Last night I had a minor, well...major breakdown in Dairy Queen. By the grace of God himself, and under some sort of divine intervention D'Arcy found me picking at a brownie blizzard with a plastic spoon (which, oddly enough they do not have on the menu. This simple little concotion had to be made especially and rung up seperately. Guilt began to ensue after, and I counted, the fifth sigh and eye roll from the cashier).
"Whats going on, man? Whatcha got so far?"
"Nothing D'Arcy. I am working on a creative writing degree, not a journalism degree. I have not idea how to feature write and I have a feeling I am not even writing... right," I snapped back while cringing at the sound of write and right.
"Well," she began with an encouraging and very sudden head nod to show she understood my frusteration,
"Tomorrow you'll come with me, we'll just roam, I'll show you how to report on the spot."
And that is just what we did...no brownie blizzard remorse needed.
Today I woke up feeling hopeful. I realized, as I rinsed my hair in the shower and rung it dry over the drain that I really am not an individual who likes to sleep. Each day my phone goes off at 7am and my day begins. Partly out of nervous anticipation and partly out of eagerness. But it really does not matter how many cups of coffee I drank as I paced the sidewalk of E. Congress while talking with my mom on the phone. Because this afternoon I got a kick ass story.
Ralph is a young man who owns a hookah bar in Algonquin. After asking him why he was at the Robie House in the South side of Chicago he exclaimed...
"Because I just love his architecture." He was referring to Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture. D'Arcy smiled and nudged me.
"He thinks you are cute. And granted he thinks this is you flirting I say...to hell with it man! You got yourself a quote!"
I laughed nervously and inched away from Ralph. I have his bussiness card tucked away in my leather journal (next to a ginko leaf)only because of D'Arcy's thick skinned and outgoing nature that just seems to scream, "To hell with you, I am a reporter and I need a quote!"
I wrote down everything the interpretor said. Her name was Charolette Schurvman and she was delightful (she also loved kids). After introducing myself as a reporter for Speak Easy, our University's magazine, I asked her what her name was and her job description. She calls herself an interpretor while blushing and laughing a little nervously. But she chased me down after I thanked her and told her how much I enjoyed her tour of the Robie House.
"You know, there are more Frank Lloyd Wright homes down the street if you are writing about his art," she shouted from across the street as a car screeched by thus hiding her from my view for several seconds. Once she finally caught up with me she told me the addresses and encouraged me walk by and observe. D'Arcy had just finished talking with Ralph, retrieving some last minute quotes and his card and asked Charolette,
"What do you think about the Robie House selling right away after the owner put so much time into building it?"
"I don't think one way or the other about it I guess," Charolette began.
"It's one of those stories, you know..." she waved the air with her hand while thinking of the right words, "heart break hotel. It is a heart break hotel story."
And she walked down the street in the opposite direction of the gorgeous work of art called the Robie House from which she came. And little did she know, she left me with a story.
After spending a day, or even an afternoon with D'Arcy Fallon you realize people are inherently genuine, especially in the South side of Chicago. Many just have a story they'd be delighted to tell you all about. Let me end my blog by telling you about a few of my favorites.
Woodlawn Man. (We didn't figure out his real name.)
He had one tooth protruding from his bottom jaw. Aside from that oddly misplaced tooth, he was darling. D'Arcy asked him if he celebrated the Black Hawk's big win (the Stanley cup!).
"Oh! Sure! I celebrated, sure did!" He said while nodding all the while.
"I celebrated alright!" He repeated...he then went into a rant, none of which I could understand. Partly because I don't understand sports and he went on and on about the Sox...Cubs...Bears...Bulls...Black Hawks...and, am I missing any? Because if so, he ranted about them too. Another reason I could only nod and smile was because his languege was not very coherent. Nonetheless, he helped us find our way to Hyde Park...chatting the whole way there. I learned that he swam in high school, works as a park cleaner-uper (official job description?) in Grant Park, and ofcourse...he loves LOVES loves sports and Chicago. If it weren't for Woodlawn Man, I might not have the Heartbreak Hotel story...he pulled the cord on the CTA in order for me to get off at Woodlawn Street. I thanked him several times and his final words were,
"You are welcome, beautiful girl".
25 years is a long time & I'm not married, Man.
To think of it, we really did not get the names of these people. But this man smirked on the subway after I had asked D'Arcy how long she had been married to her husband Rudy. She answered 25 years and he laughed to himself.
"What? Are you married?" She asked him with the friendliest of smiles.
"Nah, nah. Not married. But that a long time lady. One year, two year is a long time in this day. 25 year...wow."
D'Arcy asked him if he celebrated the Black Hawk's big win too.
"Sure did. Chicago needed that win. 25 year is a long time," He repeated.
Our stop arrived and he flashed a charming smile filled with teeth, though rotting.
We waved goodbye with a smile and he shouted after us,
"To the next 25 year!"
How Old do I look? Woman.
D'Arcy loved this young girl. She was 22 with the hopes of becoming a bussiness woman and was a student of bussiness and sociology. Though you wouldn't suspect that at first glance. She told us all about winters in Chicago, her love for the city, and her fascination with the concept of free admission into the Museum of Science and Industry. Waving brochures in our faces the whole seven blocks on the CTA,she would chant,
"You should go!"
And this was my afternoon. The evening was filled with relaxtion, laughter, and the re hashing of events with a new dear friend of mine...fellow journalist, Tasha Elliot. Over her veggie burger and onion rings and my grilled cheese and fries we giggled about our encounters. We then made a very horrible decision. We ordered dessert because as D'Arcy would say, "Why the hell not man?"
I ordered myself vanilla ice cream "sanwhiched" between two giant chocolate chip cookies and topped with whipped cream and oreo peices. Tasha ordered what I pronounced a giant (and she found this hilarious) rice krippie. After taking forever to divy up our amounts for the check (as Tasha said, math is not for english majors!) indigestion ensued. We had to sit on a bench outside of the resteraunt for 30 minutes before walking the trecherous seven blocks to the Red Line. So much laughter and joking along the way...the comfort food and joking despite the way it made us feel physically, was much needed.
Until Tomorrow,
Alissa
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