Walking the Streets with Hemingway

Last weekend I walked to the Barnes and Noble down the street in search of two books that I heard were worth the read. Fortunately, one of the books was sold out and one of them was a bit more than I wanted to pay. I say “fortunately” because if I had purchased one of the other books, I wouldn’t have come across The Paris Wife, a somewhat fictional, yet also very true, story by Paula McLain based on the life of Ernest Hemingway’s first wife, Hadley. I haven’t read too much of Ernest Hemingway, but what I have read, I’ve enjoyed (I know…how can one really enjoy Hemingway?), so I thought this book would be a pleasant little read.

As I was delving into the novel, I suddenly got extremely excited because a good portion of it takes place in Chicago, where Hemingway and his wife (#1 of 4, I believe) lived for a time. Not only does it take place in Chicago, but it takes place in the Gold Coast neighborhood, where I live, and mentions multiple streets that I myself stroll down (or up) occasionally. One line in particular about their first apartment got me extreeeemly excited: “Our first apartment was a cramped and dingy two-floor walk-up on North Dearborn Street, a dodgy neighborhood on Chicago’s North side.” My instant reaction went something like this: “I LIVE A BLOCK FROM HEMINGWAY’S HOUSE!!” Right away I started researching the apartment to see how close it really was. Findings: it’s close, very close. I also found out from an article written in the Chicago Reader in 1995, that the son of the man who previously owned the building has turned the first floor of the apartment into a sort of exhibit, commemorating Hemingway’s work and life (as well as his shock treatments, apparently).

Since the article was written over 15 years ago, I can’t be sure if it is still open to the public like it was in 1995, but I will find out soon enough. I read one article from a blogger who said she visited to take some pictures and the owner happened to be outside and let them in for a look. Maybe I will get that lucky? Maybe.

Because the apartment building I live in was clearly built long before creation, I thought it might be possible that this complex was around when Hemingway lived here. Sadly, though, it was built about 7 years too late. Hemingway and Hadley lived around the corner in 1921 and my apartment complex, which I won’t mention here for fear of that my many stalkers will find me, was built in 1928 and has awesome historic elevators and an antique mailbox shoot that they still use, minus the shoot part. 

It’s very possible that you all think I’m overreacting about this. I happen to think I am not because: 1. I came upon The Paris Wife by complete accident (or divine providence, if you want to look at it that way), 2. I happen to now live in Chicago, whereas two weeks ago I didn’t, and 3. I live a block away from the very apartment I am currently reading about  in my book that housed one of America’s most famous 20^th century writers. 

Yes yes yes, I realize Hemingway was just a man - a man who drank too much, loved women too much, and thought a lot of himself too much, but he was a great writer, nonetheless. It's crazy for me to think that he walked these very streets, now filled with sky rises, homeless people on every corner, and chain restaurants and coffee shops on every block. I wish I could see what Chicago was like back then, before all the neon lights and recognizable stores; back when there were no bars, but everyone drank anyways (prohibition reference); back when women wore elegant hats over their bobbed hair and had names like "Dolly" and "Thelma." (what awful names!). While I would never want to live back then, it's fun to imagine what it was like and even more fun to read about the people who lived here and left a little bit of a legacy for us to remember them by. 

A City So Beautiful And Broken

I’m sitting here on Saturday night in the nearly-empty Corner Bakery Café (much like a Panera with a Chicago twist) on the corner of State and Cedar. Outside, cars and taxis are honking at each other for probably no reason other than selfish impatience; Ambulances go by every half hour or so, each with a completely different, earth-shattering siren; all the while, the voice of Lana Del Rey is consoling my ears with gentle pulses of beautifully broken lyrics. How can something be both broken and beautiful, you ask? Well, if you’ve ever been to a city like Chicago and opened your eyes to the people around you, you might just understand.  

I’m not saying that brokenness is in anyway something desired or by definition beautiful, but with brokenness there is so much potential for beauty to come out of it. Every time I pass the homeless man standing across the street from the Willis Tower, I wonder who he is, where he came from, where he is going, and why he always has a smile on his 60-year-old face and still says “God bless” to every person who doesn't give him their spare change, as well as those who do. That aged face has probably seen things I could not imagine and most likely, his story in life will not end well; it’s a very cold winter, and it’s not getting any warmer for the man or woman on the street. Yes, maybe he’s just looking for drug money and maybe he’s one of those homeless people who doesn’t want to work and just expects handouts, but what if he’s not? And how am I, as a capable giver, supposed to distinguish that? I can’t. The warm smile that ensues from his cold face is enough to tell me that it’s at least worth a shot to help him out, even if it’s only with 50 cents.

The beautiful part is that the homeless man can still manage a smile, even if it is a broken one. Even more beautiful, is that his brokenness gives someone, anyone an opportunity to do something beautiful. I’m not talking about government handouts, but to clothe him with a warm jacket; to return a warm smile from a similarly cold face; to buy him lunch; to give him a job opportunity; to spend time with him and others at a shelter. The point is not to do these acts to make yourself feel like a “good” person; we’re no better than the prostitute standing in the shadows of the train station, waiting for her next customer. Instead, we should do these things to show that God is still present, even in the darkest places that seemingly have no hope. Jesus didn’t hang out with the disciples 24/7. He went after the tax collectors and the prostitutes. He was a light in a dark place and we’re supposed to mimic that. Now I will be the first to admit that this is not easy at all. First of all, I don’t have enough money to give to every homeless person I pass or else I would be homeless too. Second, I don’t want to put myself in potentially dangerous situations. And third, I don’t always have the most giving heart.

These past two weeks in Chicago have got me thinking, though, about what I can do to help those who have so little in life. I’m not saying I’m going to go out tomorrow and feed the 5,000, but it wouldn’t hurt me to flash a warm smile or hand someone a sandwich from time-to-time, rather than walk by as fast as I can without making eye contact. Every once in a while, I might get a creepy, one-tooth smile back along with a  Joey Tribbiani “How you doin’?”, but I guess that’s why I brought pepper spray and learned how to speed walk when I became friends with Jennifer Van Der Hoek sophomore year (if anyone has ever seen Jenn walk to class, they will understand). All jokes aside, this broken city has more potential for beauty than originally meets the eye. You may just have to stand still for a while and let your eyes adjust in the darkness. 

I'd be lost without my iphone. Literally.

Chicago. Wow. It’s what I expected, but not what I expected at all. Where do I even begin?

The beginning sounds like a good place to start: I moved into my hotel-esque studio apartment on Sunday afternoon and since then I haven’t had much of a chance to catch my breath; it ran away from me somewhere on the corner of E. Adams St. and S. State Street. We hope to reunite in a cozy corner of Barnes and Nobles (only a block away) sometime this weekend. Monday was filled with orientation and ice-breaker exercises (just like freshmen WOW week all over again, only without the face paint and tug-of-war), Tuesday was filled with more orientation, followed by an interview at Greater North Michigan Ave. Association, and today was just one interview at Easter Seals in the Sears/Willis Tower. I have one more interview tomorrow and then I will have to make a decision. So much seems to be happening at one time, but I know it will all pay off soon!

The internships at Easter Seals and GNMAA are pretty neck-and-neck right now, which is good and bad. I wish there was a clear winner, but I suppose it’s good that I like both in case I get placed at one of them without having the option to choose. I guess I shouldn’t make my decision too soon – I still have one more interview tomorrow! Let’s hope I don’t get lost – again.

One thing that is boggling my mind about Chicago is how anyone got around this town before the helpful hand of a smart phone! I’m confident that maps didn’t help much because as far as I’m concerned, my map would better serve as toilet paper or a nice bed for a stray dog. Or maybe I’m just so reliant on my iphone map app that a real map has become like reading hieroglyphics. Seriously, though, there’s no way I’m whipping out that 5’ by 5’ thing on a street corner or on a bus. My iphone will serve me just fine, thank you very much (ignore the fact that it’s gotten me lost twice already…it’s gotten me “found” about 10 times, so there!).

On to the neighborhood: I live in the Gold Coast neighborhood, which is pretty nice/sometimes sketchy/really rich/not very rich/close to the lake/close to the El/VERY close to Starbucks/not far from Michigan Avenue/fill-in-the-blank. There are several restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and OH, I can’t forget the strip club right around the corner! All in all, it’s not a bad place to live, considering many other places to live in Chicago. There are a lot of young people around here and the El is packed full of young-ish business men and women during the morning rush hour – literally packed full like a can of vertical sardines.

Overall, I think I am enjoying myself here. While there is a lot of adjusting to do yet and I'm beginning to really miss palm trees and blue skies, I know this is good for me. I’ve done some exploring and have gotten the chance to hang out with Dordt students who I never really hung out with before, so it’s been fun! I think a little bit of Michigan Ave. shopping and dining is in my near future, once this crazy week settles down a bit.

I’ll keep you avid readers updated on my internship situation. Whatever it will be, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it!

Leaving the Pepper Spray at Home...Maybe

So I have one roommate blogging from Oxford, England, one blogging in the Dominican Republic, and then there’s me, soon-to-be blogging from Chicago, IL, which might as well be a foreign country. Yes, it’s true that I won’t have to go through any life-altering culture shock experiences, learn to communicate through language barriers, or politely choke down a local dog (and I don't mean a hot dog), but I will have to step outside of my comfort zone a bit. In Sioux Center, I could pleasantly jog (which would quickly turn into a walk) throughout town by myself, without the assistance of pepper spray or a state-certified hand gun. In Chicago, that will all change: For one, I hate jogging, and two, if I do decide to stroll throughout the streets of Chicago by myself, I might get arrested for packing heat and end up sharing a cell with Velma Kelly and Roxy Hart (he did “have it coming,” girls).

Right now you’re probably thinking that I’m a paranoid, high-maintenance freak when it comes to safety – you would be correct about the paranoid part, though I deny being high-maintenance. I’m the person on the plane that is looking out the window every 5 seconds to make sure it isn't going down, or the person that checks the front door 6 times just in case the dead bolt somehow unlocked itself. I can’t be sure, but I must have inherited this from my mother. Anyhow, Sioux Center was the perfect place for me when it came to my safety needs. Chicago, well, isn't.  And don’t even get me started on public transportation! Sioux Center was perfect for me in that sense too – no buses or taxis for miles!

This is probably the point in my post when you are expecting me to say “despite all my worries, I need to overcome my fears and just live life like a free spirit, no cares in the world…blah, blah, blah.”

I’m not going to, though, because I believe no spirit comes free. There’s always a price to be paid somewhere along the way, so I’m going to approach Chicago cautiously, without letting my paranoia get the best of me. I know that within the city limits of Chi-town, there are so many wonderful experiences to be had and I can’t let a few hundred fears stand in my way of getting to know the art, history, and culture of this unique place.

A few months back when I was having second thoughts about going to Chicago, my boyfriend put it this way to me: “when I visit you, would you rather me take you out to dinner for Sioux Center Mexican food or out for deep dish pizza in the heart of Chicago?” That’s when it clicked. Why would I spend another semester in Sioux Center, when I have the amazing opportunity to get work experience in a grand city like Chicago? It would be foolish of me to spend four more months eating Culvers and shopping at Walmart after a long day of classes when I could be dining at Lou Malnatis after a long, fulfilling day at my internship.  Don’t get me wrong, I like Culvers ice cream as much as the next Dordt student, and you can’t beat urban sprawl's superstore prices, but it’s time for me to take a slice or three of that deep dish pizza and pay 2 dollars more for a bottle of shampoo.

What I’m really saying is, despite all my worries, I need to overcome my fears and just live life like a free spirit, no cares in the world…Haha, gotchya there! But really, there comes a time when you just have to leave your pepper spray at home and step outside without a bullet proof vest weighing you down. Chicago is my place to do that and I am excited for that kind of freedom.

 Stay tuned for updates and more blog posts from the windy city! I’m happy to share with you the happenings of this little (and by little, I mean huge) town, the interesting people I meet, and the great opportunities my job will provide. I'm sure I'll see a thing or two of interest while riding on Chicago's public transit system, also known as The 'L' (hence the title of this blog). Please don’t hesitate to fit me in to your prayers a time or two. Only 7 days left until I arrive!