Chicago Pilgrimage

Moody household Tuesday, June 14. Rewrote some blogs, reordered what I had planned to post, and then, at breakfast, we discussed our mood. Seems we were still depressed by the Orlando massacre. And so we decided to go to Chicago’s Boys Town. That morning.

We were resolved to do so. We are in our 70’s and haven’t been to Boys Town for a while, maybe a year? Maybe longer? And even the last time was during the early afternoon on a Sunday and we stayed only a short time. Then we drove the long haul back to our suburban hidey-ho.

But this time we knew, just knew, that this is the ‘pilgrimage’ we need to take. And we did. We called a good friend and asked if she would like to come with. She hopped to it. And we brought our dog Willow, too.

Such a car load! Two gay 70+ guys, a 70+ plus dear woman friend, and our dog. At 9:40 am we ventured out of the garage and got on the toll road. Into Chicago we headed. Through all kinds of traffic. Post-rush hour made it easier but still, we hadn’t done this for quite some time. We wended our way into the city, down to Lower Wacker Drive for the cross Loop foray, then to Lake Shore Drive and north to Belmont Avenue. Off the LSD and into the neighborhood. Through narrow streets and heavy traffic we arrived at Halsted Street and the official Boys Town.

Turning north we slowed past all our old haunts. So much was new. New high rises, apartment blocks, and stores. The old nightclubs were replaced with new emporiums, high end fashion outlets, sparkling dining spots replaced old familiar places. Of course the night clubs were not yet open. No; they would be jumping by 5 pm and crammed by midnight. And the streets would be teeming with the gay community.

Our mission was to visit the LGBT Community Center and the ‘memorial’ to the Orlando slayings. We found a parking spot and walked the immediate neighborhood. Very few people out and about. At work or in bed, I suppose. Whole Foods was open and humming but few patrons were present.

We stopped in at the Community Center and talked with staff. We visited the memorial and added our bouquet of red roses to the small pile. We read the notes left by others and wept for our band of brothers and sisters under attack by crazies and political parties and people of sheer ignorance.

We asked about the planned new senior’s gay housing project we had heard about. “It’s open!”, they said. Has been for about a year. So we walked a block and entered the lobby and talked with the folks sitting there and ever so willing to talk. The Senior Housing Center is full up; all 79 apartments. And the waiting list is full with over 200 names so the waiting list has been closed until further notice.

We went back to the car, and looked for a shop that would sell us rainbow stickers for the car, and maybe a gay T-shirt or two. Some show of loyal support for our community although we live 40 miles west. Spotted a likely shop and parked on the street illegally; motor running, Rocky got out and entered the store. Soon after he emerged with a small sack of gay symbols we could display and feel ‘with it.’

Then, our visit essentially over, we pulled into traffic and wended our way home. More city traffic congestion, the expressways and the toll road. Back in our apartment’s ‘hood’ and we were home. 

The ride home had been mostly silent. Memories you know. Feelings, too. The welling of past awareness of our community of fellows in Chicago. How we had found them. Where we had spent many hours. All of that. Such a well worn use of time thinking back and feeling it once again.

The wonder and the connection. The identity, really. We were still the same people. Gay. Now old. Still feeling. Still relevant even as millions feel not so. For us, we did what we had to do to feel a part of it all.

Rocky walked the bewildered dog before going up to the apartment. Pam and I returned to our apartments, still oddly silent but at peace.

At peace. That doesn’t really cover it properly. At calm, maybe; or perhaps bewildered wonder at a society that still allows such violence to visit little kids, gay people, old people, poor people, church people, people of color, people who are different. All with guns, mind you.

All with guns. For no good reason. Just violent ends that only the shooters could explain or mostly likely they cannot. Most of them are dead, too; suicide by police? Probably. They were disturbed. They were twisted. They were angry and alone. But they were armed with guns and ammo so easily acquired in our nation.

Interesting the limits of freedom in America. Isn’t it? So much freedom to live life fully and yet to be randomly killed by a crazy with a gun too easily got.

Perhaps that will be our epitaph for America? Too early to yet tell. Way too early. So many more crazies have yet to express themselves. So many gun dealers to sell more guns to those crazies. And so much innocent blood yet to be spilled.

Because a nation chose to do nothing about it. Nothing about gun control. Nothing about mental illness. Nothing about social services to help people as they stumble through life towards an evil end of violence carried out by them because they are truly so out of control.

We let them, you know. We allowed this to happen. On our watch. We let them loose on our innocent people. When will they come for you, or me?

June 15, 2016