Memories from a Chicago neighborhood

My high school friends and I used to drive into the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago seeking adventure, live music, a bit of danger, and anything else the city could show us that was slightly more exciting than our suburban lives at the time. It was on one of these drives down Sheridan Road and into the cobblestone streets below the Morse CTA redline train that we discovered No Exit Cafe.

The place smelled like it had been there forever (actually, since 1958) and I still remember the sound of the creaky screen door that would announce each person that stepped into the space hidden down Glenwood Avenue. The cafe was drenched in sunlight from the large windows and a constant haze hung in the air from decades of exhaled Drum tobacco. An older, intellectual-looking crowd smoked, sipped coffee from mismatched ceramic mugs, wrote poetry or screenplays, worn copies of Kafka and Camus were ubiquitous and jazz played in the background. I was a sophmore in high school. And I was hooked.

We started hanging out there for Open Mic night which eventually led to my friend’s band playing there, and being invited afterwards to a bar down the street called Roy’s (now Red Line Tap). We didn’t have fake ID’s but since the band had been vetted over at No Exit we were treated like special guests. The patrons at Roy’s seemed to care more about good conversation, cheap beer, and live music and less about some underage kids being their entertainment. I think some guy bought us a pitcher of beer and demanded that my friends take to the stage and play. And play they did. The crowd loved them. They were something of an avant guard trio of hyper talented high school misfits. We’d found our congregation. It was existential bliss.

Rogers Park was one of the first neighborhoods of Chicago that I ever explored. Some nights we’d end up at Biddy Mulligans, a reggae bar on Sheridan. It was gritty, hot, crowded, and perfect in every way. We drank Red Stripe with the Jamaican crowd, fell in love with the music, and realized again the crowd was more interested in making a few young suburban kids smile and dance than asking if we had proper ID. It felt like the city embraced our wandering souls and provided a space for us to examine what Chicago was about, at the same time hooking us into her urban beauty one city night at a time. It was also on these urban adventures that we found out a little bit more about who we were ourselves.

The great things about Chicago is that every part of the city had its own unique vibe, and it still does, especially in the neighborhoods. Edgewater, Rogers Park, Boys Town, Uptown, Lincoln Square or Logan Square…this city has as many unique identities as it has unique individuals who call the city home.

One thing is sure in Chicago, you don’t need to go far to have a totally cool experience with local food, music, cultures and traditions from around the globe. Come see Nomadic Ant this weekend at Glenwood Avenue Arts Fest; our booth is in front of another local haunt from my past, Heartland Cafe.

Below is a photo taken around 1989. The Dodge Charger, with Abolish Apartheid & Question Authority bumper stickers, was the car that gave us the freedom to go on countless high school adventures into the city. Even when you can’t get out of the country, you can create an urban adventure every time you step outside of your routine in this city. Sometimes, in the words of Kafka, you need do even less.

“You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” – Franz Kafka