Road Trip part 4…. Separated
We were back on the Interstate again, still in a fog over the brouhaha that had just occurred at McDonald’s. A sense of anticipation started to set in as we neared our destination. It was still fairly early in the morning when we started to see the downtown Chicago skyline. We could finally make out the silhouette of the Sears Tower, and the excitement was building. We had previously decided that the first thing we would do once we hit Chicago is locate our hotel. The reservations were for Super 8, and we were even more excited when we were told the hotel was “minutes from Wrigley Field”. Remember again, that this is 1991, and we were years away from having navigation in the cars, or cell phones for basic communication. The plan was very simple – locate the hotel, it’s on Halstead Street. No problem, we thought, find Halstead and we’re good.
We instantly found Halstead Street and headed north. This was going to be easy, we thought, as we started driving through some of the most notorious, gang-infested, violent projects in the United States. We didn’t know it at the time, and I would even venture to bet that some of the guys don’t realize it to this day, how rough and famous (or infamous) that part of Southside Chicago really was. There were people walking everywhere, and to this wide-eyed, sheltered, 16-year-old white boy, everything appeared to be moving in slow motion and all eyes were on us as we drove by. At every stop sign or red light, terror set in. Loud bass was pumping in cars behind us. Shops with iron bars across their windows and doors lined the streets. To anyone that lives in or has visited Southern California, it looked like Venice Beach times 100. I became real concerned that our hotel might really be near this ghetto.
As we kept driving, taking in all the scenery, hoping we wouldn’t get shot, we realized that Halstead Street stretched on for miles, yet there was still no sign of our hotel. Eagle was driving the rental, following Todd in the Tempo. Each stop was an obstacle course, and we did all we could to keep on each other’s tail. The crazy Chicago bus drivers did not help our cause one bit. It seemed as though their protocol was to immediately pull into our lane after picking up passengers, regardless of whether or not we were already occupying that lane. We were almost sideswiped several times by city buses, as we had to adjust to this Chicago-style of driving. We drove North on Halstead for what seemed like hours, and eventually decided that we must have missed our hotel. We decided to turn around and head south to make sure we hadn’t missed it. Again, we ran the gauntlet of buses, gangsters and stop signs, but could not find our elusive hotel. Back North again we went. This circus went on for about an hour, and it was nearing midday.
We were at a stoplight, and I remember hearing Eagle say the words that would define the rest of our day, “Where did Todd go?” At every stop sign, one or two cars would always jump ahead of Eagle, but Todd was never more than a few cars ahead and easy to keep an eye on. This time it was different – the Tempo was nowhere to be found. Our mission turned from finding the hotel to finding Todd and the Tempo. How hard could that be? If we stayed on Halstead, we would eventually run into each other. That wasn’t the case. After driving North and South several times over the course of the next hour, finding the hotel became our focus once again, as we realized Todd, Dilly and Tripp would probably just wait there for us when they got there.
We found a Seven-Eleven and pulled in to ask for directions. In those days, that’s what you did without cell phones or Mapquest – you stopped into a mini-mart and asked for directions. I made my way over to the pay phone outside to see if I could find our hotel in the phone book and possibly call for directions. There were 2 or 3 payphones and 2 of those were already being used. Before I made it to the last open booth, out of nowhere, a man stepped up to the phone and started throwing in coins. This was no ordinary man, though. This was a pimp – no, a Super-pimp, wearing a bright yellow, silk button-down shirt, tucked into vibrant green slacks, topped of with a matching green hat. I have no idea the true profession of the alleged pimp, but from all outward appearances, this man was a pimp. “The pimp” gestured to me, giving me the “hold on just a second” motion. We all waited nervously as he finished his phone call. As he finished and hung up the phone, he turned around to us and asked, “How can I help you?” as if we were waiting for his services. Bart replied, “We’re trying to find our hotel, we need to use the phone.” At that moment, the phone behind him rang, and once again, he told us to hold on a second. He picked up the phone and as he began his conversation, we were all caught off guard as the pimp propped the phone between his head and shoulder, undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his shirt. He slowly and carefully tucked his shirt back in his pants all the way around and re-zipped and re-did his belt. All three of us just stood there bewildered, thinking, “Did that just happen?” The pimp finished his 2nd phone call and said, “You’re lost”. I thought, at any moment, we were going to be mugged or shot. “Maybe I can help you out,” the pimp said. I instantly thought of the movie, Vacation, when Chevy Chase stopped to ask for directions, as his hubcaps were being stolen. I don’t even remember what kind of directions the pimp gave us – I just wanted to get the hell out of there…
To be continued……….
Stay tuned for Part 5………Still Lost