Chicago has its share of panhandlers. I guess I’m stating the obvious as most urban areas, especially the downtown sections, will have them, and sometimes, especially when I worked downtown for a spell, I would occasionally put some coins in the cup of a dude who regularly set himself up at the end of one of the bridges. He wasn’t the aggressive kind of panhandler, didn’t have the sign detailing his woes, but would casually wish you a nice day if you caught his eye. For me he just seemed like he was a little lost in life at this stage, not ready yet to move on back to the “real world” as we call it, and most of the times he just seemed happy to sit there on his milk crate, greeting people on their way to work. I guess I always figured an extra buck or two would help him through another day on the way to whatever life would bring him tomorrow.
He was a nice enough panhandler, but if you’ve been to the “big” city, you have probably seen and experienced your share of the not-so-nice. There are the stories about of the dad holding the gas can (one I’ve personally experienced), asking for a few bucks so he can get some gas to get back home, even to the point of either having his kids in tow or if he caught your attention, pointing to the car with his wife and kids, them doing their best to “act” sad next to the car. Then there are the guys and gals with the detailed life stories on a piece of cardboard, usually ending with “Will work for food.” A friend of mine even had someone asking for money for food outside of a McDonalds. My friend went in, bought him a meal, but when he brought it back outside to give it to the guy he was pissed just saying “I didn’t want any food, just the money.”
The curious ones for me, though, are the people located at the off-ramps of the expressways, most of whom I will never believe need the money and could actually find a job should they desire, but making tax-free money on the side of the road actually seems like the easier gig for them. One location I would drive to regularly had a guy, nicely disheveled, holding the cardboard sign, and always with a limp as he would hobble from car to car stuck at the light. You would see some people give him a buck or two, and from the couple of minute light cycle I could see him easily bringing in about $20 an hour. What most people didn’t see was that the minute he called it a day suddenly his limp was gone, he would take a small stroll down the street, and go into his house near the off-ramp.
I only bring this up because the other day I saw a panhandler girl, on an off-ramp, and after seeing a dude one day, a woman a different day, and now this girl, I’m figuring it’s becoming a family gig. The issue was that whereas dad would go for the disheveled look with the torn jeans, and mom did a decant job of looking down-and-out, the daughter needed to learn to play the part of poor because either she found some way-to-nice clothes at the Goodwill, or this is one profitable off-ramp. Her hair was fairly nice, she didn’t look dirty/grungy, and yup, the clothes were clean and looked brand new. I know it sounds a little wrong of me to judge, and maybe she did need the money as she just lost her job or has some other disheartening life story, but having seen my share of obvious scam-artists on the panhandling front it’s hard for me to even consider helping you if you’re not even to to try to scam me, or play the part of poor.
Call me heartless if you want but the dude who owned the house and begged for money really tainted my feeling sorry for most panhandlers, however, when I do see people give the panhandlers money, I wonder: “Do you give money to panhandlers on the side of the road?”
That’s it for this one! L8R!!
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Dear Nathaniel Pope, Thank you.
I was recently reminded of the history of Illinois when I stopped at a historical marker. On a trip to the land of cheese there was a sign along the side of the road announcing that a historical marker was ahead. On a tight time-schedule for our vacation, a mental note was made to stop at said marker on the way home, but throughout the weekend I couldn’t help but wonder about the marker. I remembered glancing at it as we drove by noticing it was a large sign and behind it was a cell tower. I wondered about the significance of the marker thinking it might be announcing a location of a giant battle for Wisconsin/Illinois supremacy. Maybe it was the sight that a famous cow was born? Who knows, maybe that cell tower was the first one in Illinois? Finding out the significance would have to wait as a relaxing weekend was waiting, and also finding another historical marker noting the location of the Chicago & Northwestern Railroad in Lake Geneva, and it’s elite “Millionaire’s Special.”
I guess I was hoping for a little more excitement with my historical marker stop, but alas, it did remind me how lucky we are in Chicago that Nathaniel Pope was a badass because “Chicago, Wisconsin” doesn’t seem to roll off of the tongue as nicely. Stopping at the marker also made me wonder “Have you stopped to look at a historical marker?”
One of my favorite songs lately has been “Drunk on a Plane” from Dierks Bentley. It’s a nice ditty about a dude who gets dumped by his fiancé and decides to take his honeymoon trip anyway. While on the plane he decides he should start drinking, starts a party by getting drinks for everyone but the pilot, the stewardess gives him some “mile-high attention,” and the 737 is “rockin’ like a G6.” But hey, all is well because as the song says, he’s “Drunk on a plane.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good fish fry. I’ve been trying to remember when it might have been, but I hate to think it was before my Mom died over five years ago and it would have been from Slovak Home back in Lorain, the staple of the Friday Fish Fry in my youth and in my older years whenever I would make it home to visit and Mom wanted fish fry. For years I would think about trying to find one near me in Illinois. Usually it came down to seeing a sign advertising a fish fry during the week, but then when Friday would come I would forget about it until after dinner saying “Oh yea. I wanted a fish fry.”
As Google-searching luck would have it she stumbled across an article of great fish frys and it pointed her to this place called Freddy’s West End. Turns out the place was a few minute drive where we were staying, and even though it wasn’t “all-you-can-eat” it sounded like a destination.
(I opted for the potato pancakes – they were a good choice), Freddy’s had a fish fry that was fantastic and everything you want a fish fry to be. It wasn’t all-you-can-eat, but for $11 they give you a giant portion of fish, fried to perfection with a batter that isn’t overly greasy and just crunchy enough to remind me of home, and dare I say, this fish fry was even better than Slovak Home.
Sure this is a little bit of a spoiler alert, but the movie does end with Siggi getting “The Final Member,” and the ending triumph scene is awesome. I was so happy for him at the end I almost got a little weepy. I will, however, not spoil two of the best scenes in the movie only to say that yes, they do involve the penises of Pall and Tom.