By Joey McDermott - The Teacher aka Chicago Joe
“You want ketchup? That’s 5 cents for two packets.” A nickel in 1987 was like fifteen cents today and that’s without Biden printing stimulus checks for everyone.
“Five cents?” My friend Mike and I were on a budget, splitting an order of cheese fries, and every cent mattered.
“Yeah kid, five cents. Everyday you and your friend come in here. And everyday you ask me the same thing. You want ketchup, its 5 cents.”
“Fine, but that’s all I got,” and I slapped a nickel on the counter with an attitude.
“As long as you pay, I don’t care if it's paid in pennies.”
I didn’t have money for a drink so asked, “Can I get a cup of water?”
“Cups are ten cents, the water and ice are free.” The cashier knew she was taunting me with the free water and ice comment.
“Seriously, you charge for water? I dug deeper into my pocket and found ten pennies. I laid them out onto the counter, and counted each one out into two rows of five.
“Looks like that nickel wasn’t all you got.” The cashier chuckled as she squeezed the last pennies out of me.
Me and Mike stood at the countertop across from the cashier, looking south onto Fullerton Avenue. It was shaded from the sun and water constantly dripped from the El tracks. To our right was the door, which opened onto a "10 x 10" heated vestibule and then another door onto the bitter January cold. Inside the vestibule stood CTA passengers waiting for the 74 Fullerton bus, the room getting more crowded every time the Ravenswood or Howard line trains stopped above us. The whole place rattled and shook each time a train came into the station, which was about every 3-4 minutes.
Not everyone waiting was a CTA passenger, some were destitute looking homeless people. They sought the heated shelter to escape the frigid winds of the Chicago winter. Mike and I walked all the way from our grammar school at Willow and Orchard, about six blocks to the south along Halsted. In total it was a 25 minute walk - enough for us to be freezing as well. It didn’t help that we refused to wear hats and gloves, we were 8th graders and too cool to mess up our well moused hairstyles.
Mike and I laughed our asses off as we made fun of each passer by. Body parts, disabilities, fashion sense, age, ethnicity, how one pronounced certain words - nothing was off limits as we ridiculed anyone in our sights. Several times we laughed so hard, the staff yelled, “Settle down boys!”
I told Mike, “They are bothering us, but let them loiter for free. At least we paid for our food.”
Meanwhile, the owner showed up and was greeted like a rock star. Of course he wasn't an actual rock star, he just managed them. Peter Schivarelli was the longtime manager of the legendary group Chicago. You know, the 70’s rock band who incorporated horns into their music, creating a distinct sound that entertained fans for decades. The jukebox was always free and played only their songs. Pete had all the gold records displayed, along with autographed photos of himself with Chicago band members and other celebrities. The Demon Dogs slogan, “A Hard Habit to Break,” was an homage to the band's hit single.
Pete carried a cardboard tray holding 8 hot chocolates. He smiled and passed them out to the passengers. He knew their names, in particular the homeless ones, “Here ya’ go sweetheart… Marvin, you don’t look good. Let me get you a hot dog, you need some nourishment.”
I couldn’t believe it! This guy charged us a nickel for two ketchup packets and a dime for a water cup, and here he was giving away free merchandise to the destitute. Who was this guy? What charisma! What presence! He commanded the room and drew the attention of all present. He embodied the teaching of Jesus with his generosity and charity.
Pete was a mover and shaker, he was also a streets and sanitation ward supervisor - a good government job! In Chicago this was a prized position, it entailed political patronage and favors from a local ward boss. His main job was making sure everyone’s trash got picked up, but if you needed a third or fourth garbage can - call Pete and you got it. Sometimes that meant you were expected to vote for his guy, or put the right candidate’s sign up in your window. In Chicago this is called clout, and Pete had it.
Pete was a college football hero from Notre Dame. Much like the movie Rudy, he enrolled four years after graduating from high school and walked on. He proudly wore #68 as an offensive lineman, despite being only 5’ 10”. He famously played for Ara Parsigian’s 1971 Cotton Bowl championship team. Pete was known for his charity and scholarship on behalf of ND students. In Chicago this means something, Northwestern will claim to be Chicago’s college football team - but in the bungalow belt, it’s the fightin' Irish!
The mystery of Pete’s generosity came to light in 2003. That's when the CTA decided to renovate the Fullerton El station. That required Demon Dogs to be demolished and the CTA was trying to evict Pete. According to the Chicago Tribune Schivarelli paid $630 a month to CTA and was required to allow CTA riders to use his restaurant as a shelter in winter and summer months. The rumor going around town was that no lease existed at all for several years. It was a “gentleman’s agreement” and Pete paid little to no rent, as long as he provided a warm place for passengers to wait for the bus.
Only in Chicago! A football hero, local political power and rock band manager - this gives you the power to live rent free on city property. Of course our diligent city leaders made sure they looked out for the public interest - and that was the comfort of our public transit passengers. So it wasn't Pete’s benevolence and love for the destitute that drove him. It was just like the ketchup packets, strictly business.
Please make it clear, I do not begrudge Pete. If someone offered me rent with a discount I would take it, if all I had to do was serve the public some warmth - that’s a no brainer. Besides, ketchup ruined the artistry of his fresh cut fries anyway. But c’mon man - let us drink water! Hydration is a basic need!
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