By Joey McDermott - The Teacher AKA Chicago Joe
I rushed from my basement Chemistry class, knowing I had a long walk. I peeked out the front door and the sun hit my eyes immediately. I squinted to see, looking for my soccer teammates. Where the hell are they?
I walked to the pedestrian mall, grabbed a seat on the bench and surveyed all directions seeking a glimpse of a teammate.
Coach Krupinski’s directions were very clear, “You’re excused from 8th period, be at the Orr game by 4:00.”
School let out at 2:46, but Orr was at Chicago and Pulaski - or as my friend Rob called it, “the corner of duck and run.” We didn't have a yellow school bus, none of us drove a car and our parents worked. We took two CTA buses, Halsted south to Chicago and Chicago west to Pulaski.
After waiting five minutes our team captain strolled over from the park. He was at ease and oblivious that we were ten minutes late for the team meet-up.
“Where the hell were you? You’re late.”
“I cut 7th to hang with Imelda, Ivan loves the muchachas! Where’s the team?”
“Those fuckers left us man!”
“Ain’t no thing Joey, you’re hanging with Ivan 'the man'. I know all these bus routes. Don't be scared.”
“That’s fucked up, they left us like that. I hope you know what you’re doing, cuz I don’t fuck with the west side like that.”
“Relax dawg, Ivan is known all over this city - even the morenos know about Ivan.”
We caught the Chicago Avenue bus right outside the Chicago Tribune printing plant. A vast and isolated area a mile west of the magnificent mile. The smell of Blommers Chocolates resonated as delivery trucks came and left the printing plant.
By the time the bus got to Western Ave, most the white people got off - many speaking a foreign tongue, most likely Ukrainian. I knew the sound of it because my dentist spoke the language at her practice inside St Mary of Nazareth Hospital on Division. Once you crossed Western you were out of Ukrainian Village and now into Humboldt Park.
The bus was now Latino and Black, but as you went west it became less Latino and more Black. Kedzie was the midpoint, after Kedzie you knew you were in the hood. Hypes walked Chicago Avenue, reminding me of zombies from Night of the Living Dead. Vacant lots and buildings equaled the occupied storefronts. I’d never been to this part of the city.
We sat in the middle of the bus, knowing to stay away from the back. That’s where the rowdy kids sat. The ones that cursed, talked loudly, smoked cigarettes and disturbed the peace for the rest of the bus. As we got closer to our destination I felt self-conscious about my race. I anticipated someone saying, “What you doin’ white boy?” or “Wait 'til he gets off and jack him for his J’s.”
As my mind raced with thoughts of fear, Ivan tapped me on my back and walked toward the door without saying a word to me. I hustled and grabbed my gym bag and school bag, I awkwardly brushed against every standing passenger along my way to the front.
“Excuse me, sorry, excuse me, sorry, excuse me, sorry…” Finally I made my way to Ivan, standing in front of the yellow line and a sign that stated, No passengers beyond this point. As our bus pulled over to the corner, we got out, watched the bus pass us and saw Orr high school kiddy corner to the southwest.
We crossed Chicago going west and Ivan insisted, “I need a snack - let’s check out this gas station.”
“Nah man, let’s find the team, this ain’t cool Ivan.”
“Look white boy, stop acting all nervous. You're with me, now trust me.”
The gas station had everything! T-Shirts, liquor, chips, pop, bread and milk. It was much like the Food and Liquor by my own house, except this one had bullet proof glass and a rotating opening to exchange money for goods. Ivan grabbed a “quarter juice” and nachos with ground beef. He was the best player on our team, so he did not care if he was late or what he ate before the game. Half the time he told Coach Kru who to start and who to sub.
We crossed Chicago Ave and walked about 100 feet south on Pulaski to an opening between the gym and the school. We walked through the opening, to the end of the gym and caught our first glimpse of the soccer field.
Nothing! Nobody! No sign that a game was about to take place.
“What the fuck Ivan, where is everyone?”
“I’m not gonna lie Joey, I don’t know, this is weird.”
Imagine this, we had no cell phones. We were in a neighborhood foreign to us. We were expecting to be late to our soccer game and now nobody was on the field. A crowd of 10 black boys gathered around a park bench 50 yards south, by the rear entrance of the school.
“We could go over and ask those Orr guys, maybe they know if the soccer game got canceled.”
“You go ahead and do that white boy, I’m not going over there.”
Moments later, two Latino boys ran towards the northeast end of the field. They did their best to stay unnoticed, but the crowd at the bench caught sight of their Black and Gold Pirates hats. They all charged in our direction, “Get them Ricans, fuck them Latin Kings.”
As the two Kings passed us, the ten Orr kids were 20 yards away. Ivan never hesitated, as soon as the Kings passed us, he broke out and followed them. He said nothing to me, but I followed his lead.
“Why are we running? They’re not after us.”
“They don't know that! You can stay and convince them.”
We made it to Pulaski and turned left going north. We ran into traffic as cars screeched and honked at us crossing Chicago Ave. The Kings ran into a silver Chevy a half block north and screeched away. That left Ivan and me running from the crowd of ten. I was not known for my speed, but on that afternoon - I flew like the wind! Adrenaline took over as fear consumed my body.
By the time we got a block north to Iowa only five chased us. We sprinted all the way to Augusta, barely turning to look back. By Augusta we knew they quit.
“Bitch ass Kings, bet not come back!" were the last words we heard from them.
My heart raced, my breath was short and my temples pulsated and throbbed. My hands shook, but it felt like a letdown once we were not being pursued. I was relieved we were safe, but felt the rush of adrenaline wearing off.
“C’mon Joey, we’re not safe yet. They might have a car, let’s keep running.”
We jogged all the way to Grand and Pulaski, about seven blocks north. Now it was my turn to stop for a snack at the legendary Jimmy’s Red Hots. I had $1.50 to my name. Do I spend it on fries and a pop? Or, take the bus home to safety? I took my chances and grabbed a snack, the best fresh cut fries on the west side.
I ate the fries, without any ketchup - cuz Jimmy's don’t play like that. I leaned onto the counter that looked onto Pulaski and watched for any carloads of black youth looking for kings to beat up.
The coast was clear after ten minutes. Ivan and I walked another block to North Avenue. He turned and went east and I continued north to Fullerton. When I got to our block, my brother was sitting on our neighbors stoop with friends.
“What the fuck man, where were you? I almost got killed at Orr!”
“You went to Orr?” and he laughed to himself, “The game got canceled. You didn’t hear the announcement on the intercom?”
“What intercom Matt?”
“At school, during 7th period. Ms. Kru got on and told us the game was cancelled due to forfeit."
“Fucking chemistry class! The intercom doesn’t work in the basement.”
Now I understood why nobody was at the meet up spot from the team. They didn’t leave without me, they knew not to go. I look back at this time in disbelief. My parents had no clue, and neither did I. I took the bus all over the city and didn’t think twice about it. Life was simpler and we were more trusting and naive.
I tell friends these stories and they swear I’m exaggerating. Sure, there might be some enhancements to the story. Maybe it was only five guys, and maybe they only chased us for a few seconds. But for those few seconds I thought my ass was cooked.
I still love Jimmy’s. Except now I keep ketchup packets in my car door and eat my special fries secretly in my car. Thanks Orr HS, you gave me a new friend for life – Jimmy’s fresh cut fries.
Dope ass story…
I too went to LPHS and lived 1.5 miles south of Orr High School, and I too like you encountered many run-ins with Bangers mostly on Irving Park where Marlon was murdered in 89’
Experiences made us aware and responsible at a very young age and wouldn't trade them for anything…
Thanks for the story, it was fiya!!!