Over the holidays, my family and I spent a few days in Puerto Rico. A nice vacation in the country my wife is from originally. Our last moments were marked by my wife looking at her island, or as she refers to it, Mi Isla, on the plane as we turned due North. She grew up there and the detachment from her home has never left her. As the tears rolled down her face, my heart sank in sadness for her. I promised her that soon we will return to live out our last years.
It was not her decision to leave Puerto Rico. It was a necessary family decision made by her mother for the benefit of her brother who needed urgent medical care. I cannot imagine how incredibly difficult that must have been for her, especially at age nineteen. Thus she has spent the last 28 years living in Chicago. For that part, I am lucky!
I started my blog with the goal of discussing Brighton Park before, after and its possible future. I spent the last 10 months writing about past stories and occurrences in my life during the late 60's, 70's, and 80's. With the help of current and former residents, there was lots of great stories shared, lots of connections and reconnections, and some rich criticism made. All in all, I think the memories were wonderful. I am happy people took the time to read the posts at the minimum.
So in 2015, I want to begin on the present state of Brighton Park, but I will need a transition piece and this is it!
My last residence in Brighton Park-4145 South Albany. Last day, May 29th 1994.
Like my wife, we have all left a place of birth, a place we grew in, a city, a state, and like my wife, a country. Some of us stayed in Chicago, but we left our beloved communities. I left Brighton Park in 1994 after I was married the first time (It happens!). Twenty-seven years in BP, then on May 28th, I lived in Humboldt Park. I left my community. I left family; mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, brother, sister, and lots of friends. I left many very good memories and some difficult ones. My father died in
the house I have included a picture of in 1990. Yet, what amazes me now that I work in Brighton Park, is so many people have stayed.
Neighborhood friends, a elementary school teacher, regular people and not so regular. It is incredible and very admirable. You know why? They don't have any excuses to leave or make any excuses as to why they stay. They just stay!
So I ask you, why? Why stay? I would love to know, love to hear, and love to share your reasons on this blog. I think your testimony will speak to the present and yes, the future of Brighton Park. The experience, the tools, and foresight to sustain the Brighton Park community. Why would I ask? Because I know this about why most of us left:
Job-related relocation.
Homes becomes too small/too big.
The grass is always greener.
Marital status.
Retirement.
Health issues
Neighborhood is no longer the same.
Pursuing a dream.
I would love to hear why you stayed, if you're willing to share. Thank you!
Here's my email fernandezandrewj67@gmail.com. Let me know. Hope to hear from you!
What a simple process talking is. What a simple thing to have a conversation with family or a group of friends is. As children or teenagers, talking on our stoop, on the corner of some street, or sitting on the hood of someone's car back when cars were made of steel, not aluminum, talking and laughing.
What exactly were we doing? An anthropologist would say we were storytelling. Conveying a story about something that happened yesterday, this morning, or a hundred years ago about someone you knew, or a character, ten feet tall, that ate whole cows for breakfast. The stories sometimes had second hand embellishments but sometimes they were as real as could be, especially if the storyteller was one of the oldest kids on the block. The neighborhood clown, maybe? Or maybe it was a "guest" storyteller from around the block or from a far off location like east side of Kedzie?
Storytelling has been around for centuries; we may also know it as the oral tradition. Many of what we know about our families is based on storytelling.
For my brothers and I, we gathered around Gary. Gary lived two doors down from us; he was older and cooler than anyone living on 39th Street. I really don't know if 38th Street, 39th Place or for that matter, anywhere else in Brighton Park had a cooler dude then Gary. His walk, the way he dressed was straight out of the 70's. He wore glasses, too, but no one dared call him four eyes, though he wasn't known as a tough guy. He was just "The Guy." He was our storyteller between Homan and St. Louis.
3446 W. Pershing Road: Gary's home before the fence and bay window. This was the stoop where we laughed and talked for hours because he was "The Guy."
Did you ever notice how when you were listening to your own storyteller, you were generally for the most part gathered in a circle? Circles are interesting because they provide comfort and a sense of belonging. It has been around for centuries, the circle process. It provides, most importantly, a sense of community. Block by block, we were a community, small or large, in Brighton Park. Our communities were multiple not singular. And in each community we had a storyteller, a mentor, a leader, someone we looked up to.
Who was it for you over by 45th and Richmond? 38th Street and Washtenaw? 41st and Albany? In front of Jim and Anne's? In front of Kelly High School? In front of Club Roma? In front of Galaxy?
Gary was our guy. He played an instrument, he owned a science kit that had a microscope, he was the first guy on our block with a job as a teenager; he hit the softball further than anyone on 39th St. Hell, he even ran cool! And honestly, Gary was no angel, but he was our storyteller and our guy on the block. We all looked up to him for his problem solving, for his funny laugh, for the guy that was going to give us something to do on a summer day or night. Yeah, he was our after school coordinator alright.
No matter what, though, he was going to describe a situation in his fashion, tell a story about something we did, he did, and that he saw. Who opened the fire hydrant and got caught. Who let the pigeons out of the cage from the corner home on 39th and St. Louis. What happened when you go on the train tracks at night. What do you find when you dissect an alley rat.
All of those stories were funny, scary, tempting, and for the most part safe...for the most part. We did do some daring things, but didn't we all? And no one got hurt. Sure, some adults in the neighborhood knew it was always Gary, but there was no great harm done, no property damage, no police call. We worked things out; parents talked, parents resolved the issues, and the kids continued on. There were conversations between us in the neighborhood, on our little one block community. And there was usually kids and parents from west of St. Louis or south of 39th St. around, too. No borders, no turf.
I think of this so much now because we don't talk much anymore, or do we? Do you still sit in circles? Who is your storyteller now? Does it bring back memories of Brighton Park on a cool April spring day, the week of Easter or Clean Up Week? Where will you gather?
Conversations and storytelling went a long way. It was a lesson on how to or how not to. It could be one-sided, but it could also be a true demonstration of a democracy. Conversations can motivate, conversations can help you explore; conversations can bring resolve to ambivalence, help facilitate change. Conversations don't cost us a thing, but their value as a positive, learning experience has guided us to where we are today, all through birth, through adolescence with our grandparents, parents and friends. It has brought us here to this point safely.
