What We've Lost Is Nothing (12 page)

1:20 p.m.

S
usan did a double take behind the wheel of her gold Honda Accord. She thought she saw Michael's Ford Focus in the driveway as she drove past Ilios Lane. Why wasn't Michael at work? His commissions had gotten so small that he hadn't received a bonus in five years, and Susan had had to go full-time at the Oak Park Community Housing Office. The month before, he was passed over for promotion to a guy who'd been with Lowry Brothers only three years. There was talk of layoffs, but then the talk flittered away, and Michael, chastened, continued in the same job with the same title and territory he'd had for years.

“Ilios Lane!” the client in Susan's car yelled. “I didn't know we were so close!”

Susan had just shown her an apartment on Austin and Augusta. “Well, the next property is a good four, five blocks away still.”

“I mean, you must be able to practically see Ilios Lane from the apartment, no?”

“No.”

“It seems like you could. Like you should be able to see it.” The girl was looking at Susan suspiciously, the diamond in her nose sending strobe flashes across the dashboard. The two had just finished looking at a mint-condition, rehabbed one-bedroom on Austin Boulevard
with
parking, and Susan was annoyed that the young woman had not immediately recognized this as a rare find.

“No,” Susan said, a little more firmly than she should have. “Really, you can't.” Susan knew what always sealed the deal for her clients was her own life. “I've lived on the east side for sixteen years,” she'd tell them. “I raised my kids here,” she'd add, even though her own street did not have a single black family and never had in the years she'd lived there.

They used to work, these aphorisms of hers. The family, the kids on the east side. But things had been tough lately. There were the assaults by the three black boys who'd come over from the west side, there were the muggings, first in the bank parking lot on Madison, and then in the alleyway behind Ace Hardware. And now these burglaries on her very street, in her very
house
. Already, she'd had two clients today and the burglaries had concerned them both.

Now this twentysomething girl, with the pierced nose. The kind of funky young adult who'd have moved into the east side without a second thought back in the nineties. Today, driving through the neighborhood, she was vacillating, eyeing Ilios Lane in the passenger side mirror as it fell behind them.

Susan had fallen into her job at the Housing Office largely by accident. Almost to the day after she graduated college she met Michael at a Jessie and the Jawbreakers concert at the Hideout. They waited eight years to marry, waited so long that it seemed in equal proportions both inevitable and entirely unlikely. Yet a month into their marriage, she found herself pregnant, and when Thomas was born, she'd had to quit grad school and her job as a social worker's assistant to care for him. From that moment, she recognized in her own life a cliché she'd always worked hard to avoid. She vowed to return to school, but of course never did. After a few years with Tommy, just when a return to grad school seemed possible, she got pregnant with Mary and kissed away another four years. Eventually she found work at the Housing Office as an escort, taking people around the town, showing the highlights: the Lake Theatre and Barbara's Bookstore, the little diners and gift stores, Petersen's Ice Cream parlor and Erik's Deli. Lately, it had gotten harder and harder with all the chain stores moving in—the Gap and Borders and Trader Joe's. But mostly her job was to show them apartments on the east side, encourage them to be part of Oak Park's diversity, be part of the wonder of this unusual village.

Susan had loved her job. She believed in the program and loved meeting all the different new people who came to look at the apartments. In the dozen years she'd been at the Housing Office, she'd seen tenants become lifelong friends, seen a few meet each other and marry and have children. Dan Kowalski, her neighbor, had been an early tenant on Austin Boulevard, until he married Alicia and moved to Ilios Lane. She'd shown the Cambodians the downstairs apartment in the two-flat just two doors down from her and they'd lived there for years now.

Michael tolerated her work, but didn't think what she was doing was all that innovative or would ultimately change much of anything.

“Human nature,” he'd tell her, “wants to be with its own.”

“You're wrong,” she'd insisted. “We are changing things. We
have
changed them.”

“Just wait,” he'd scoff. He'd nod sarcastically. “Just wait. You'll see.”

But she'd use her own life to refute him. In college she'd dated a black classmate of hers named Harley, who would go on to be a brilliant sociologist at Northwestern University, but back when they were nineteen, his world was a revelation to Susan. He'd grown up in Milwaukee, a black among whites. He was more comfortable, he told her once, in a room full of whites rather than blacks because he'd grown up around white people, and this, he believed, was the defining sadness of his life. It left him feeling groundless, floating above everyone else, standing at doorways knocking, his whole life, knocking. “It's what I'll always do,” he'd said. “I'll always be knocking at doors. I'll never be inside anywhere.”

“Not mine,” she'd told him. “My door's open.”

He'd smelled like warm tea and coconut. They dated for six months and he told her stories about being on the bus and having all the seats taken except the one beside him. He'd tell her of walking through campus at night and hearing the footsteps of the young women in front of him speed up. He'd tell her things she'd later read in books by Richard Wright and the Steele brothers, the clichés in which white fear manifests itself. She'd listen to Harley talk about his life, and then, later, she'd read about that same kind of life, that same experience, in every African-American narrative put to paper, and it would make her want to break off the high heels of the women who scurried more quickly before him, pour water down the gas tanks of taxis who refused to stop for him.

The afternoon he finally ended it with her, she cut him off, said, “This is the part where you tell me it's not me, it's you, right?”

“It's not so small,” he told her, “as to be about me.”

She wanted to ask if it was about her then, if he was too ashamed to say so, if it was
he
who couldn't get past the idea of
her
. She didn't understand the barriers weren't about her, about any one person. He had taken on the philosophies of the young and idealistic, those who, for the first time perhaps, were suddenly able to place themselves in the larger framework of the world, people beyond the homes they grew up in, the parents and neighborhoods who'd raised them. For Harley, Susan thought, it seemed as if this idea hadn't freed him, as it had her, but had further imprisoned him.

“This is not solvable by us,” he told Susan. “I'm sorry. I can't be with someone I have to explain my world to every day.”

“That's not fair!” she cried. She'd stopped just short of begging.

“You're right. Not fair to either of us.”

She thought she had begun to understand now, the exhaustion of it all, being with someone like her. Even someone with good intentions, even someone with an open mind, with all the right beliefs, still lacked the tangible, corrosive evidence of experience. That gap was impossible to fill.

Her husband, Michael, had always told her the whole Oak Park program was racist, trying to get white people to live among black people. He believed in free markets, even in the field of sociology, that you rehab the buildings, raise the rent, and see who comes. Stay out of nature and you'll see how nature really works. Look at our own damn street if you need evidence.

Now, some small part of her feared Michael might have been right. September 11th Syndrome, they called it at the Housing Office. People were skeptical in the same way they'd been skeptical in the early and mid-eighties. They were scared. The fear brought out their worst tendencies, tiny kernels of bigotry and racism. It wasn't just white people who began to voice these fears. It was anyone with a middle-class income. Indians from Delhi, Chinese from Shanghai and Hong Kong. The only universal in all of this was that everyone's fear found the same targets: poor blacks. If they were poor and they were black, then they were sure to live in crime-infested neighborhoods no matter how much the gardens were kept up, no matter how full the recycling bins were. Susan was not too big to admit that she was scared. Scared for the program, scared for the neighborhoods she'd worked so hard to transform, and scared—she had to admit—for her family. For herself.

Later, back in her office, she pulled a lease for the girl with the pierced nose. She'd found a place on Oak Park Avenue, the top floor of a six-floor flat where the five other apartments housed thirtysomethings with urban sensibilities and decent salaries. And white skin. The girl was coming back in the morning to give her deposit and sign the lease. Susan couldn't help but feel slightly deflated.

Her boss, Evan, came in to chat. Evan was hardly a boss. He was one of her closest friends. He and his wife, Viv, often came to Michael and Susan's for dinner parties or vice versa. The families' children went to school together. They ran into each other at Unity Temple occasionally, though Susan was admittedly a halfhearted Unitarian—more interested in the community than the message. They'd known each other twelve years, since Susan's first day on the job. She turned around in her metal folding chair. The entire office was reminiscent of a church basement, tiled floor and cheap, secondhand furniture, leaky ceilings.

Evan told her he was surprised she came to work. Said they'd all have understood if she'd wanted to stay home. “Is there anything you need, Suze?”

Susan sighed, shrugged. “A stereo.”

He laughed. They sat together for a moment without talking, the kind of silence that might have been awkward with lesser friends.

“Really. If you need some time . . .”

“I'm fine, Evan. It's a burglary, not a death.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, his eyes glancing out the storefront window as the elevated train passed their office.

“What?” she said.

“What?”

“You're doing that thing with your cheek. You're here for
something
. I know that look.”

He laughed, picked up a blue lead pencil from the table, and began to roll it between his thumb and forefinger. “It's just that the robberies—”

“Burglaries,” she corrected.

“Burglaries?”

“We all had a semantic lesson from the detective yesterday.”

“Well, you know, it's only been a day. Maybe you want to take some time? Take a little vacation.”

“Work is good for my constitution,” she said, smiling.

Evan put down the pencil and leaned toward her. “Things have been tough around here, Susan. You know that. I don't have to tell you that. All of you escorts have it rough.”

“What is it, Evan?”

He drummed his fingertips on the table. “The burglaries have come up today.”

“I know. My clients asked about them, too.”

“They've come up a lot, actually. The clients, the other escorts. Everyone's talking about what happened. Everyone just feels awful.”

Suddenly, she began to understand what he was saying. She felt her heart begin to sag. “Twelve years, Evan. I've been here twelve years!”

He waved his hands at her to stop. “It's not that. You'll always have a place here.
Always
. I want to stress that, Susan. You will
always
be like family to every one of us.”

She was aware, only now, that no other escorts were in the room. Evan must have planned this moment, this talk. They must've all been in on it. She felt captive in that wide-open space.

“We just think with things the way they are, it might be good for you to take some time off. To take care of things.”

“What things? There's nothing to take care of, Evan. You want me to take care of
things
?” She felt her voice rising, wondered if clients in the front waiting room could hear her. “You want me to go shopping or something? Because that would take care of
things
. Shopping would be the only fucking
thing
I could do in this situation.”

“You'll still be on the payroll,” he offered in such a quiet voice, Susan had to strain to hear him.

Her body seemed warm. Was she overheating? Was the thermostat turned up? “The payroll? You think I work here for the payroll, Evan? For the lucrative benefits package?”

“Calm down, Susan.”

“You calm down!”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment. “Susan, it's very difficult for everyone here. And with the burglaries, the other escorts think it might be good to try and lay low for a while. You know, everyone sees you on the news, and . . .”

“The news? It's my newfound celebrity status? Jesus, Evan. I'm here. I'm still here. I live this program. I
am
this program. What better advertising do you need than a victim who's still a believer?”

Listserv: Oak Park Moms

Messages in This Digest (13 Messages)

1a. Re: POLICE ALL OVER ILIOS LANE????? From: Hilary500

1b. Re: POLICE ALL OVER ILIOS LANE????? From: Al_n_Bev

2. Free train table and Legos TAKEN! From: blabbingmums

3. Participate in a study aimed at improving memory and cognition From: cognitive studies

4. Parking Problems AGAIN on OP Streets From: Alice Jenkins

5. Volunteers needed for OP Library annual book sale . . . From: [email protected]

6a. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!! From: Ellen

6b. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!! From: MMVanderbilt@
aaconsulting.com

6c. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!! From: S_Perez

6d. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!! From: ErinsWorld1

6e. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!! From: C. Hughley

6f. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!! From: [email protected]

7. This week's Iraq War protest MOVED . . . From: Pauline
Shuman

Messages

1a. Re: POLICE ALL OVER ILIOS LANE?????

Posted by: “Hilary500” [email protected] Hilary Kulauzovick

Wed Apr 7, 2004 7:45 a.m. (CST)

Every home robbed, apparently! Police have no description of guilty party, and not released any leads. They have established a tip hotline. Just a reminder to everyone to keep yourselves safe. Even Oak Park isn't a haven, especially so close to the west side (not that I'm profiling. Just saying reality of our geography). Best crime prevention tip I ever heard was to know your neighbors, ie: who belongs in the area and who doesn't.

Hilary Kulauzovick

On Apr 6, 2004, at 3:45 p.m. “Deb_ST” [email protected] wrote:

>Anyone know what's happening on Ilios Lane? Just drove past on Erie St and there's police everywhere! Cars, police tape, etc. etc. Very scary! Please give info asap . . .

>

>

>

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1b. Re: POLICE ALL OVER ILIOS LANE?????

Posted by: “Al_n_Bev” [email protected] Al Thomas

Wed Apr 7, 2004 7:45 a.m. (CST)

Unfortunate occurrence on Ilios Lane yesterday afternoon, was mass burglaries of every household. Rumors are going to float around. My parents cabin in northern MI was robbed a couple years back and they ended up selling the place. Felt too insecure there, especially my mom, who never wanted to be alone there again. We have to remember that were living in an urban place with all the dangers and threats that anyone has who lives in a city. Oak Park likes to think it's diverse and free from crime but who are we kidding? No place in the world is free from crime. Look out for your neighbors and your family. Be safe, Al and Beverly Thomas.

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2. Free train table and Legos TAKEN!

Posted by: “blabbingmums” [email protected] blabbingmums

Wed Apr 7, 2004 7:50 a.m. (CST)

The free train table and Legos have been claimed. Thank you.

http://[email protected]

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3. Participate in a study aimed at improving memory and cognition

Posted by: “cognitive studies” [email protected] Dr. Indira Mehmet

Wed Apr 7, 2004 8:00 a.m. (CST)

Are you interested in improving your memory?

If you answered “yes” then researchers at the University of Chicago are looking for you. The Behavior, Cognition and Memory Lab is currently conducting a study examining “Think It Through: Train the Brain.” The current study involves computer games and memory recognition tasks. Participants will spend 30 minutes per day, 6 days per week, for 8 weeks engaging in games. Participants can do these games at home on their own computer via the internet. Cognitive recognition tasks and tests will be completed at the University of Chicago, Hyde Park campus before and after the 8 week sequence. If you are healthy, aged 18-60, and an English speaker you may eligible to participate.

For more information CONTACT:

Dr. Indira Mehmet

[email protected]

(773) 555-7274

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4. Parking Problems AGAIN on OP Streets

Posted by: “Alice Jenkins” [email protected] Alice Jenkins

Wed Apr 7, 2004 8:10 a.m. (CST)

Called in my boyfriend's car to the parking Nazis last night, and AGAIN this morning there was a ticket. This is the third time this year this has happened to him. I'm sick of this parking crap. FIVE nights a year per license plate is ridiculous! Does anyone have any advice at all? I can't bring my son to sleep at his place in the city as that would require me to drive all the way back to get my son to school by 8:15 a.m. and it's just not practical. Nor is allowing my boyfriend to stay over at my house only five nights in a calendar year reasonable. Does anyone else have this problem? Should I build a driveway through the front yard of my apartment building? This might ultimately make me leave Oak Park if there isn't a solution! [email protected]

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5. Volunteers needed for OP Library annual book sale . . .

Posted by: “George Miscowitz” [email protected]

Wed Apr 7, 2004 8:10 a.m. (CST)

This year's Oak Park Library Books sale, held annually in July, is looking for volunteers to sort the donations we're already receiving. Come to an information session on Monday, April 12 from 7-8pm. Volunteer hours are flexible. This is a great way to introduce yourself to the community!

Contact: George Miscowitz, OP Book Sale President, George
[email protected], 708-524-0097

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6a. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!!

Posted by: “Ellen” [email protected] Ellen Lancaster

Wed Apr 7, 2004 8:20 a.m. (CST)

Oak Park is no safe haven, and those who take pride in living in a diverse community should think about why such a thing is something to be proud of at all? Is it not a form of racism to be “proud” of living among minorities? If I were a minority, this would not sit well with me at all—in fact, I'd be likely to run screaming from Oak Park. Should we not be recognized by who we are, not what we are? So we live near the west side. Fine. There will likely be crime associated with such a geography, an urban setting where the forces of poverty and its ills are constantly beckoning. I'm proud to have friends who are diverse, but NOT because of that diversity. Rather, because those friendships are fulfilling to my life.

Sincerely,

Ellen Lancaster

On Apr 6, 2004, at 6:30 p.m. (CST) Stevenson/Blair [email protected] wrote:

>>>Police chief is asking all to be on the lookout for suspicious behavior, or dumped goods in alleyways, etc. seems there aren't any leads yet, but just a reminder to keep doors locked, and make sure alarm systems are up to date. No one injured, but v. scary. Will post more as I learn more.

>Robert Stevenson/Mandy Blair

>Washington Blvd.

>

>

>

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6b. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!!

Posted by: “MMV” [email protected] Melinda Vandenberg

Wed Apr 7, 2004 9:02 a.m. (CST)

Police have no leads on Ilios Lane? Really? How about they do a little looking east of Austin? I know that's not a popular view here in Oak Park, and I appreciate your view Ellen, but do we really think someone from, say, Hinsdale popped over to help himself to the vast surplus of electronic gadgets that Ilios Lane residences offered? Come on. I like a diverse population as much as anyone here, but we're kidding ourselves if we don't think this was perpetrated by at least SOME west siders.

On Apr 7, 2004, at 8:20 a.m. “Ellen” [email protected] wrote:

>>>Should we not be recognized by who we are, not what we are? So we live near the west side. Fine. There will likely be crime associated with such a geography, an urban setting where the forces of poverty and its ills are constantly beckoning. I'm proud to have friends who are diverse, but NOT because of that diversity. Rather, because those friendships are fulfilling to my life.

Sincerely,

Ellen Lancaster

>

>

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6c. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!!

Posted by: “S_Perez” [email protected]

Wed Apr 7, 2004 9:05 a.m. (CST)

I think we need to separate what happened on Ilios Lane from how we feel about diversity assurance. As a minority, I am thrilled that someone from the majority culture allows this debate, and welcomes a variety of people and views. That's the magic of Oak Park. But as a minority, I feel equally that my status should be defined either by my opportunities or my failings; there is a rather subtle bigotry I hear when diversity assurance is discussed around Oak Park and I would prefer not be spoken for. Allow me to speak myself. Ilios Lane, it has to be pointed out, has little or no diversity by Oak Park standards. Is this the fault of those residents? Certainly not. Do they care? I have no idea, but I can tell you that I don't care. We're an affluent area. An area that, quite honestly, welcomes minorities who fit certain economic standards. What Oak Parker would take issue with living beside an African-American doctor or lawyer, after all? But what about a family of four displaced from the west side, headed by a single mother and living off WIC and Section 8 and other social programs? The answer to that question, to me, offers a bigger truth.

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6d. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!!

Posted by: “ErinsWorld1” [email protected] Erin Ballantine

Wed Apr 7, 2004 10:15 a.m. (CST)

S_Perez, what you say makes a lot of sense, and I agree with much of it. I've always been skeptical of diversity assurance (and affirmative action). But it's also imperative to remember the historical, institutional and socio-economic racism that Diversity Assurance was born out of. In an ideal world, no one would be judged by anything other than ability, but we don't live in an ideal world. I do not believe for a minute—even in today's climate—that were a white and a black with the same education and background up for the same job that it would go to the black ON MERIT as opposed to EOE. Had equal opportunity and affirmative action and diversity assurance never existed, we would still almost certainly be living in an age of blatant and even mandated discrimination. I'm not sure I see the wrong of having diversity as an open, and oft-discussed objective for all of us.

On Apr 7, 2004, at 9:05 a.m. “S_Perez” [email protected] wrote:

>>I think we need to separate what happened on Ilios Lane from how we feel about diversity assurance. As a minority, I am thrilled that someone from the majority culture allows this debate, and welcomes a variety of people and views.

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6e. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!!

Posted by: “C. Hughley” [email protected] Cynthia Hughley

Wed Apr 7, 2004 11:00 a.m. (CST)

Before I married and had children, I managed property in upstate New York. Lots of myths exist around household safety and burglaries and thought I'd share some of what I learned:

a. Fences don't work as well at keeping people out as they do at keeping people hidden.

b. Burglaries happen MOST often during the day, while people are at work, rather than in the dead of night.

c. Having signs of children outside the house—swings, toys, etc.—often signals a daytime presence in the home and can be more effective than alarm systems.

d. Burglars WILL strike homes despite dogs and alarm systems.

e. In multi-unit buildings, the top floor is just as likely as the ground floor to be targeted (fewer witnesses on top floors!).

Be safe!

—Cynthia

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6f. Re: Mass robberies on Ilios Lane!!

Posted by: “Pamela S. Merriman” [email protected] PSMerriman

Wed Apr 7, 2004 11:16 a.m. (CST)

Diversity Assurance is an Oak Park Fair Housing Ordinance aimed at establishing racial diversity in multi-unit buildings. The program began in 1984, and grew out of a village diversity policy established in 1973. In part, the policy was meant to combat drug and gang violence that bled over into Oak Park from Chicago's west side. Do we know whether what happened on Ilios Lane came from west siders? Certainly, we don't, not yet. But is it likely? Certainly, it is, I believe. There seems to be an equating of racial consciousness with “racism” as a general social ill. But is recognizing another race any different than recognizing, say, hair or eye color? I speak here not of the belief that any of us are better than another, but from the seeming belief that any recognition of difference—even in celebration or jubilation—is “racist.” But herein lies my question: does the recognition and consciousness of multiple races equal racism? Is that not simply what diversity assurance is attempting to answer? I would like to believe that we live in a post-diversity assurance society. Oh, how I would like to believe that. What is a valid point to me is the idea of taking pride in our diversity. Perhaps an attempt at no distinction—racially, or programmatically—ought to be the aim. In any case, my heart goes out to the Ilios Lane residents who surely feel this debate is very distant from the profound vulnerability and fear they must be experiencing. As we debate the merits of our community's programs, let's not forget where the current debate emerged from. . . .