Rage against the machine

Note to Readers: Life in Chicago articles are generally "family friendly." This story, however, contains some mild profanity.

In the farcical Second City musical “Rod Blagojevich Superstar,” now playing at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, the ex-governor’s character sings an enjoyably humorous song called, “Scrapper from the Northwest Side.” As he courts his future wife and gets ingratiated into the Chicago Democratic Machine, Blagojevich sings about being “a scrappy kind of guy.”

The same could be said of Sam Wolfson.

Wolfson is co-owner of String-A-Strand, a bead store in Lincoln Square. These days, a passerby to the store would see something unusual taped to the inside of the front window: Seven pieces of paper— two with String-a-Strand letterhead, the rest plain white— with black, hand-written text scrawled across them.

The text (brace yourself— it’s a bit long) reads as follows:

AL CAPONE WAS A Piker Compared to Mayor Daley & HIS BAND OF CROOKS THAT RUN CITY HALL

IF THESE PARKING METERS ISN’T FRAUD & EXTORTION ON THE People & THE CITY O [sic] CHICAGO WHAT IS. FRAUD & EXTORATION [sic] IS A CRIME SO THIS LEASE SHOULD Be VOIDED. Mayor DALEY-STROGER AND EVERY POLITICIAN WHO ARE INVOLVED IN THIS SHOULD BE IMPEACHED. NOT A SINGLE MEMBER OF THE CITY COUNCIL STOOD UP FOR THE People OF CHICAGO & SAID THIS IS WRONG. WHY SHOULD THEY WHEN THERE [sic] HANDS ARE IN OUR Pockets.

We MUST VOTE EVERY ONE OUT OF OFFICE. THESE ARE SOME OF THE WORST POLITICIANS IN THE Country. No Concern For THe PeopLe OF CHICAGO. OnLy for THe MONeY They CAN Pocket. WE MUST FINALLY STAND UP & SAY NO MORE YOU B_ _ _ _ _ DS [sic].

STOP Ripping US OFF THERE MUST BE SOME HONEST POLITICANS WHO WILL VOID THIS PARKING LEASE FRAUD. THAT’S WHAT IT IS FRAUD.

2011

VOTE THE STROGERS & DALEYS OUT OF OFFICE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. RESCIND THE SALES TAX BACK TO 8.5%. VOTE THESE BUMS OUT OF OFFICE FIX THE POT HOLES STOP RAISING TAXS [sic] THAT’S ALL THESE POLITICIANS DO.

WAKE up CHICAGO We CAN’T Be THAT STUPID TO PUT THESE CORRUPT POLITICIANS BACK IN OFFICE. Especially DALeY & STROGER WHO SOLD THE PEOPLE OF CHICAGO DOWN THe TOILeT SeLLING THE PARKING MeTers & RAISING THE TAX To THe LARGEST IN THE CounTry. FRAUD & CorrupTION THAT’S ALL CITY HALL IS. ITS TIME TO VoTe THe IDIOTS OUT.

HOW BAD IS THIS CORRUPTION THE CEO OF THIS PARKING METERS RIP OFF ON THE people OF CHICAGO. IS MAYOR DALEYS BROTHER. WHAT CROOKS. WHY WON’T THE Newspapers & TV REPORT THIS.

LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. MAYOR DALeY SOLD THE MeTeRS TO A PRIVATE CO. SO WHY ARE CITY EMPLOYEES WRITING TickeTs ESpecIALLY THE CHICAGO POLIce. DID THe MAYOR SeLL THE POLICe DepT. ALSO. WHO WRITeS THE TICKETS & WHERE IS THE MoNey GOING SOUNDS LIKE TYPICAL CHICAGO CORRUPTION.

It took Wolfson only a week to write this out.

“I have never been politically active,” he insists. “But this one got to me.”

Sam Wolfson, a delicately punchy man of 72 (“21,” he quipped, when first asked his age), has washed-out gray hair, slightly wrinkled skin, and a goatee. He speaks in a raspy voice and has a tendency to gesticulate with his hands when he talks about this.

Sam Wolfson behind the counter at String-a-Strand. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

The this, of course, is the privatization of the city’s parking meters. Last September, Chicago’s City Council approved a plan to lease the 36,000 meters to a private operator for 75 years in exchange for $1.15 billion. Mayor Daley has argued that this was an important move to bring the cash-strapped city some income. Just about everyone else seems to feel differently.

Parking rates have increased, in some cases dramatically, and erroneous tickets have been issued, due to broken (or full) meters or inaccurate signage. There’s been public outcry, too, over the process leading to the decision, which was opaque to the public. As a result, drivers have boycotted feeding meters, boycotted parking at meters, and even resorted to vandalism.

One man— who, ironically, doesn’t drive— put up signs.

“Hundreds have came in,” says Wolfson of his paper diatribe. “Hundreds have agreed with me one hundred percent.”

Wolfson, who grew up on the West Side of Chicago, has owned his own business ever since he was 18. First, he worked concessions for a guy at Wrigley Field and Comiskey Park. Eventually, he bought the guy out, and he continued with the work until 1971. Then he got into the bead business.

He’s even opening a new place in Lincoln Park, a gourmet hot dog restaurant. Once it gets approval from the Department of Public Health, his son will manage it.

Though Wilson doesn’t drive to work— his wife drops him off, or he’ll take the bus— he’s still felt the brunt of the parking meter changes. “My wife and me went to Wildfire last week for dinner,” he recalls. “Three dollars for an hour and 25 minutes. Now, Wildfire is crowded; we like our steaks. We go in there, takes you a half an hour to get our food. A-ga-a-ga-a-ga-a-he”— he motions with his hands, as if scarfing down food.

“Fast, you get out there so you don’t get a 50-dollar ticket.”

It riles him up that you have to get up by 8 a.m. on a Sunday to feed the meter. It riles him up that now, if you park at a meter, you barely have time to see a full-length movie. But what really riles him up is the “crooks.”

Aka: the politicians.

“Al Capone was a piker compared to Daley and his crooked politicians in City Hall,” he declares. “At least with Al Capone you knew what you were getting!”

As for more-recent times, “Every governor we had the last— I mean, Ryan’s in jail, and BLA-go-vich [his pronunciation] is selling the seats. But Daley’s getting away with this crap. All of his henchmen get caught, but Daley doesn’t know anything about it. He’s so crooked, it’s uncanny.

“Every term, all his friends get convicted. But this son-of-a-bitch— ‘What? I didn’t know anything about it!’ That’s his whole philosophy. ‘I didn’t know anything about it. I didn’t know anything about it.’ I mean, even with the trucking scandal, he got away with it. Everybody else went down the tubes.”

The storefront. Wolfson's signs are at right. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

Wolfson has worked in beads for the last 39 years, manning the store at its current location for the past seven. He says that with the meter privatization, he’s seen ticket-writers out on the block in front of his store at 8 a.m., when meter hours come into effect. He’s even seen three ticket-writers at once.

“Everybody,” he insists, agrees with his signs, which went up in the window in February. “Everyone. They look at it, they come in, they say ‘one hundred percent.’ A lot of them are fed up.”

As for Mayor Daley, “They gotta’ vote him out of office. I don’t care how big of a machine it is. […] He’s a elected official, not a damn dictator, if that’s who he wants to be. I mean, he tore up the airport; he sold the damn tollways. But this is ridiculous. This is just a rip-off on the people that wanna’ come to Chicago from out of town, have a nice dinner, see a play.”

“Let me tell you,” he continues. “If I was 50 years younger, I would run for damn mayor. I would just go up and down the street to get the 35,000 signatures.”

He pauses.

“Well, not 50 years younger. Maybe 40.”

Right now, like the archetypal Cubs fan, Wolfson’s looking ahead to next year.

“If 5,000 people see that,” he says of the signs, “they’ll tell 5,000 people. Those 5,000 people…

“We’ll get ’em out of office.”

The anthropologist Margaret Mead famously said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world; indeed it's the only thing that ever has.”

If Wolfson and his signs can build up the momentum, we may just see a revolution.

Un burrito muy grande

Inside the Tribune Tower, an old journalistic maxim on the wall reads, “If your mother says she loves you, check it out.”

In the front window of La Bamba, a Mexican fast-food restaurant on Halsted St. at Wrightwood Ave., a neon sign says, “BURRITOS AS BIG AS YOUR HEAD.”

I thought I’d check it out.

“¡Hola, amigo! ¿Cómo estás?” says Francisco, a short, thin man wearing a “La Bamba” baseball cap, as I approach the counter.

“Yo no hablo español,” I reply slowly. “Yo hablo francés y inglés.” (“I don’t speak Spanish. I speak French and English.”)

With that established— and after an another attempt by Francisco and his co-worker behind the counter, Juan, to get me to speak more Spanish— I soon come to the point.

“The sign outside says, ‘Burritos as big as your head.’ I want to try one.”

“What kind you want?” asks Francisco. He goes through the list of meats they offer, stopping at chicken. “The chicken is very good,” he encourages me.

“You sold me.”

La Bamba, 2557 N. Halsted St. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

He hands me a Styrofoam cup to fill with water from a nearby dispenser. I do so and take a seat at one of the Formica-topped tables with wooden benches.

I’ve barely been seated a couple of minutes, or so it seems, when Juan walks over with my plate.

“Holy cow!” I exclaim. “Woooooah.”

There, on a piece of wax paper, next to two little plastic cups of salsa, lies a behemoth of a burrito. A pale-grayish/cream-colored tortilla with brown spots has been wrapped around a filling that’s probably three inches in diameter.

As for the length of the burrito… Lacking a ruler, I use my hands to measure the width of my head. Then I compare that to the burrito.

It’s at least a good inch longer than my head is wide.

I can’t believe it.

I start to cut into the thing towards one end. It feels like I’m a doctor struggling to make an incision.

Then I cut lengthwise down the middle, since it would be practically impossible to eat the whole width of the slice at once.

I take a taste.

Mmmm.

Tasty. Rich.

There are beans, chicken, tomato, onion, and lettuce. There’s cheese in there somewhere, too, though I can’t taste it yet.

“Everything is prepared in the day,” explains Francisco, who wears something of a bashful smile and speaks good, though halting, English. “Everything is fresh.”

He shows me a package of extra-large, flat, corn tortillas that the restaurant (part of a chain) has used to encase its, errr, flagship product ever since opening 18 years ago.

“Hello,” says a woman who’s just walked in, as I return to try to make more progress against my formidable opponent.

“¡Hola, señorita!” replies Francisco. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she says.

“How can I help you, señorita?”

She orders a beef taco and then takes the table right behind mine.

I turn around. “Had you ever been to this restaurant before?” I ask.

“Yeah, a couple times,” she responds, smiling.

“Have you ever had their burrito?”

“No.”

“It really is as big as your head,” I assure her.

As I continue eating, the hot salsa I’ve been adding gets to be too much. To counteract the spice, I order a horchata, a sweet rice drink (or so I’ve been told in the past).

“Small, medium, or large?” asks Francisco.

“Small,” I say.

The cup is ten inches tall.

I begin to drink the milky, brownish-white liquid. Delicious! It tastes like liquid rice pudding with cinnamon.

I’ve gotten through about half of the burrito when I ask Francisco to wrap up the rest for me.

The contender. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

“How many people who order a Super Burrito actually finish it?” I ask him. (Super Burrito simply refers to the largest size, the one I’ve ordered; there are also small and medium varieties.)

He thinks for a moment.

“This one guy, he come in every Sunday,” he says. “He order three Super Burritos.”

Huh!?

“He’s big guy,” he adds, gesturing to the side with his hands.

Three Super Burritos in one sitting— now there is someone I should profile.

After saying good-bye to Francisco and Juan, I walk out of the restaurant with tomorrow’s lunch in hand.

As for fact-checking La Bamba’s advertising slogan… the information’s solid.

I checked it out.

Paulina is Next. Bead Store on the Left at Paulina.

Looking for beads?

What kind? Semi-precious, glass, or maybe ceramic? They’ve got those. Rare, African beads? They’ve got them, too. How about a light-green, jellybean-shaped Chrysoprase, or a multi-colored millifiori? Yup.

While you’re at it, do you need accessories or tools? Or would you perhaps rather just buy a pre-made piece of jewelry? They can help with all that.

“I would really consider a million,” estimated Ana Pizzaro of the number of beads they have on hand.

A panoply of colors fills Carvan Beads, in West Lakeview. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

The “they” is Caravan Beads, an independent shop in West Lakeview that specializes in retail sale of beads. In 1994, Charlene and Daniel Steele opened the store on Lincoln Ave. just south of Roscoe St. In 1999, when their success outgrew their store, they moved across the street, to their current location. Doing so gave them three times the retail space, as well as private classrooms, where they can help customers who want to assemble their own jewelry.

This afternoon, just after 4 o’clock, Pizzaro and Alex Agudo tended the color-laden store, with necklaces hanging down from bars over long display tables, and walls stocked with tools. Scattered among the wares were instruction sheets for making bracelets with certain kinds of patterns, as well as bead-related magazines and books. Light, instrumental pop music played from speakers.

The store had only a couple of customers, both of whom were browsing. “Our main times are in the mornings. From 11 is normally our rush,” explained Agudo. “As soon as we open, there’s people. And then it dies down from 1 to about 4.” More people, he added, will come in after work.

By Agudo’s estimate, weekdays see an average of 50 customers. On weekends, however, “It’s very chaotic”— especially on Sundays. “Due to our free classes, sometimes we can have up to 100 people,” he said.

The Paulina station on the Brown Line will reopen tomorrow after a year-long closure for renovation. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

But Agudo and Pizzaro are looking forward to tomorrow— and beyond— when they hope business will pick up from what it’s been. That’s because the nearby el station, the Paulina stop on the Brown Line, will reopen tomorrow at 4 a.m. after a yearlong renovation. (This reporter thought of checking out the opening but dismissed the idea in favor of sleep.)

Although the CTA put up ads for local business affected by the station’s closure, Agudo still thinks that having to walk from an adjacent station has inconvenienced customers who come from outside the neighborhood.

“I think it would have been more convenient if the Paulina station would have been open,” he said. He added that the shop attracts customers from out of town, too. “They’re in town for a couple of days. It was easier for them to just do that— to get off there and come across the street.”

To mark the reopening, the store is advertising a 10 percent discount on merchandise during the month of April to customers who show a CTA card. “The train really does dominate a lot in this area,” noted Agudo. “We hope that the fluidity can come even higher with the train opening.”

As customer traffic picked up this afternoon, Allison Weignad came in to look around. A nearby resident, she stops into the store every couple of months to buy beads.

“I just started, when I was bored in the winter, just like making necklaces and stuff,” she said. She had never worked with beads before coming in, but the staff showed her what to buy to make necklaces and earrings.

A display table in Caravan Beads. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

She said she hasn’t yet taken any of the store’s classes, but that she just received a schedule and wants to pursue one at some point.

On Wednesday evenings from 6 to 8, Caravan Beads closes for what it calls “bead therapy,” a time for customers to get free, one-on-one assistance with their bead-making projects. The session also doubles as an opportunity for attendees to socialize.

If Weignad decides to check out the gathering next week, with the newly-opened entrances to the Paulina station funneling people back into the neighborhood, she may have a chance to meet even more fellow bead makers than before.

Not a bad perk of springtime in Chicago.