There are certain and special
people which
change our lives indelibly, and
if we're
lucky, sometimes we're made aware
of their
catalyst-like natures immediately.
Their
presence makes our life's resolution
a touch
more vivid, our life's volume
a decibel or
two higher. They have a unique
force of personality
that can profoundly influence
our perception
of the world's possibilities
for us without
encroaching on the personal space
necessary
for transformation. They often
inspire personal
change in those around them without
correcting
us in our notion that it was
our idea all
along. My friend Kenneth is one
of those
people.
I had a vintage apartment in
the Old Town
neighborhood on Chicago's near
north side.
Actually, it was a condo owned
by a sad,
but usually affable man named
Steve. I was
new to Chicago, in my twenties
and trying
to find my way in the world.
I had little
in the way of furniture and possessions,
but I was happy with the expansive
space,
superb location and the cheap
rent it offered
so I set up shop there, one floor
above an
odd and eclectic tavern called
The Old Town
Ale House. The first couple of
years that
I lived there, Steve did too,
sometimes with
a third roommate, sometimes without.
Shuttered
with wooden shades, the apartment
in the
early years was dark, dusty and
spare reflecting
Steve's spirits, which were severely
dampened
by a failed marriage to an unsound
woman
and a legal career with limited
prospects.
Ultimately he married well, moved
to the
suburbs and never in thirteen
years raised
my rent. Eventually the space,
like my life,
brightened.
I found myself subject to the
tyranny of
commerce, better known in America
as the
act of chasing the buck, attempting
to make
my mark in the mortgage business.
This is
best done without imagination,
by soliciting
Realtors for business, usually
receiving
calls on the pager at the most
invasive of
hours, acutely aware of the irrational
natures
people exhibit languishing in
that gray twilight
that exists on Maslow's lowest
level of food
and shelter in his Hierarchy
Of Needs. Also
made illuminatingly clear to
me were the
linear concerns of the referring
real estate
agents and the status of their
all-important
commissions. I learned quickly
that people
making a lot of money in this
country often
consider themselves an expert
on a variety
of subjects on the sole basis
that they make
a lot of money.
Old Town was a special place in the late
eighties and early nineties with
a demographically
diverse population of yuppies,
artists, teachers,
musicians, actors, writers and
wait servers
(often one and the same) all
cohabitating
among an intellectually vibrant
nightlife.
I was told that Bill Murray and
Harold Ramis
lived together for a time in
my apartment
in the 1970's. You see, Second
City, the
famous improvisational theater
troupe where
such comedic talents as John
and Jim Belushi,
Alan Arkin, Ed Asner, Gilda Radner,
Gavin
McCloud, Chris Farley, Shelly
Long, and Dan
Ackroyd were developed, was located
around
the corner from where I lived.
One block
south was a comedy club called
Zanies, which
brought in some of the best stand
up comedy
acts in the world. Not far away
the Steppenwolf
Theater Company was gaining world
renown
for its Tony Award-winning production
of,
among others "The Grapes
of Wrath,"
which boasted such highly regarded
thespians
as John Malkovich, Gary Sinise,
John Mahoney,
Joan Allen, Gary Cole, and Amy
Morton. I
used to show up an hour before
curtain for
the half-price tickets to most
shows and
saw some of the best theater
in the world
for fifteen dollars. Possessing
a 4 a.m.
late liquor license, most everyone
came to
the Old Town Ale House for a
drink or ten
at one time or another.