A Beginning, One of Thousands…

We all had a starting point in Brighton Park. Our family and where they came from. Our connection came from across the northern border, southern border, across the Atlantic, across the Pacific or we simply were already here, if we were Sauk, Fox, Miami, and Potawatomi. Chicago was then known as the 'wild onion' or 'shikaawaka.'

Of course, we now know that the French were the first Europeans to cross California Avenue and Pershing Road before it was California Avenue and Pershing Road. Jean Baptiste Pointe du Sable is credited with discovering and laying claim to the area now known as Chicago, incorporated in 1837, and the rest is history. I think we're well versed in Chicago's history and have some pretty good ideas of Brighton Park's history.

But Brighton Park would not be Brighton Park if not for our families coming from all directions. Their journey, their quest to settle here, raise a family, work, buy a home, and grow old is a dream most of us have currently. I think we can surely state with some confidence what our status is now. Mine has been here in Chicago for the past 47 years. Work in Brighton Park currently; married, one daughter in college and one in high school. I am in the middle of my life, fingers crossed.

When my grandfather arrived in the United States from Yuriria, Guanajuato, Mexico, he was probably around eighteen or nineteen years of age. He was part of the Bracero Program, a program that brought Mexican workers to the United States to work in the fields and railroads in much of the southwest. He was the first to come from Mexico in my family.

He himself had immigrant roots - he was first generation Mexican; his father came from Spain.  I did not know my great-grandfather, but I did know my great-grandmother, Pachita. She lived to be a 110!

My grandfather worked in the fields in Texas, but didn't like that type of work much, so he traveled on what was called 'the migrant stream.' He worked on the railroad from Texas to Pennsylvania to Illinois.    The work that he did was referred to as 'el treke' or translated as 'the tracks.' Fixing, installing tracks along the railroad system that eventually led to the hub of the country, Chicago. My grandfather landed in Argo, Il, a small village outside of Chicago. There were several Mexican families living there already, specifically from the town of Yuriria in the state of Guanajuato.

Back then, if you had a sponsor, a family that would vouch for you, a job, and references that included law enforcement from the city or town, you had no problem staying and starting a new life. Thus my grandfather stayed in Argo for some years. Eventually, he would leave the railroad and work for Reynolds Metal Company in McCook, Il. Reynolds and the plant that was there and employed thousands is gone now. My grandfather moved to Chicago - Brighton Park to be exact. The building where he moved to is still there., a two story, framed house 3223 W. 38th Place.  He lived on the second level.

My grandparents lived on the second floor of this building -  3223 W. 38th Place.
Vacant lot next to it and different colored facade in 2014.

Here I am at 3223 W. 38th Place in the living room with my grandfather.  

My grandfather lived in Brighton Park for approximately twenty years, bringing my grandmother, my mother, and my three aunts as well in 1957-58. He started his life in the Chicagoland area in '53, and through sponsorships and close-knit ties with Yuriria and other towns in Guanajuato, he would bring a young man at the age 16 to Argo, too. That young man was my father.

My grandfather worked for Reynolds for approximately 19 to 20 years. He retired at age 62 in 1973. I remember the work boots, the lunch pail, and the overalls. I remember his walk and I remember that you didn't make a noise after 9 pm at my grandparents' home. Not only was my grandfather the first person from my family to come to Chicago, he was the first person in my family to retire and benefit from his hard work, raise a family and grow roots in Brighton Park.

That was our beginning, the Fernández-Rodríguez creation story. My mother's parents, the Rodríguez, were the initiators of our family. My grandfather was a part of the millions that experienced the 'push and pull' of immigration. Leaving their country for a better opportunity to work and send money back home, start a new life, start a new family, leave a revolution, leave to eventually return again covered in gold! My grandfather did that. After working in Chicago for 20 years and in the United States for well over 40 years plus, he retired and returned to Mexico, to Yuriria. He lived the American Dream and passed it on to his family that stayed in Brighton Park that would attempt to do the same. He earned it.

My grandfather represented all that is good. Not all that was perfect, but what was this young boy's fondest memories. Those days of walking down Pershing Road holding his hand. Or walking to this store on Kedzie Avenue between 38th Place and Pershing Road.

My grandfather and I at McKinley Park.  Lagoon is right behind us. 
One of several walks around the park.

I remember that store for two reasons. The first was a particular gentleman: heavy set, always wearing dark glasses, wearing a white t-shirt, grey pants, white-slick back hair either sitting in that store's entrance or roaming down Kedzie Avenue. Never too far from the store it seemed.

The second reason: that's where my grandfather bought me my first baseball cap. Hold your breath Brighton Park people, because it was a Cubs baseball cap! I have been a Cubs fan ever since. What do you expect?  You put a black cap with white letters in front of a four year-old versus a royal blue cap with a bright, red 'C', and I think the entire south side would be cheering for the Cubs right now. Maybe not?!  By the way, my grandfather was a White Sox fan, but he never interfered with this four year-old's choice.

Besides introducing me to eternal baseball misery, he introduced me to my first adventures in BrightonPark. Although within a few blocks radius of his home, I was introduced to a new world. My grandmother would also introduce me to the fascinating world of Huck Finn's Donuts, White Castles, and David Berg's.

My grandfather returned to Chicago every year after retiring in '73. In 1995, he returned again for a check-up after beating cancer in 1990. He would never leave Chicago again.

I owe him as we owe many people for our beginning. The foundation laid by people from all over the world that helped build Chicago, helped build Brighton Park. Helped build our memories of living in BP.

The World Around Us….

What were the things that have most influenced your life? Your environment? Your teachers? Your parents? Your brothers and sisters?

I would think that most of us would argue all of the above. Some of those factors influenced us more than others, and some were more positive than others, too.  Some were for longer durations than others, some with a greater intensity, dosage, frequency, etc.  We were in school at least half of our waking day. If we had basketball practice or Cub Scouts, like I did, we spent the whole day at school. And that time included an adult or two, and in many cases, our parents, too.

Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs: How many of these levels were reached
when we were growing up and engaged in school and programs?

The adults included teachers, religious figures, coaches, neighbors, parish leaders, and of course, our parents. It seemed like we were always surrounded by two or three adults who worked with us, guided us, and sometimes yelled at us to keep us in line and attentive. I would venture to say that for the most part the adults in our lives were positive in the context of the ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s,  and ‘80s. But so much is known now about youth development, brain development, engagement, voice and choice that even some of the best adults in our lives would be shocked to discover some of the things they did or said did not always followed the best approach. Yes, they were not perfect. We certainly were not and continue to be imperfect. Any takers on that one? 

What I appreciated most was their determination. Their quest to keep us safe, entertained, focused, and committed to the task at hand. Baseline stuff, the minimum you can provide for children and youth. That seemed to be enough back then, or was it?

Which leads to…

Yesterday I had a forty-five minute conversation with a grammar school teacher of mine. I cannot share the name now, but I hope to eventually, with her consent, of course. I have been trying to find and reach out to this Teacher to thank her. I have much to be grateful for. Well on this day, I got lucky!

I did not want to sound like some creep who was seeking revenge for having to write ‘no horse playing’ ten thousand times. I wanted to call this Teacher, re-introduce myself, and say thank you. Where do I begin? One thing about me is, I am one determined individual (ask my wife). Maybe a little stubborn, too. Anyway, I looked for the name and phone number, and found a hit.

WOW!  I needed to think about my approach. I asked my wife and girls: what should I do? Write a letter? Call this person? Go to her home? Well, my oldest daughter suggested I give the Teacher a call. She’s bold! So I did! I was truly excited about it. I knew what my lunch break at work would entail. I took a step back in time and dialed the number.

After about six rings, a ‘hello’ finally over the phone. One thing I learned over the years is to always have an eleven second speech, elevator speech if you will, prepared in your head when you are asked what do you do for such and such company, who do you work for, etc.  I quickly gave this person my name formally and respectfully before the anticipated ‘click’, or “you’re nuts for calling me”. But it did not happen.

In the world of bad news, sad news, and money and power changing everything it touches, this person that influenced me, helped in molding who I am today, pleasantly greeted me. Didn’t know who I was immediately, then asked if I was related to Rita, my younger sister. Big smile; then like “what the”?!

As we spoke I did not want to come off as some kind of marketing person or a robotic nightmare from the past; I wanted to hear the thoughts and reflections. This person was calm, and so her words calmed me. At first I thought it was going to be a short, thanks for calling, type of conversation, but it developed into a reflective conversation about the past, present and possible future.

The same person I remember is the same person that spoke to me: overflowing with confidence and interest; marking points in our conversation and asking for clarification or elaboration when she felt there was a need for more details or an interesting topic to tease out. I felt like I was writing an English paper again!

What did we talk about? Everything! Life and life’s challenges now and back then. The sincere care and love this person and teachers alike had for us students. How difficult it is to be teaching now with all of the great challenges that exist in today’s world. This Teacher was very critical of where we are now with education and families. This Teacher is an expert, as a matter of fact. Hell, after literally hundreds of students and families in over five decades of teaching, you would think this person knew a little something about something.  And she did…in volumes!

This is the stress of today on our children.  Did we feel this growing up back in the day?

A couple of things resonate from our conversation. This Teacher believes in our children, their goodness and well-intentioned actions.  This Teacher believes that families, parents are the key to successful children, to be successful in life. 

As we were making plans to meet after ‘old man winter’ goes south to Florida, I thanked this Teacher for everything, specifically for those times that there was a true vote of confidence in me, when she believed in my abilities, believed that my parents would be my first and most important teachers.  Believed in their abilities to teach and guide me through elementary school, so I could succeed in high school.  Believed most strongly on the first principle of being an adult – do no harm.

At the end of conversation, one of this Teacher’s many signature sayings, “Good bye, Kiddo,” concluded our phone conversation.

Her determination like so many others in the field of teaching, or in the field of being a caring, loving adult, shapes our world, gives us hope to continue, to reach for the impossible. Most of us have felt it, saw it, and ran with it. Determination is that one skill that takes both the heart and soul of a human being to influence and impact those around them in a positive way. My Teacher admitted some failures or wrong choices in her career, but her commitment to forge ahead and see us as her focal point defines determination. Or maybe there is another word for it?

That was the brand of determination I received. I cannot assume everyone received the same. Is that what our society lacks now in the field of education, teaching, parenting? Or is it something else? Another word?

My Teacher is still filled with that same spirit even after she retired from teaching. She volunteers as an English as a Second Language Instructor. Now that defines determination.

Is Perception Reality?

Is perception reality? 

The first time I heard this was in graduate school at Roosevelt University.  The professor basically stated that in our country, perception is our reality and how we view history.  What we perceive to be the truth is what we consider fact.  Perception does not include all the facts, all viewpoints, the antecedent, and the filters we have in our heads.  We simply see something or experience something, and create the storyline.  Eventually, it becomes reality.

I will come back to this later.

Brighton Park in the 1980’s for me growing up was the best possible place a young man could live.  My extended family was blocks away, my elementary school and church, when I attended mass, was nearby; my friends were close, and my first employment experiences were right in the neighborhood.  First my paper route on 41^st Street from California to Kedzie, then my next job, the Amoco station on Kedzie and 39^th Street or Pershing Road.  I knew everyone for blocks and blocks, and I could walk for blocks and blocks without a worry.

3440 W. Pershing Rd, my first home in Brighton Park.

Back then, my friends and I would say that we owned the neighborhood.  Walking through different streets starting from Francisco to Archer Avenue.  Hanging out in front of Club Roma’s, at Jim and Anne’s, at Duckie’s Arcade on 35^th and Washtenaw.  As far east as McKinley Park, as far south as Archer Ave., as far west as the White Castle, and as far north as Burroughs Elementary.  Yeah, we were nomads, but we had friends in all of those neighborhoods.  Friends from school, next-door neighbors, and family, too.  It was Boom Time in Brighton Park!

My old paper route, 40th St. from California to Kedzie.

My perception: I would live here forever, work here, and thrive here!

In actuality, Brighton Park was on a decline.  Actually, it started in the 70’s.  Population decline, deindustrialization of the area, the discussion of private school closings, drop in school enrollment, especially in the private schools, residents were getting older, etc.  Not necessarily a decaying community, but one that was not on the rise.  Thus the demographics changed.  The look…the perception…

 When I left Brighton Park, in the early 90’s, there was a significant change already, and the change would continue.  As the rest of the country experienced an influx of Latinos, so did Brighton Park.  Housing boom, ditto in BP.  Economic downturn, closing private schools - BP, too. 

And now, Brighton Park has one of the youngest populations in Chicago.  BP’s population is at a record high-45,000 residents and counting.  About 85% Latino and still a high concentration of immigrants living, owning, thriving…reality not perception.  Yes, graffiti, gangs, poverty all exist.  Maybe a little more than before, but the neighborhood economically has changed.  Educationally it has changed.  Resources are scarce.  Especially with so many Catholic churches and schools closing in the area.  Once a pillar in the community, now really just that-vacant bricks and mortar instead.   Remember how many Catholic parishes existed with their own schools?  How many do you think are still around?  That is a significant void for a community!

Reality right? 

Brighton Park is filled with families from back in the day still and new families.  Some good and some not so good.  They exist now as they did when we were growing up.  We all mingled together regardless of what was happening at home, at school, around the corner or in our heads.  We were a community, right? Perception or reality?  Brighton Park is still a community now: reality.  Is it struggling? Yes, but we made it when BP was on a decline.

Our reality can be, well, their reality, too!