Heart and Soul

            Despite the fact that I had a hopelessly unnewsworthy athletic career, I once appeared in a photo in the sports section of the Chicago Tribune. The black-and-white photo captured me and some teammates playing Nintendo 64 in our locker room as we killed time between classes and practice. It was part of a series called “Heart and Soul” in which Scott Strazzante, a Tribune photographer, sought to provide readers with “an intimate look at high school athletics away from the fields of play”. Ever since this picture appeared in the spring of 2006, I've kept an eye out for Scott's work while looking through the Trib. He has covered multiple Olympics, made the rounds with the Blackhawks and the Stanley Cup, and recently photographed the heated NATO protests. But, in my opinion, his work shines brightest in his photo blog “Shooting from the Hip”. It is here that he displays his knack for capturing the city and it's lifeblood – the people who frequent it.  

            I recently had the pleasure of hearing Strazzante speak at the Printers Row Literary Festival. While showcasing dozens and dozens of his photos, he explained his growing love for street photography. Scott, in his down time or in transit between assignments, roams the city capturing people with his camera or iPhone. His results are often stunning and prove that the most trivial and common moments in our lives can be nonetheless the most meaningful and telling.

            Though I started my own blog with an unspecified agenda, over time I've refined my vision and approach in ways that are similar to that of Strazzante and his street photography. The most enjoyable part of this experience for me has been pulling a notepad and pen out of my pocket while walking down the street or sitting on the “L” and trying to capture moments of insight, observations, and fringe thoughts produced my surroundings. I try to capture people with ink and paper much like Scott and many other professional and amateur photographers do with their lenses. I make a point to quickly scribble down interesting things that are said to me or may overhear while exploring the city. Some of these moments made me cringe, some made me laugh, most made me smile, and one made me dance. But all of them made my mind churn for one reason or another. Everyone has a story and something to say worth being heard. Even the little girl being pulled along by her mother through busy sidewalks with her eyes to the sky and jaw to the pavement in awe of skyscrapers. Even the homeless woman who holds a sign explaining that she's not a bad person, and that she just caught some bad breaks. Or even the CTA security guard in his fluorescent vest which is doubly visible in the black of night who weathers yet another graveyard shift. Strazzante gushed about the people who are heart and soul the city, simply saying, “If you just observe people. It's just amazing, all the amazing things you'll see.” Or hear, for that matter.

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Here are a few of the things I've heard...

“You're not in your little town in Michigan anymore... You're in a big town.” 
            - on Michigan Avenue

“I've never had Starbucks, I like Dunkin' Donuts... You don't like Dunkin' Donuts? Dunkin' Donuts is goooooood. Dunkin' Donuts is the best!” 
            - on the Blue Line Platform (Damen Avenue Stop)

“Guys, I'm at my last resort.” 
            - on Michigan Avenue

“I be forgettin' I'm at work sometimes.” 
            - at the Art Institute of Chicago

“I like photos that give more questions than answers.” 
            - at Printers Row Lit Fest

“I'll give you twenty dollars, that beer, and a titty twister for that t-shirt.” 
            - at Chicago Blues Festival, Grant Park

“You go 'n get youself some cold water now.” 
            - on Harrison Street

“I'm gunna kick until I need new shoes” 
            - at Congress Theater

“Alright, we're gunna take a little break here, put a new string on the guitar. I hope you all are enjoying the beautiful day, today, in Cheee – Caghhh – Goooo.” 
          - near Buckingham Fountain

The Chicago Chronicles III: "Up in the City, Down in the Mines"

            Turning onto Halsted Street, I noticed the dull orange glow shining through the canvas awnings outside the bar. I eased through the wooden saloon style doors and let them flutter shut behind me. Their hinges squeaked as they cracked together over and over. The crowd at Kingston Mines was larger and older than I had come to expect from other Thursday nights I'd spent there. Nonetheless, I became another shade in the welcoming, knowing burnt orange glaze that typically coated the bar and it's patrons.

            A singer named Nellie “Tiger” Travis was on stage with her band. “I ain't gunna stop,” she screamed, “'til I get my lovin' right”. She sang with authority, and I had no reason not to believe her. I ordered a pale ale and found a good ledge to lean on in the back as she waded into a BB King cover. The sadness of drums, strings, and vocals drowned the chat that filled the bar. Customers and bar tenders met halfway over the bar, shouting from a whisper's distance to communicate drink orders. Tables full of people tightened as they struggled to carry on conversation. All the while, Tiger's emotion filled the place. “The thrill is gone baby... The thrill is gone away”.

            Discount chandeliers and orange light bulbs illuminated the weathered murals and faces that covered and spanned from wall to wall. Everything assumed that hue. Attempts at individuality were defeated, and everyone became a different shade of a sunset suspended in time. I looked to directly to my left and found myself in the company of dozens musicians, their likeness' sketched on paper, framed, and fixed to the wall. The place has “character”. I give it that great buzzword of my approval.

            As Nellie finished her set, I detached myself from my ledge and nodded “So Long” to musicians past and present. The sun never sets, and the music never stops. I shuffled my way through a passageway leading to another room and a second stage. I sat on a wobbly stool as another set began. Joanna Connor riffed through the opening moments of “Tush” by ZZtop, and I noticed a sign I always notice. There are white poster-board signs that hang above both makeshift stages. In sloppy black writing, they read “Illegitimus Non Carborundom”, which supposedly translates to 'don't let the bastards grind you down'.

            I'd heard this set before from Connor, but didn't mind because it was a good one. There's usually a good mix of people the bar. It usually strikes some balance between college students, middle-agers, and even some gray-haired people who sip their drinks and tap their feet all the same. The typical demands of the night life, the self-centeredness and showmanship, usually melt away under the influence of the sounds of blues and shades of orange. But on this night that wasn't so. I've never felt like Kingston Mines was a bar that catered to professionals looking to unwind after work, but on that night there were too many professionals looking to unwind after work. A collage of button-ups, ties, and buckets took away from the aesthetic and authenticity.

            It was a shame too because Joanna Connor is a great guitarist. I made my way back toward the room with the main stage, which now had many open tables. I took Connor in from an old television that broadcast the performance taking place just a room away. Luckily, the speakers continued to blare. I watched her pluck through solos as I tried to put my disappointments aside and salvage the night. She whacked the strings like a kid whacking gophers at Chuck E. Cheese's. With closed eyes, she put the crowd from her mind. Her head gyrated as her hand and fingers spazzed back and forth between frets. She stood on stage where the orange lights burned brightest and radiated herself towards the crowd. I poked the ice at the bottom of a drink and wondered whether anyone else noticed that the sun is always setting in the mines, just like in a good blues song.