Below is the latest copy of a new short story, "South Chicago." It is free.
South Chicago
Rodrigo Haro
Dedicated to Penny Vitela (eternal rest)
Copyright 2022 by Rodrigo Haro
All rights reserved.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
I have to start a new short story. I have to follow through and just write. I have to think of a new project. I have to wait. A new short story is in the works. I have to collect a new collection. Thoughts that come to mind are: The City of Chicago, guns, and war. I have to write a short story about the young men that lost their lives in South Chicago. “South Chicago'' will be the name of the new short story.
South Chicago
Ben
I know three people who lost their lives in South Chicago. There are four. Maybe more. I will count as I write.
The first that comes to mind is a kid I knew in high school. I always saw him. He once told me, “I’m going to be your bully”
I shook my head, “no.”
That was the first time he talked to me. He used to ride his bike around and sell weed with his bookbag. My friend Chema brought him to me. He stood in front of my house while I told him no. He was on his side of the fence. I was in mine.
Eternal Rest.
He got shot and laid down in front of my sidewalk. There was an incident. Some would call it an accident. Where I come from there are gangs. It’s called Chicago. I guess he was people.
President Barack Obama always used “folks.” He never used people. Good people. I live in Little Village now. I guess good people.
The other gang came up to him one day after high school. He was walking home on 89th. Walking East. We were in front of the school. The opposite ganga was about five deep. One was carrying a bat. Wooden. They threw down their signs to him. He walked up five against one and threw down his signs.
They nodded at least one of them and walked away from him. They walked back to their truck. One of them, possibly the one with the bat, made a trigger gesture with his index finger.
I walked home.
About ten minutes later he was lying face up on the sidewalk by the front yard. I walked out and saw my friend, she must be a mother now, and she stared at me. My mom yelled, “vete adentro!”
I hesitated. He was my friend. If I did not consider him a good friend, I considered him a good friend for friend. I stared at my friend, Jay.
I went inside after my mom yelled at me a second time.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
Linda’s brother (LB)
The second person I remember (again in non-chronological order) is a big brother of a friend. I met her through my sister. She lived around the block with her mom. Her grandmother also lived a block away on 87th. I knew him from the block. He would ride his bike real slow through the sidewalk. He was peaceful. He was older than me.
He rode his bike one day through my block. I was by the stairs inside my gate. He drove real slow.
“Man, I’m high,” he exclaimed. “I feel good,” I saw his eyes and they were completely red. I nodded back and forth with a friendly smile on my face. I was contended. We were both happy and at peace.
“I just smoke two blunts,” he said.
“Yeah,” I am a person of few words unless I want something.
He rode his bike to the next block, a block that I knew was in control of another set, I set that controlled north of 87th. THis was the 88th block. It should be controlled by people South of 87th. People. It should have been controlled by People since it was South of 87th. I was always suspicious and nervous, anxious of him hanging out on the 87th blick. We had to stay on 88th. I Guess the gang had taken over the bclak, had passed the threshold, and was nbow on 87th.
“‘I'm going to hang out,” he said as he drove North to the next block. .
I always thought he was a good guy. I was getting close to Mel as well. My sister would bring her around and I would hang out with her. I love Linda.
He was shot by the police. That’s what I heard. You never believe the police can shoot (in cold blood, in the back) until you see it. Have you seen the 60 shots to the body of the young African-American boy? May he rest in peace. One shot and the rest took shooting practice. As if he was not a human being. When I wrote about my bully I was thinking of the 21 in Uvalde that lost their lives.
Linda’s brother was not a foe. Neither was Ben. He made his peace by coming to my address.
LB was a real person. Peaceful, so how did he get involved in violence?
My sister came crying to my mom one day after the shooting asking my mom to seel our house in order to hello LB’s mom with the funeral expenses.
My mom said no, but she offered her condolences. She went to the funeral.
It’s ironic that Shinzo Abe (Eternal Rest) got shot the other day by a gun in a country that does not allow guns. What are we supposed to do? What do guns mean?
The Chicago River flows out of the Lake. I want the press to know Chicago is Chicago. I hate it when newspapers use a picture of Chicago to point out New York City. This is not that city. This is our city. There are bridges. We’re not that expensive, but we can make an expense. We are Chicago and we know it. Caption appropriately.
He was shot by the police. My sister told me that she asked to see the police body videos and police car videos. His mom sat with the police in a station. All this is from what I heard. They showed him running from the cops. And then he fell.
I guess he fell after running from them. Away. He was running away.
Maybe, the cops shot him in the back. Maybe they shot him and did not pray for him. The cops shot him.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
Andres
I met him in high school. He was a student, a grade behind me, and he got along with my sister later in life. He lost his life due to a work accident. Although, he was dating my sister near the time of his death. He was in his twenties. One time I was hanging out with him in front of Chema’s house. He wanted to get involved in gangs. He wanted to look for a set to kick out and away from Commercial Ave. He was already in gangs. He was wearing a large t-shirt. That was his style. I like him. He grew up to his twenties. His real name was Andres.
He had a truck. I saw it in the truck one day. My sister wanted to buy weed from him one day driving by. I saw cross the street in the block our house is in. He lived near. He was in his twenties. I guess he worked in a factory. My sister mentioned they were hanging out. I guess they were a couple.
My sister said he was electrified. He most likely did not pass away from gun violence, or people with guns, but most likely passed away from an accident.
May He Rest in Peace
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
My sister's boyfriend
When my sister was a teenager she was kidnapped by her boyfriend. He was her age. He was in the Latin Kings. My sister was away from home for a year. She came home once after about a year. I met her in the basement picking up socks.
“What do you want me to do?” she screamed out at me.
“Stay,” I said.
We went back upstairs with her crying. God bless the girl reading. She went away again after that. Her boyfriend was there at the meeting with his mom. They were sitting on the couches talking to her. He smiled at me as soon as I walked in. I quickly looked for my sister. I found her down the steps. She was bruised. She was beaten. She was raped.
She eventually ran away from him. She went back to my mom. She stayed put.
She would listen to him on the phone. I thought it was abusive.
He would drive his mom’s Astro Van down and around the block honking for her in the front and back of the house. He would do this once in a while. He braked his tired one day and honked his horn on the alley. I went to the alley and saw him in his van. We made eye contact and he drove on.
He passed away that summer.
His mom came to our house, from Indiana, to tell my sister he had passed away. I walked out and told her that she did not have to know.
That’s something she has to know, she said in Spanish.
“Ella tiene que saber,” she reprimanded me.
She drove away when my sister collapsed. He was a teenager. He was shot by a gang not his own. He passed away and everyone knew.
He was talked about after his passing. I had a friend who mentioned him. He was in another gang other than his gang. I’m snot sure how to explain. There’s aggravation. I don’t want to talk about gangs.
My condolences to his family.
Eternal Rest.
God bless Big G and me. Amen.
Arnold Mireles
He was a community organizer. He was older than me. A whole generation. He had a college degree. He was alive when I was a teenager. He ran and worked in a community center he founded called El Centro Communitario Juan Diego that still exists today on Commercial Ave. When I was growing up the center was in a house, an address turned into an office, on Escanaba. They filled out your work for free heating during the cold months. They put together picnics, black parties, health fairs, and other events. He was also involved in the local CAPS meetings. The meetings were held in the basement of Immaculate Conception Church on 88th. CAPS is an organization between the Police and the community in which the police serve.
He was walking home from a CAPS meeting one winter night. He had to walk by 88th and Exchange our block. He lived with his father and mother on 89th right by the corner. I heard, “Pa, pa, pa, pa,” in a row. When you hear gunshots you know they are gun shots. Fireworks are methodic, they almost sound like a metronome, “Pa,” and then “Pa,” and then “Pa,”. Gunshots are “Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa,” repetitive. You know the gun shots are gun shots and not fireworks. Minutes later the ambulance lights could be seen through my living room windows. Mom said she walked out and saw the body bag being dragged.
In the morning, I saw the red blood, streams of them, on the snow. There is a small memorial where he passed away. This is close to the place where my schoolmate passed away.
Our community school was named after him. There was a ceremony when I was about ten or eleven and we all walked out to the playground. I think the mayor was there. Mayor Daley was in office.
They did an investigation on him. He was shot by some guys hired by a landlord. THe landlord was in the process of paying fines to the City. He was a slum lord. Arnold Mireles had taken action to stop this landlord from operating.
who was found
The guys were found at a restaurant in the SOuth Chicago or the East Side. They were conversing about the incident. A local girl called the cops infromign them that she was hearing of a murder.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
Mr. Rodriguez
There are other faithful departed from South Chicago I know. Some of them are far acquaintances. Some are closer.
Like my Drafting high teacher, Mr. Rodriguez, who passed away when I was in high school. He was a South Chicago resident, who grew up in South Chicago and attended James H. Bowen high as a student as well, and had a son. His son was grown, adult age, and he would visit his father during field trips. Once he fell on his back on the hallway. We were trying to get out of the building. He got up and went back down the stairs. Mr. Rodriguez took us downtown to an architecture excursion. He painted all the well-known architecture in downtown, The Rooker, The Water Tower Place, and others. We went to The Chicago Board of Trade and my economics teacher explained what was going on the floor. He explained that if you bought a ton of grain you could sell it on the Board of Trade without ever seeing your product. We sell, buy, and trade commodities.
We all suffered and were shocked from his loss, our loss. He did not pass away while I was in school, but after I graduated.
We heard about it and were shocked. It seemed he was to his high school sweetheart.
He had his drafting well organized. There were only two drafting teachers in the high school, the other was Mr. Swanson, who was a seasoned teacher and guitarist and taught a guitar workshop on Wednesday as well. Mr. Swanson, who might have passed away from old age, had his room with updated computers. Mr. Rodriguez was insular. He too had updated computers on every station with the latest programs and software. But his doors were always closed. He always wore a tie. He was a marxist. He once showed us a video of the military practices in Latino/a and Afrinca-American communities and told us not to join. This video was during Wednesdays when we had workshops and not our regular classes. THey were half days. I never had him as a drafting teacher, the school termed itself an architecture school, I had Mr. Swanson.
I never understood why. He passed away from a murder-suicide. He shot his wife and then himself. His son is still alive. I heard he drove out to the highway. It might only have been his suicide that occurred. Most likely it involved his wife. Rest in Peace. May she Rest in Peace as well.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
Mrs. Foin
I met Mrs. Foin as my art teacher. She was the only Art teacher in James H. Bowen High School. I have been teaching there for more than twenty years. She never had any children, a choice she explained as, “My personal choice.”
I want to be a father. May God hear my words. I want to be a dad, and a BIOLOGICAL father. I also want to be a husband.
Mrs. Foin was also there as my Academic Decathlon coach from Art. I took part in the team and competitions. She hosted Art study sessions on Saturdays at the school in her homeroom. She had a huge Art closet where she stashed all of her supplies. It was a room to ehr hearse;f with lock and key in addition to their classroom. She loved art. She had graduated from The University of Wisconsin and moved to Ciicago to work. She lasted until retirement. The year I graduated she was planning on retirement. She went to our prom downtown at a hotel. She was dancing with me. I had two dates. One I really liked and wanted to date, Illumina. The other friend was Vera.
I danced with both although I wanted to stay close to Ilumna.
She danced and I graduated and moved on and went on to college. She passed away after I left high school. May she Rest in Peace.
Mrs. Foin did not die in South Chicago. She worked in South Chicago. She established herself in South Chicago.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
There is a memorial on 87th for a faithful departed soul. May He rest in Peace. I think it’s a young man, probably gang related. I don’t know who he is. All I know is that I pray for him. There is a big heart next to a cross. I pray for him everytime I get on the bus.
There is a faithful departed soul next door as well that served in the military. I saw a yellow ribbon on their yard fence. May He Rest in Peace. He must have served in The Iraq War.
What is going on in South Chicago and everywhere else in the country is something destructive. I remember multiple times we had to stay after hours at the school due to gun and gang violence. The security guards would keep us inside the building until we presumed we were safe to walk home. The day after Ben passed away the whole high school shut down. They were students on the stairwells crying and pronouncing his name. Counselors came into the high school. The principal, who almost never used the intercom, announced that we had help if we needed it. Nobody wanted to go to first period. Everybody was down. The whole student population was distraught. They were all sad and taken aback. The young man was popular. We were all grieving for him like we knew how and that was together. We all gathered around the third period.
I am reading The Divine Invasion (1981) by Philip. K. Dick. There are three plots I am trying to keep track of. One involves a love triangle. The other involves finding the past parents of Zina and Emmanuel. The last involves a Cardinal in Catholic Church and his dealings with criminal enterprises. I understand the characters.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
War. I wonder what made the characters live Earth in the novel. Lack of faith? Most likely it was wat. War is what tears us apart and let us know we are not following God. The War in Iraq is something we all grew up with- the millennials. I was born in ‘87 (“my grandaddy’s a legend”) like Kendrick. I grew up with the war. Do you know how many Iraqi people actually died in the war? I don’t. It’s millions. In one war. They’re people not folks. People. It’s people we killed. We went into homes with our metralletas and killed innocent children, mothers, little girls, boys and daughters. We went in there an skilled. How many U.S. soldiers? May they Rest in Peace. The government sais go over there and start a genocide. A Iraquo genocide. For what? So we can drive our car one block to the store? It’s unfair. They are people (not folks). Fold is detrimental. Fold amerns they are them. Its tribnial. People means all of us. Dloks is separate. I don't understand.
Now there is a war in Ukraine. Not our War, but the stupid Actor-President with millions of dollars form Hollywood says it sour war. Did you see the movie? He put out a movie to promote WAR. He made a comedy out of a tragedy. Did we pray for Liza (Eternal Rest)? No. He did not. He made a MOVIE, a comedy movie. Am I angry, probably yes.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
I need to think of other people who passed away in Chicago, South, Chicago, or in the world. I am listening to Mac Miller. Do you know he passed away? Rest in Peace.
I think I have to talk about War. The War in Iraq happened when I was in my first year of college, 2006. It might have started sooner. When Barack Obama was elected we were still in Iraq. I’m listening to Kendrick Lamar,
What do I know to
There is something coming up. What do we know about war?
War is ugly. War is stoppable. War is avoidable. War is unnecessary. May God protect us and Russia. What do we know? The Motherland of some. I need to stay calm. I knew many girls in high school. Can we skip how we experienced 9/11? Mr. P. put his lesson on hold and he said,
“I don’t know what to say. We have never gone through this before. I would pay attention to what the Principal has to say>”
Suddenly the intercom turned on and Mrs. Silva talked through the speaker phone. I knew something was happening. I had watched the infamous video now of the planes hitting the second tower. I watched them with my mom in the morning. No, turning on the television in the morning before school or work is not normal. But we did it with the rest of the country that day. My mom did not know what to say. It was everywhere.
I went to school. I thought about it as another day. It was not. School stopped. Work stopped. Family stopped. People passed away. Then there was War. More killing. More people passed away. Millions of people passed away in Iraq. People are dying in Ukraine. We lost Iraq. Russia will lose Ukraine.
I don’t think we were supposed to take over Iraq. Millions of people died. Passws away. Millions. This was not a World War it was more like Vietnam like we knew we were going to lose. We wanted to do something. Bom boom boom a gun goes. Not boom. Boom. Boom. Thot thot thot.
I don't think we are supposed to take over the country of my patron Saint, St. Josaphat. November 12 is my birthday. What. I think the War will end as long as we stop making a War out of it. Probably millions of people will die as well. Lil Peep passed away. Eternal Rest. That’s cool. Gimme some. My mind is constant. Not erratic. Probability. Stability, Ability. Necessity. Pour Up. Drank.
There’s Afghanistan which we took over first. I’m sure there are hundreds of thousands of people who passed away in Afghanistan as well. Rest in Peace.
What mom? Do I obey or do I stray? There’s a question coming up. I think War is unnecessary. I think my mom, you, went through the first Iraq War. I heard about that, but this was our War. And what the fuck? Mark made money out of the War. Maybe we came together to talk about the War.
Myopic
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
Guns
I saw my first gun when I was five years old. I found it underneath my dad's couch when we were living at the restaurant. It was a revolver. I found it with my sister. I slowly took it to my dad who was nakedn in bed with my mom.
“Look I found this,” I said in Spanish. My mom stared first then my dad. They both gave me eye contact. My dad did not say a word. I heard guns almost every weekend in SOuth Chicago much like Little Village now. I saw another gun when I was thirteen. I was hanging out with Chema and a pirate. He always wore a pirate hat, had a small gun. He was part of the gang. What set I am not sure. Maybe the main. He fired it across the alley and asked me if I wanted to shoot it. I said no.
There are other faithful departed in Chicago. The gang wars are real. I never held a gun. I have never owned a gun. I have been around guns all my life. A gun is an object made to be fired. It can be used to protect yourself. Most likely it is lethal. I Have used Bb buns. My friend and neighbor who is married now and left land (South Chicago) to live in Rogers Park when his then girlfriend got into Loyola had a BB gun in his car as well that looked exactly like a real gun with a metal handle. He shot at someone once, and according to him he screamed out, “they got me!” not knowing that it was a BB gun shot and most likely artificial, superficial.
Later on in life when I was older, I saw my dad’s apartment. We were separated from him. I saw his apartment full of stuff. I saw boxes full of things he owed. I saw a cramped apartment. He also had birds. We visited his apartment. THe birds flew out of the cage. They flew all over the place.
I had a feeling, and I have an image of him passing away on the ground. My mom was always talking about him passing away alone. She had hate in her eyes. Why would you choose to love someone who you later hated? Why would you cause that pain to yourself? Why would you cause anger to yourself? It’s unhealthy. My mom is always doubting herself. May God forgive me, but I would always see her being unsocial, scared of people, and always thinking the worst of people instead of the best. I always saw her suspicious of the people around her. May God allow me to trust.
I once held a BB gun. I got it from my friend, Chema, who worked at the Swap-O-Rama, what we called “La Garra.” The store is a huge discounted store, and outlet mall, where families can sell. Families can be vendors and you can practically sell anything. I ordered it from him. The pellets were orange and made of a hard surface, not metal, but resembling chalk. I shot at my sister with the orange pellet BB gun. She was fine. SHe only had a couple of bruises. She screamed. She was on the couch. Other than a slight pinch she was unharmed.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
I have to write. Arnorld Mireles’s father also passed away a couple of years later as well as his mother. Eternal Rest Grant Unto Them. The parents of my best friend in grammar school, Jaime Nunez. His father passed away first. God Rest his Soul. His mom passed soon after from a stroke (Eternal Rest). The mom of my high school friend, Tony, passed away from COVID (Eternal Rest, Light). I think we have to keep counting our days if we do bad, wrong.
What else is there in South Chicago?
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
I am drinking a beer. I think this story has to be tighter. I have to keep writing. I have to think of me. The father of my brother-in-law recently passed away,. Refugio Vitela. I have to think of what is going on in South Chicago. I have to make peace. South CHicago has to be published. I think it’s ready to be a story again.
When I was in high school I knew my high school security guard, her name was Beth. I saw her everyday. She was from South Chicago as well. I have to let myself breathe. I think I have to chill. I have to do something. I also recently saw Beth in church at Immaculate Conception church. I have to go on. This story is almost done. I think I have to edit.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
South Chicago has to survive. The neighborhood has to be clear. This story has no conflict, but merely reflection on the people living there. The story of South Chicago is a story of us. Established by Polish-Americans then re-established by Mexican-American WWII veterans after the war. An influx of immigrants as well as African-Amricans finally settled in the neighborhood making it theirs. There are murals and memorials for the veterans of the neighborhood that served in WWII in both churches, Immaculate Conception and Our Lady of Guadalupe.
South Chicago has a history and my story as well. My story of South Chicago is my childhood, tennagehood, and adult life trying to save myself by South CHicago, through South CHicago, and from South Chicago. I was born in Cook County Hospital.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
South Chicago
South Chicago is one of seventy-seven neighborhoods in the City of Chicago. My mom arrived here at age of seventeen with her mother (my Grandmother, que es paz descanse) and her two sisters (my aunts now mothers). They arrived here after my Grandfather’s (Rest in Peace) accident. According to mom, my grandmother took care of my Grandfather through work. She worked in a bolt and screw factory, probably U.S. Steel. She occasionally smoked cigarettes. She was here with her son, my Tio Jorge as well. None of them were married. Now I don’t live in South Chicago although I was born (actual birth in Cook County Hospital) and raised there. My mom married at nineteen, had my brother, and stayed single for a bit until my dad, at age forty-five, and she had me at age twenty-five and my sister at age twenty-seven (and my dad was forty-seven). I grew up in South Chicago until I left my land to go to college. I went to Sprongfield at The University of Illinois at Springfield.
I came back one summer later. It was not the same. I was getting kicked out. I worked a bit at a Sears downtown and met a girl, a young girl older than me, who is a mother. I visited my mom sporadically throughout the year.
South Chicago is my home and I kept going back home. I kept being taken back home. I came back each summer and winter break except for one winter break in my second year of college whenI stayed. I also ran away to Ohio for a year running from pain that I caused myself. Running from my sister's pain and my mom’s pain in anger. I lived in my mom’s basement for a bit after graduate school. I also fought my mom a lot. South Chicago is my home and I kept going back home. I never thought I would be getting kicked out of my home.
I have been back to South Chicago all my life. I will be going back to South Chicago, my home, for the rest of my life. I will probably retire in South Chicago and live a long life as an elder.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
The history of South Chicago is my history. I can’t know, write about, or talk about history before 1987 because I was not there. I can only provide my story. I know South Chicago. It comes and goes. My dad had a restaurant. Business and money comes and goes from the neighborhood. That is what I learned about money living in South Chicago. Money is not permanent and does not stay. It might come back. The restaurant was in the main corridor of the neighborhood, Commercial. There is cause for concern when businesses do not prosper. I think there are families with money that run successful businesses that have stayed. There is one store that has been cruel to its workers and has faced legal action for not paying its workers.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
The neighborhood is the neighborhood. I think the neighborhood is my neighborhood. THe schedule for my visitations is random, up to me. I think I will visit soon. South Chicago has to survive. I think having a place to call home, a culture, and a place to pray is what one needs. THe neighborhood is far South and East. I guess the city is divided to be united. The whole South can be mine. I think the Southeast of CHicago gives me access to the rest of the South.
Guns? I don’t have one. I don’t think guns are the answer. I think I have experienced a lot of guns in my life. I have to not get a gun until God tells me to. I think I will have one soon. I might need one to be a cop. I think I had to bear arms after I started going to South Chicago daily. I have to bear arms soon if I am going to baptize my nephew. I think I have to do anything to get things right. My mom is from South Chicago. That is the land she chose for her children. I think my Grandparents (Eternal Rest) chose this land for us and their grandchildren inherited the land. I probably will live in South Chicago again. I will probably seize the day when God tells me to move back to South Chicago. I will probably see South Chicago. I have to look for the Southeast side soon.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
The Southeast side of Chicago seems like it's empty, but there are communities there. Hegewisch, and the East Side, and most importantly South Chicago. The East Side is a little more developed. There are no reasons to not go to South Chicago.
The neighborhood is my neighborhood. It’s close to the lake. It’s my lake, our lake, and the neighborhood’s. There is something peaceful about smoking a blunt in the parking lot of Calumet Park on the shore looking out at the lake. I think it is beautiful. The city provides you with what you want. The city provides you with nature when you need nature. The city provides a population to get along. The sand, beaches, and lake provides us a way to congregate, look at each other, and cook out. The lake provides us with a peaceful way to be together. The further west you get from the lake the more violent it gets. The lake provides a peaceful way to get along. At times enemies get along well at Lake Michigan. The way to get along in South Chicago is to go to South Chicago when you are invited. I think the way to get aligned with South Chicago is not to ignore the community, but at the same time respect the community. The way to get to the South is to follow the lake. There is a highway that splits up the West Side front eh Southeast side.
South Chicago is close to the lake for a reason. South Chicago is close to Indiana in case you need cheaper gas. South Chicago is the gateway out of the city, but also a way to view the lake. What does water mean? How do we pollute the water? In South Chicago there are plantas contaminating our earth. I’m guessing they go into the water as well. Teh chemicals are from fossils fuels. Carbon footprints are huge. These companies mostly use our land to built profit. They most likely do not have the neighborhood as their best interest. The Koch brothers most likely use their company, land, pier, and money to make more money without taken into account the future of the community. Our earth has to be nutrient-filled soil, it has to be plentiful. There are oil refineries in Indiana as well as South Chicago. We house the petroleum coke in our neighborhood and Indiana burns the oil. Refining oil is a process that attacks our senses. It smells awful like death.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
There was a movie made years ago called Southeast. It actually has been released yet. IT seems like a big thing to release a film on the Southeast Side which is South Chicago and the East Side. It seems Burnham is also part of it along with Hegewisch. The film seems ready to take off. It seems based on the petroleum coke that is causing health concerns and effects on our community. Petroleum coke is based and comes from the companies owned by the Koch brothers in South Chicago. South Chiago was established as a steelworker community. I think the refineries from Indiana that turn oil into gas are polluting our land, our earth, and infecting the food that we grow in our yards. Many people have independent gardens like the rest of America. We grow tomatoes, cucumbers, tomatillos, chiles, and other vegetables for personal use. We grow them expecting them to be better than organic. But they are tainted by this dust, this petroleum coke left over after the burn of oil into gas. This dust, petroleum coke (that inauspiciously is produced by companies owned by the Koch brothers, lexically and to the ear they are related) is mostly generated by those companies. Coke? Koch? The piles of this petcoke are stored in South Chicago close to the harbor, Calumet Harbor and the South branch of the Chicago River and Calumet harbor consist of Calumet RIver flowing into Lake MIchigan.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
I guess the Petcoke is causing huge damage to our environment and health. The chemicals used to refine oil are causing cancer, birth defects, and polluting food and air. The petcoke mountains have been on the Southeast harbor for years, decades. Since I was a little kid they have been there. I have been critical about the hills of dust in the park. The petcoke most likely is making millions of dollars for the company owed by The Koch Brothers. They most likely don’t care about South Chicago and most likely have never seen the petcoke mountains in Southeast Chicago, my home in South Chicago. Petcoke is something we hear everyday and most likely we think it does not affect us. The way to recognize that we are being poisoned is by believing what are facts. There are oil refineries in Indiana that make gas out of oil. The leftovers, the dust left behind, is being dumped in South Chicago. This is called petcoke. Petroleum coke.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
What the future holds for South Chicago is not known. I have to think of what will happen to South Chicago. Will it survive? Will petcoke go away? Will those mountains of dust that we see in the harbor go away? If you drive down the bridge down 95th street close to Calumet Park heading to the lake you can see the dust piles. In the winter they look like salt piles with the snow on top. But it's coal. Coal dust. It’s toxic. It’s dangerous. The dust settles in our food, in our skin, in our street. It’s coal and coal parts in our food poisoning us and our children. The way of the cross is through God. La estacion de Dios es en la Cruz. Mom is the way of the cross. My mom is my burden. I have to carry her. I also have to love her. There are ways to the cross. I think God told me my mom is my cross. She does not want to be held, she does not want to be carried, she wants to be fallen. I think I have to pick her up and she honestly does not realize how heavy a burden sh eis. A burden? I am looking at a picture of Christ next to Saint James the Major on the cover of a book. The petcoke business will never go out of business. I have to join a union. I think I have to learn about St. James the Great. I have to announce that I will be a father when I want to. Why do people have problems?
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
I miss South Chicago. I want to go back. I want to move back soon. I also want to live permanently in South Chicago after I turn sixty. After I complete my forty if wandering, I want to return and live in South Chicago. I want to retire there in South Chicago and have a home, and family.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
I dream of going back to South Chicago. I dream of living there and leading my late-life in my neighborhood. I think it’s a person's dream to go back to where they were born or raised and love their last chapter of their life. I believe it's possible. I am thinking of Herman Melville. He retired in New York City in the last chapter of his life. He went back to his land. He died poor. He did not become rich or his estate did not make money until after he passed away. He had a regular job with the city, a desk job, where he worked everyday until he passed away. He did his froty. He came back home after sixty years old. He wandered for forty years liek eerie one else that leaves home before age twenty. He got his land. He seemed to have known that he needed to live in New York City, the birth-city where he grew up. He struggled his whole life to accommodate himself and have a home. He had a mansion (home) next to Hawthorne (Eternal Rest) and admired Thoreau (Eternal Rest). I have read Moby Dick and some parts of Bartleby.
St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen.
South Chicago is there. South Chicago I will return to. South Chicago will see Gangero again. I have to listen to this story. What I termed Inferno will not burn, or go away. It will not be an Inferno again. I have to return at old-age. Maybe Cielo will come to earth. Maybe, Space (the North Side will remain Space and I will ignore Space and not get there anymore. My flight there since I was twenty-two or younger has been confusing. The West will remain the West. I have to return to the South, to Kush, to the promised land after my forty years. I am thirty-four. I left before twenty. I have served fourteen years. Only twenty-six more years more to go until I return home.
(God bless edit, cut make it short-story length).
