when he came out of his new front door.

"Hello," he said. He looks a lot older in just a few months. That tends to happen. When bad things happen to families around here and they get poorer, they tend to move east of Ashland or south of 51st. Mr. Married y familia did the latter. He works in construction, under the table, so sometimes he has a lot of work and sometimes he doesn't. Guess he does now. They just moved in their new place a week ago, he told me.

"Where are you going?" he asked me.

"To Holy Cross. There's a party," I said.

"See you."

I plumb forgot to try to show off the Spanish I have acquired since he left. Probably just as well. And definitely just as well he's a few blocks north.

Retro Ash Wednesday

Fr. Emil said Mass this morning at St. Joe's. He's the new priest from Poland who is Mr. Miracle in our parish since he actually speaks all three languages. He's Polish, learned English, and came here straight from six months of language study in Spain, if I recall correctly.

It was a larger crowd than usual this morning, with better representation from all language sectors, and a special guest appearance by two Catholic Workers, so I even had people to sit with. The only people I expected to see and didn't were the guys from Port Ministries. My buddy Joseph was there with his sons but I didn't get to go peace him because they kept the peace so short.

Peace was short because we had imposition of ashes in addition to Communion. Here's where the retro part comes in. As a post-Vatican II Catholic, I've always received ashes from a priest who dug his thumb in the ash and then marked the sign of the cross on my forehead. Today, Fr. Emil put little mounds of ashes right around everyone's hairline. I'd never seen it done that way before.

In the office ladies' room later this morning, one of my colleagues told me that in fact that is the very old-school way ashes were imposed pre-Vatican II. But that was usually for men, since women wore veils. Women got the thumbprint cross on the forehead, men got the pile of ashes in their hair (or on their bald spot, as happened to Joseph). Now that we don't have to wear veils, I guess in Poland everybody gets them the same way.

By the way, I also got to eat an awesome kolacky, probably homemeade, in the St. Joe's rectory after 9 a.m. Mass on Sunday. For those who don't know, kolacky is the name of a Polish Fat Tuesday treat. It's basically a doughnut dusted with powdered sugar and filled with jam, often raspberry. I'm often skeptical of raspberry jam-filled doughnuts, but this jam was not too sweet and tasted like some real fruit went into it way back in the beginning of the process. If I couldn't have a beignet, a kolacky was probably the next best thing!