Tyler Leeds

Bruce Taylor began the first day of class by asking his nine students why they were given their first names. “I was named Joy,” responded one student, “because my daddy said I brought joy into his life.” After two beats of respectful silence a single giggle escaped from someone’s mouth. The class erupted in laughter. Taylor moved on to the next student.

“My grandma and my mom named me Ashley because they didn’t want stereotypes thrown upon the family,” answered another student. “Instead of being called a black name, they chose a common name so that unless I told someone my race no one would know.” This time no one laughed. Instead, a few hands crept toward the book lying on everyone’s desk—Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man.” Taylor was unfazed, and moved on to the next student. Ashley’s response was exactly what he was looking for.

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The students all came from King College Prep in Kenwood, one of Chicago Public Schools’ selective-enrollment high schools. They had come to a classroom on the University of Chicago campus to participate in an enrichment program called Living Bookshelf. The program, created by Taylor, attempts to push student engagement with the arts beyond plot quizzes and reviews. In Taylor’s classroom, the students were pushed to emotionally identify with Ellison’s work. In preparation for their first session, the class attended Court Theatre’s production of the “Invisible Man”—the novel’s first theatrical adaptation.

After four two-hour sessions of discussion and collaboration, the students will have produced their own creative response to Ellison’s novel—a two-scene musical theatre piece exploring the identities of two secondary characters. Mary Ann Ivan, a veteran of Broadway musical pits, will be flown in to compose music to accompany the lyrics the students write. Taylor will then hire professional actors and singers to perform the scenes on stage at Court Theatre as part of the Hyde Park Bank High School Performance Festival on February 24. But before lyrics can be paired with notes, the students have to do some work.

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While Ashley’s response quieted the room, Taylor was just beginning to warm up. At age 65, Taylor is a spry man. He has a mess of grey hair and a full mustache. He speaks with the intonation and cadence of someone used to an audience. As his students sat along narrow tables that formed a hollow rectangle, Taylor ran about in the middle. He never waited for his students to raise their hands. Instead, he would rush up to whoever hadn’t spoken in awhile. He would lean across the table and look them in eye and ask, “What do you think?” If they took too long, he would reach across and poke the students gently in the head. Their stunned expressions and indignation didn’t change the fact that Taylor’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Taylor’s first question was intentionally pointed—the history of one’s family and culture are often expressed in one’s name. Taylor’s class contains nine African Americans from the South Side, and he was seeking an emotional avenue into Ellison’s text. “Invisible Man” is the story of an African-American man leaving the South for New York City during the turbulent inter-war years.

After Ashley’s remark, everyone could make out the connection between their own lives and the novel. But how clearly did they see it? While Taylor allowed the power of Ashley’s words to linger in the classroom, he is still, like many great educators, quite demanding. Taylor began to drill his students on the basics.

“Our understanding must begin with context,” Taylor declared. “What is the context of this work?”

“Racism. Those were racist times,” said one student, half as an answer and half as a question.

“Correct, but tell me more,” Taylor pressed. “Tell me specifically. Jim Crow laws have a lot to do with the context of this work. Now, which Jim Crow laws offend you the most, and which offend you the least?”

Taylor marched around the room, passing from student to student. They all had the chance to demonstrate their opinions, with Taylor supplementing their knowledge of history along the way. In this manner, the students not only strengthened their understanding of the text, but also the connection between Ellison’s reality and the South Side today.

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Taylor has a long history with theatres. In the mid-1970s, Taylor was the production stage manager for the Seattle Opera. Under the Carter administration, federal money became available to arts organizations that were willing to bring their programming to public school students. This is where Taylor got his start as an arts educator. To prepare students to experience opera—never an easy task—Taylor was sent to prep classes on what to expect before arriving at the theatre. According to Taylor, “I had done almost everything anyone can do in a theatre, but I found I really enjoyed [teaching] and that I did it well.”

From this beginning, Taylor conceived of a post-viewing session to help students refine their understandings of the performances and to discuss their reactions. But Taylor knew arts education shouldn’t simply work to increase his student’s appreciation of work. He wanted his students to love art with the same intensity he possessed, but he also wanted them to get a job so that they could continue to appreciate the arts. As a result, Taylor claims it is his job to “get kids to really use in their own lives what we in the arts use in our profession. So I thought to myself, ‘What are the habits of mind that artists develop? How do we think? How do we create? How do we work together?’”

The seed of Living Bookshelf was planted, but Taylor still needed inspiration. During this time, Taylor came across the Foxfire Magazine. Created in 1966, “Foxfire” is one of the most prominent examples of 1960s experiential education.

Based out of Rabun Gap-Nacoochee School, a private high school in Georgia, “Foxfire” was a student-produced publication that documented the cultural history of the declining Appalachian culture. A collection of the articles was published as a book in 1972, later becoming a national bestseller.

“After reading the Foxfire book,” says Taylor, “I asked myself, Why couldn’t kids do that in the arts?” As a result, Taylor began a program entitled “Creating Original Opera.” As in Living Bookshelf, students were tasked with not only understanding a work—in this case, an opera—but also producing an artistic response to be performed. According to Taylor, “Creating Original Opera” was conducted in over 1000 schools across twelve countries.

But “Creating Original Opera” was always seen as a supplement to his students’ education. While Taylor may wish otherwise, operas never play a central role in primary education. In today’s world, the reaching of national standards in the language arts and mathematics controls school funding. Taylor had to adapt.

“Common Core State Standards dominate primary education. They have been adopted by 46 states. And so I looked at the Common Core requirements, and I thought that I could slightly modify what I do to meet these new requirements,” says Taylor. Living Bookshelf is Taylor’s attempt to meet state education requirements through the arts.

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Taylor recently left the East Coast for Chicago because his wife found a new job. “She makes way more money than I do, so I had to move with her,” he says. “I moved here without a job. I still don’t have a job, but arts education is what I do, so I don’t care if I get paid to do it or not. I like to think that I am my wife’s contribution to the arts.”

Once in Chicago, Taylor got in touch with William Michel, executive director of the UofC’s Reva and David Logan Center for the Arts. Taylor’s current incarnation of Living Bookshelf is being offered through the UofC’s Arts and Public Life Initiative. Taylor had no plans to work with “Invisible Man,” but took advantage of Court Theatre’s production. According to Dara Epison, program coordinator of University and Community Arts Collaborations, “The fact that the students chosen to work with him would have the opportunity to perform their work on Court’s stage with professional actors was simply a result of the stars aligning properly and Court being incredibly supportive.”

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By the end of the first session, the students had had no problem identifying the two characters from “Invisible Man” that they wanted to explore. Selecting the character of Ras, who is loosely based on the Black Nationalist Marcus Garvey, was especially easy. The students were intrigued by the man they interpreted as vengeful, strong-willed, and determined.

In between the end of class and the second session, held last Saturday, the students were tasked with creating a biography for Ras that explained his traits. Whether the result of Taylor’s careful prodding or not, imagination was in strong supply.

“Ras witnessed the murder of his family,” said one student, serious and soft.

“Yeah, his father was betrayed by a white guy involved in the Brotherhood,” whispered another.

As they traced out the source of his anger, Ras’s identity came into focus. He was a poet, and a few years had passed since the time of “Invisible Man.” Ras was now a participant in the Harlem Renaissance—another context for the students to explore.

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Most classrooms don’t work this way. Often, mastering the plot is what matters. It demonstrates a student’s ability to grasp and recall information, as that line of thinking goes. But while Taylor has adapted his project to state requirements, he believes foremost in protecting his students’ futures.

“Plenty of people have iPhones or iPads—if you want to know something, you just look it up,” he notes. “The students of today, if they want to succeed, need to learn how to think and create. They will be paid to be creative. The thing we have to prove, and I want to demonstrate with these kids, is that artists can contribute to student achievement. But we’re not going to succeed by having kids just act, sing, and dance. We have to have them get creative in a way they can apply to an academic subject.”

By leading his students through lyric writing, Taylor hopes to grant his students a command of metaphors—something required for state tests and successful communication. Placing these lyrics atop a melody will be no easy task, but the students still have a few more weeks to prepare. In the end, Taylor’s class will have created something new. This ability—creativity—is at the heart of Taylor’s mission.

“Because of the tests, teachers don’t ask students what they think, they ask what do you know, which isn’t so important. When you ask younger kids what do you think, they freeze. But the jobs out there today are conceptual and creative. The arts can help them think and create.”

A third grader, Paul Jr. was the youngest in a game that marked the start of the indoor season for Chicago Youth Lacrosse, an organization that offers lacrosse programs for children of all ages around the city. Friday night saw the kids in the gleaming Chicago Indoor Sports arena at Pershing and Ashland. Half an hour before the games were set to start, parents with children decked out in large helmets and thick padding started streaming in. Adults swapped stories of Christmas vacations in faraway places, as kids fidgeted with helmets and equipment in anticipation of the opening whistle.

One ten-year-old boy hopped nervously as he waited for his father to arrive with his helmet. “Only two blocks away,” his mother assured him. “He’ll be here soon.” Twenty minutes later, dad ran in, large sports bag in tow. With his team already two goals down, the boy sprinted onto the pitch with excitement and trepidation etched into his face.

“I had no idea this game even existed till three years ago,” Paul said, “but my son enjoys it so much.” He explained that CYL has seen incredible growth over the past couple of years, an indicator that the sport is no longer a sole preserve of the East Coast. He explained the draw for his son: “Playing up with older kids teaches him to be aggressive, to not get pushed over. It’s a great sport and a good thing for him.

Only one girl was out on the field, ably “manning” the goal for the team in sky blue jerseys. On the other side of the field, her brother stood in the opposing goal. Family tensions came to a height at the end, when her brother made a mad dash forward in an attempt to score on his sister. His shot whizzed by her, narrowly missing the net. Already several goals down, he sprinted all the way back to his post as the final buzzer sounded.

Maggie Sivit

Flying into Midway Airport, travelers catch a glimpse of a quaint scene of Americana—white lawn furniture, above-ground pools, and soccer balls abandoned in backyards. Quivering within the airplane’s jet stream, the mid-century homes vanish just as they appear within reach. While the air terminal is just a stopover on many flyers’ trips, the neighborhoods surrounding Midway—West Lawn, Clearing, and West Elsdon among them—continue to offer a comfortable if not quiet refuge.

Before the airport was built, the railroad drew working families to the area west of the Grand Trunk tracks. The industrial plants in Clearing provided jobs, and immigrants from Germany, Italy, Ireland, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and Lithuania streamed in. To this day, West Lawn remains a small but vibrant cultural center for Lithuanians in Chicago and beyond—home to the Balzekas Museum of Lithuanian Culture and one of the only Lithuanian-language printing presses in the country.

The pace of growth quickened during World War II when the airport expanded and factories were put to work for the war effort. One-story bungalows popped up in rows, the rising middle class seeking the neighborhood’s grassy lawns and tree-lined streets. But the population explosion was matched by an outburst of violence. Ethnic and class tensions escalated over the integration of the neighborhood and in 1946, erupted into race riots at 60th Street and Karlov.

The demographics shifted in the last quarter of the 20th century, but these neighborhoods retain their ties to the American dream. There is now a sizable Mexican community—in West Lawn and West Elsdon Hispanics make up 50% of the population—while Arab families and businesses are moving in. Though the homes, which in the 1950s surely must have been pictures of the future, are now showing signs of wear, the Midway area remains a place for families and ambitions to touch down and then take off.

Best Plantain Sandwich
Kapeekoo
A quiet restaurant with fans lazily spinning overhead and fake palm trees in planters, Kapeekoo doesn’t feel like a destination vacation to the Caribbean. But order a jibarito and it’ll taste like you’re there. A sandwich with fried plantains instead of bread comes hot and not too salty, and is filled with your choice of meat, vegetables, and cheese. Ask for the chili sauce on the side, which brightens the salty-savory flavors with spice. The sweet plantains are tender and perfectly caramelized, and the beans are well seasoned. The list of exotic offerings can be daunting, but our waiter patiently explained the flavors and textures of the dishes we didn’t recognize. “Careful,” he cautioned as he brought out our freshly fried guava cheese empanada, “the insides are, like, 300 degrees.” Wait for the molten sugar to cool before washing it down with some coconut soda. 6336 S. Pulaski Rd. Tuesday-Friday, 11am-9pm; Saturday-Sunday, 12:30pm-9pm. (773)284-9400. kapeekoo.com (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Cheap Socks
The Sock Shoppe
Socks don’t get much respect. They get worn thin until they look like Swiss cheese, lost in the wash, and totally forsaken during sandal season (unless you’re from Vermont). Too frequently they’re afterthoughts on jaunts to the mall, always playing second fiddle to the hot new pair of kicks you bought with them. But one store on 63rd and Pulaski has been giving socks their due for the last 42 years. The Sock Shoppe carries a wide selection of different knits, shapes, and sizes, and since many of the socks for sale are factory irregulars, they’re super cheap. Neon cutout signs list the prices in permanent marker: three pairs of wool thermal socks for under $6—even cheaper than you’ll find online—and multiple sets of funky decorative socks for even less. They also sell loungewear, plain T-shirts, and uniform elements. But for the best deal, stick to the socks. 4012 W. 63rd St. Monday-Saturday, 9am-7pm; Sunday, 10am-7pm. (773)582-4787 (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Old Fashioned Five-and-Dime
J & R Variety Store
Like that photograph of your mustachioed uncle from the ‘70s, J & R Variety gives off a comforting air of nostalgia. Bright floral frocks are displayed on the wood-shingled wall above racks of aprons and sweatshirts. Hanging from the ceiling, smiling paper sun decorations shine over the dimly lit aisles. J & R Variety is one of a dying breed of five-and-dime stores that were once frequently found in the city and sold everything from clothes to pots and pans, sewing materials to toy soldiers. Now, big box mammoths like Walmart and Target have made these mom and pop shops almost obsolete. But J & R holds on. It’s still owned and operated by the family that has worked at the store since 1956. And though some of their wares look as vintage as the décor, they’ve got all the modern necessities for your home. But the friendly service by the owner and his daughter, quirky plastic swan planters, and typewriter paper supplies make every shopping trip seem like you’re traveling in time. 6318 S. Pulaski Rd. Monday-Friday, 9:30am-6pm; Saturday, 9am-5pm; Sunday, 11am-4pm. (773)735-4995 (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Annals of History
The National Archives
If history is a kind of collective memory, then this low-lying building on Pulaski and 73rd is its hard drive. Here at the Chicago branch of the National Archives and Records Administration, you’ll find a treasure trove of historical documents, covering everything from westward expansion to African American history to space exploration technology. One of only fourteen locations in the country, the National Archives on Pulaski hold more than 78,000 cubic feet of hardcopy and microfilm materials, including letters, maps, photographs, and blueprints that date as far back as 1800. Though the research room can seem a bit stark, you’re not alone: Abraham Lincoln, Marcus Garvey, Enrico Fermi, Lorraine Hansberry, and (gulp) Al Capone all live here in the records. If you’re doing genealogical or academic research, you might want to call ahead to make sure they have what you’re looking for. Anyone can use the archives, provided you are over the age of 14 (they prefer old things, what can we say). Make sure to bring a pencil and a notebook, you won’t want to forget what you see. 7358 S. Pulaski Rd. Monday-Friday, 8am-4:15pm. (773)948-9001. archives.gov/great-lakes/archives (Rachel Wiseman)

Maggie Sivit

There’s a common question asked to visitors of Englewood and Auburn-Gresham: “Do you know where you are?” If you’re walking in the neighborhoods west of the Dan Ryan and south of 55th, and a worried, well-meaning passerby thinks you might not be from the area, you might get asked yourself.

Look around. You might see a train rumbling on rusted Green Line tracks passing over an empty lot of cracked pavement. Or smoke rising from an oil drum at a neighborhood barbecue. Or what was once the South Side Masonic Temple, a brick colossus with white paint flecking from the columns and windowsills decaying behind a wire fence, a thick crop of weeds breaking through the mortar.

If you’re not careful, the histories of Englewood, West Englewood, and Auburn-Gresham can read like bottomless tragedies. The Great Depression hit Englewood and West Englewood hard, and real estate values dropped as buildings aged and resources dried up. The Black Belt expanded southward and many African American families moved in to take the place of the European immigrants who had migrated farther west. But racist housing and lending practices prevented any substantial investment in the communities and contributed to their decline. The construction of the Dan Ryan Expressway in the early 1960s displaced thousands and drew the east-west color line deeper into the city’s geography. Auburn-Gresham, located farther south, has historically been home to a slightly wealthier community living in single-family homes. Nonetheless, all three neighborhoods have suffered from violence, crime, and a withering population over the last forty years.

And yet, there are signs of renewal. Residents are mobilizing to stop gangs and bring peace to the streets. At St. Sabina’s Church, a pastor and his congregation have campaigned against drug use and founded a number of social service organizations. And in 2007, Kennedy-King College opened, bringing in educational opportunities and spurring some of the first commercial construction in years.

Keep looking. There are townhouses, barbershops, a new college campus, and churches with committed congregations. A man looks under the hood of his car and tinkers with the engine. Neighbors chat on stoops and under streetlights. Learn where you are.

Best Hot Dog
Fat Johnnie’s Famous Red Hots
The procession of car dealerships along Western Avenue is briefly interrupted by a white picket fence emblazoned with large, candy-red capital letters proclaiming, “FAT JOHNNIES.” Next to the fence, an unassuming white shack stands, its roof slumping a little. This roadside hut is a 39-year-old family-run institution, serving up some of the best hot dogs in the city, as some fans boldly argue. The son and nephew of the actual Fat Johnnie now manage the hot dog stand while living in the home next door. When we asked Johnnie’s son what their best dog is, his cousin quickly interjected, “the mighty dog, no doubt.” The mighty dog is an all-beef hot dog stuffed inside a cornmeal and beef tamale, stuffed in a poppy-seed bun and dressed with cheese. For a quarter they will add the Chicago-dog works—a sliced cucumber seasoned with celery salt, fresh tomatoes, diced onions, and Chicago-river-green relish. Instead of fries they serve nachos dripping with cheese and smothered in chili. Wash it all down with a suicide, the fountain drink all-in-one sampler popular with rebellious ten-year-olds. Yet far from inducing suicide, sitting at a Fat Johnnies picnic table scarfing their tamales and dogs will have you affirming life, Johnny, and da Bears. 7232 S. Western Ave. Monday-Saturday, 11am-6:30pm; Sunday, 11am-3:30pm. (773)737-6294 (J. Michael Eugenio)

Best Take-Out Soul Food
BJ’s Market and Bakery
Though it looks like a Boston Market, don’t hold that against BJ’s. With striped awnings and an oval logo, and a case filled with metal trays of American home-style dishes, BJ’s does resemble that other chicken chain. But BJ’s is a local business through and through. John Meyer, the owner and head chef of BJ’s worked at restaurants across the city before starting a business in his own neighborhood in 2001. The restaurant’s name is taken from the first letters of Meyers’ two children’s names. Like any soul food joint worth its salt, BJ’s has thick, flavorful rib tips and fried chicken. The mustard-fried catfish is their signature: its breaded exterior is slightly crispy but the fish stays tender. The dish comes with a special tangy-sweet mustard sauce for dipping and your choice of sides, but good luck choosing! They’ve got baked mac’n’cheese, black-eyed peas, collard greens with smoked turkey, buttery corn, and sweet potatoes that taste like Thanksgiving. There’s ample seating, but few customers use it. Most seem to come in after work and place a big order to go. With its comforting, slow-cooked staples and fast service, BJ’s offers take-out that almost passes for a home-cooked meal. 1156 W. 79th St. Monday-Thursday, 7am-9pm; Friday-Saturday, 7am-10pm; Sunday, 7am-8pm. (773)723-7000. bjsmarket.com (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Food of the Gods
Reese’s Gourmet Mana
Located at 1022 ½ W. 63rd, this little pudding shop is—as the “half” in its address implies—a hole-in-the wall in the truest sense. The exterior of the shop is basically just a yellow banner hung over a gated door. Inside, the walls are bare, except for a dry erase board with the daily flavors and a poster of the Ten Commandments. The store’s simplicity befits the divine product they peddle: a custard-like pudding garnished with Nilla wafers called mana. The classic “banana mana” is silky and sweet with slices of real banana at the bottom of the cup. The orange turtle gives off only the subtlest citrus notes, so the nutty caramel-chocolate topping really shines. When we asked what kind to buy, the jovial woman behind the counter detailed the virtues of each variety. While she’s normally a chocolate woman, the lemon mana is “one-of-the kind,” while the strawberry mana makes her feel “all tingly,” just like her beau does. These delicious treats are only $3 per cup or two for $5, so there’s no harm in trying more than one kind. In Englewood’s food desert, mana does seem like a godsend for the gourmand. 1022 ½ W. 63rd St. Monday-Saturday, 11am-7pm. (773)418-0790. reesesmanaflavors.com (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Roller Rink
MLK, Jr. Park & Family Entertainment Center
With no grass, trees, streetlamps, playgrounds, or benches, this isn’t your average park. Instead of a sun above, you’ll find disco lights, and the show-stopping moves happen don’t happen on the court, but on roller skates. Entry prices vary, but go as low as 50 cents on Thursday and Friday afternoons. Skate rentals are reasonable, too. And though it is an astounding value, forget about the prices—the experience is golden. You rent skates, get out on the waxed hardwood floor, and wobble-glide in circles for hours like you would at any other roller rink. But here, they don’t play lame jock jams or moldy oldies. The DJ plays hip-hop radio hits, and couples skate hand-in-hand to a Weezy track. Kids wearing adorable birthday tutus try to stay balanced, while the older skaters will make your jaw drop as you watch them pirouette and get low. “I’ve been coming here since I was a shawty,” said one of the most gifted skaters. He pointed at a group of kids struggling to reach the joystick of a claw machine even with the boost from their skates, whom earlier in the night he had taught a couple of moves. “Like them shawties.” 1219 W. 76th St. See website for schedule of skating times and entry fees. (312)747-2602. mlkskating.com (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Garden of Contradictory Power Relations
Renaissance Park
An English garden and a monument to prominent African-American figures seem odd bedfellows, but they come together nicely in Renaissance Park. Once a derelict lot at 79th and Throop, the park was built in 2000 as a symbol and reflection of the revitalization of the neighborhood. The half-block of well-maintained grounds makes for a good picnic spot, while benches offer ideal seating for a good read. Neatly trimmed hedges form geometric patterns, while colorful flowers are a delight to the eyes and nose. At the center of the park, a modern black granite sculpture fountain honors a number of heroes with ties to the South Side. A pyramid of large granite stones are engraved with the names of a number of prominent African-American figures—Martin Luther King, Jr., Muhammad Ali, Mahalia Jackson, and Harold Washington, to name a few. Water trickles down from the pyramid to a granite pillar on the other side of the monument, a statement on the power of role models to inspire future change. Judging by the signs of rebirth around Auburn-Gresham, the legacy of community activism and leadership flows on. 1300 W. 79th St. Open dusk-dawn. (312)747-7661 (Rachel Wiseman)

Maggie Sivit

When the final stake was hammered into the transcontinental railway in 1869, many Chinese immigrant workers found themselves without a home. One year later, Chicago’s Chinese population was first documented, and from this original population, today’s Chinatown developed. Bolstered by a second wave of immigration in the ’50s and ’60s, the area has developed two distinct sections.  “Old Chinatown” runs down Wentworth Street, and is a string of family restaurants and shops that have been in the neighborhood for years. Here, the iconic Pui Tak Center, designed in an exaggerated pagoda-style by Norwegian architects in 1926, ushers in Chinatown visitors. “New Chinatown” on Archer Avenue  attracts a diverse, younger clientele. Two of the neighborhood’s most popular restaurants, Joy Yee’s and Lao Szechuan, are located here, drawing crowds from across the city. Nearby, statues of the twelve zodiac animals stand guard over college kids clutching cups of bubble tea.

The streets mimic the bustle of Hong Kong’s crowded roads, with cars and jaywalkers fighting for road space. The shop signs here are bilingual (traditional Chinese characters displayed more prominently) and most, if not all, of the shop owners speak Cantonese. But this district is a quieter replica than the Chinatowns in New York and San Francisco. It lacks the claustrophobia, the ear-splitting market yelps, and the breathless pace that any modern Chinese city notoriously features. On weekends, the streets are more lively with echoes from karaoke bars, but overall, the neighborhood has a subdued spirit characteristic of the city of Burnham’s wide boulevards.

Best Place of Solace
Enlightenment Temple
Tucked away between a tea shop and the World Treasures Emporium, this little Buddhist retreat is concealed from the ordinary, wandering tourist. Its humble storefront is only distinguished by an overhanging yellow sign, informing visitors that behind the display glass is the Buddhist Enlightenment Temple. Those so inclined can pray, light incense, and set their offerings on the altar inside. Otherwise, visitors can browse the temple’s gift store and purchase talismans, rosaries, and devotional statues. The sanctuary is maintained by dedicated nuns under the International Buddhist Friendship Association, who not only lead prayer and scripture sessions, bust also care for the temple’s famed thousand-armed Guan Yin Bodhisattva. 2249 S. Wentworth. Daily, 9am-6:30pm. (312)881-0177 (Wenjia Zhao)

Best Chinese-Style Breakfast
Chi-Café
For those looking to deviate from a run-of-the-mill American breakfast, this stylish, contemporary restaurant on Archer Avenue is a must-try. In addition to typical Chinese restaurant fare like congee and fried dough, Chi-Café offers harder-to-find delights such as honey garlic chicken wings and baked rice bowls. On weekends, while most of the other restaurants on the street are closed, this place is full of hungry customers. Diners can sit and relax on its comfy white booths, and enjoy the sunlight reflecting off the glass art panels on the walls. Early-risers and nights-owls can both rejoice: Chi-Café opens early and closes past midnight. A meal for two (including tips) typically costs between $8-12, and so even the budget-conscious can have their fill. 2160-A S. Archer Avenue, Sunday–Thursday, 8am–2am; Friday- Saturday, 8am–5am. (312)842-9943 (Wenjia  Zhao)

Best For the Novelties Collector
World Treasures Emporium
With so many gift shops in Chinatown, it might be easy for the passing traveler to simply accept shelves crammed with a boilerplate repertoire of overpriced miniature Buddhas, plastic flowers, and lucky cat charms. Fortunately, World Treasures Emporium sets itself apart. Despite the name, this shop does not actually carry wares from across the globe, or even attempt to go beyond Chinese borders.  Excuse the stretch, though: they sell higher quality trinkets than most of their counterparts, and the store is neatly organized—you’ll find no random piles of wholesale items here. Its comfortable aisles offer breathing space for the visitor to marvel at merchandise supplied nowhere else in Chinatown—a golden hand-painted ship, for instance, or scented sandalwood fans. True to its name, this shop may actually contain modest treasures for the keen of sight. 2253 S. Wentworth Avenue, (312)808-1818 (Wujun Ke)

Best All-Rounder
Richland Center
With a conspicuous glass rotunda and red block lettering resembling that of an office supply chain, the entrance to Richland Center towers over a corner on Wentworth Avenue just north of the Red Line stop. Home of the Richland Real Estate Group, this three-story building also houses an indoor/outdoor food court and shopping center on its ground floor. While Bollywood crossover hit “Jai Ho” inexplicably plays on a never-ending loop, the food stalls are truly reminiscent of those in China—compact, flamboyant, and arranged around a café area. Shoppers may enjoy a quick Chinese bun or sit down at an Asian buffet, teppanyaki grill, or sushi bar. From the purikura sticker booths where friends can squeeze into a snapshot to the practitioners of acupuncture, Richland Center offers a range of merchandise, food, and services found all over China but nowhere else in Chinatown. 2002 S. Wentworth Ave. Opening and Closing times vary by vendor. (312)225-2828 (Wujun Ke)

Best Grocery Market
Richwell Market
If you’re looking for food so fresh it’s alive, forget your local Dominick’s or Jewel Osco and head over to this supermarket on the border of Chinatown. Not only can you get crawling crabs in the back, but a more typical selection of fresh fruits and vegetables is also available. Though the live fish market is the biggest draw, don’t forget to grab a tasty bun from the bakery. The condiment aisle features all sorts of ingredients for every variety of Asian cooking, from the ubiquitous Sriracha chili sauce to Bagoong, a Filipino fish sauce. Located slightly off the beaten trail, and away from the general Chinatown vicinity, make sure you don’t fill too many bags with your purchases—it’s a 20-minute walk to the Red Line. 1835 S. Canal St. Daily, 9am–7:30pm. (312)226-9611 (Wenjia Zhao)

Jane Fentress

If you look at a map, you’ll see our city of neighborhoods carved into 77 “community areas.” The lines, drawn by sociologists in the 1950s, sometimes traced the perimeters of ethnic enclaves and sometimes created them. Flattening Chicago’s complex social geography, these semi-official designations remain in use, but even urban planners would admit they are not adequate. Borders shift and names change, reflecting the movement of people from one place to the next. Local identity is made in the minds of residents as much as it is inherited. It is a sum of experiences.

Contradicting visions of the city layer one on top of the other and crack—digging trenches and dissolving boundaries. The grand designs that Burnham and the Daley dynasty championed sculpted the general contours of the city, but memories, prejudices, and urban myths give Chicago its texture. Shared over dinner tables, old stories and photographs throw the city’s terrain into relief. Perhaps the only thing flat about Chicago is the expanse of grassland below its foundations.

Chicago’s grit poses a challenge to our senses and sensibilities, and demands an explanation, though none come easy. Our sense of place asks for a coherent reading. But the tensions and contradictions are what make it worth exploring.

There are many sides to the South Side, and we could never show all of them. In this edition of our “Best of” issue, we’ve tried to take a closer look at more neighborhoods than we have in the past, and this is what we encountered. Our newsprint guide can’t do justice to all the things that make a neighborhood great. Nonetheless, we’ve started to piece together a story of our city. Take this not as a roadmap but a point of departure.

• Hyde Park and Kenwood
• Woodlawn
• The South Loop
• Bridgeport
• Midway
• Bronzeville
• Back of the Yards
• Greater Grand Crossing
• Pilsen & Little Village
• Engelwood & Auburn-Gresham
• Chinatown
• Beverly

Robert Gigliotti/flickr

The Chicago Housing Authority lucked out with its acronym—you can’t spell “change” without “CHA”—and the organization has emphasized this theme all over its website. According to CHA CEO Lewis Jordan, the agency’s “Plan for Transformation,” which started in 2000, is the “largest and most ambitious redevelopment effort of public housing in our country’s history.” CHA has already begun a series of demolitions, relocations, renovations, and new constructions—yet it remains to be seen how much can truly be changed.

By CHA’s own admission, Chicago had “some of the worst housing in America” before the recent plan was enacted. Former high-rise housing projects, such as Cabrini-Green and the Robert Taylor Homes, were criticized for their dismal living conditions, endemic gang violence, and cross-generational poverty. Many experts believed that the small-scale reforms and improvements suggested by some would not have been able to save the projects. According to CHA’s Annual Plan for 2000, “despite repeated attempts at reform, real and lasting change has been elusive.” The current plan involves rebuilding or replacing 25,000 public housing units—the number of occupied units in 1999. Residents have a “relocation rights contract,” which gives them four options: a permanent housing choice voucher, a rehabbed scattered site unit, a rehabbed unit in one of the traditional public housing developments, or a new unit within a mixed housing development.

At its 2000 launch, the Plan was allotted ten years to complete. But it’s 2011, and the Plan is still a work in progress. In 2006, the deadline for the Plan’s completion was extended to 2015. The 17,000-odd public housing units that were closed down or razed have been replaced by approximately 18,000 new or remodeled units. Of those, only 3,000 are mixed-income—less than half of the 7,697 units CHA planned for. Mixed-income housing is dependent on a federally funded voucher program, which pays a portion of a family’s rent each month to improve their access to housing in a variety of neighborhoods. There are currently 40,000 on the waiting list to participate in the program.

Mixed-income housing is a focal point of the Plan for Transformation, in part, because of its bold social goals. According to Sara Voelker, the project coordinator for a University of Chicago School of Social Service Administration study about mixed-income development, the “idea is that this is a strategy for de-concentrating poverty,” creating developments that include three “segments of the income spectrum”—“one third public housing replacement, one third tax credit or affordable units, and one third market rates.” The city wants to redefine public housing, destroying the qualities that made the high rises dangerous places to live—“plagued with crime and drugs” and with a “high concentration of extremely poor families.” The Plan is conditioned on the hope that if they live in a diverse community, the poor will not see themselves as stuck in their current economic situation. Voelkner’s study, meanwhile, is a look at how people live in this sort of structured diversity.

“We’ve done interviews with residents of five of the ten sites, and there’s a mixed experience,” she says. “Almost everyone really likes the units; they’re really nice buildings in good locations, and the communities are generally safer than they were before. There’s some tension around who has kids and who doesn’t, and how you live in a community where there’s these different populations. How you get to know people, how to make a community.”

CHA’s vision for safe, integrated housing is a far cry from the reality, as residents move into neighborhoods  that are still under construction. “The slowdown of the market has really impacted a lot of these places, and a lot of the other amenities and stores that were supposed to come into these neighborhoods were slow or nonexistent,” Voelkner says. “That makes things difficult for people—they don’t have a grocery store close by, there’s still a lot of empty lots.” Although Voelkner’s study is not an attempt to assess the success or failure of mixed-income housing, her findings do show that as long as the developments remain a work-in-progress, any real evaluation is impossible.

CHA still considers the limited progress it has made to be a sign of success, especially in light of the housing market crisis. “I want to be really clear [that] we’re not giving this message that we’re behind or [that] issues are getting in the way of our success. We’re adapting and changing to the market conditions,” Jordan says in a WBEZ podcast. “We’ve created a better quality of life than what we had people living in before we started this.” In 2009, 68 percent of the promised replacement housing was finished, but CHA has not posted an annual report on its website since that year. Though the plan is taking longer than expected, CHA continues to emphasize the headway its made while calling for increased community support, hiding the missed finish line of 2010 behind the title “ten-year milestone.”

There is some concern, however, that the move to tear down the projects is more symbolic than effective. In a podcast, Nicki Bazer, an attorney with the Legal Assistance Foundation of Chicago, described the catharsis of the long-awaited evacuation of the Cabrini-Green high rises. “I think [when] every resident of Chicago drove down State Street or saw [the developments] from the road there was just an overwhelming sense of guilt or frustration…that this is where all these residents were living. There seems to be this palpable sense of relief and congratulations to CHA on the fact that they’ve taken these high rises down.”

As Cabrini-Green is put to rest, it is CHA’s intention to offer mixed-income housing as a replacement. In reality, however, this is not the case. Many of the former residents of the high rises do not qualify to live in the new communities—criminal background checks, credit checks, and a higher number of hours involved in the work requirement make it impossible for many individuals to make the move. And although there is a one-to-one correspondence of new or rehabbed units with the number of people who had registered leases in 1999, there is no way of knowing how many people lived in the units without having registered. Also, the number of spots available within the mixed-income developments is a relatively small fraction of the total public housing units in the city. As a result, the number of tenants who will actually move into these particular communities is relatively small; and for now, the communities themselves are incomplete. The destruction of the high-rises and the introduction of a new possibility are just pieces of the bigger plan—they’re not the only changes happening, and they’re not the only ones that need to happen in order to achieve a full transformation.

Luca Servodio

In Pilsen, a lonely steward of Restaurant Week is wedged between a spooky warehouse and a 24-hour diner named Steak n’ Egger, a half-hearted play on the egg dish. It sits directly beneath not one but two gigantic billboards. It’s across the road from some seemingly forsaken train tracks. It’s in a tiny green building on Cermak Road, under an awning that reads May St. Cafe.

If you’ve ever had your heart warmed by perfectly crispy skin on the succulent thigh of a chicken, by the soothing cinnamon aroma of a fresh apple pie, by the luxurious creaminess of a sliver of brie, then you probably know all about Restaurant Week. If you haven’t, then take note: until February 26 over 200 restaurants around the city are offering prix fixe menus ($22 for lunch and $33 for dinner) comprised of an appetizer, entree, and dessert, which will give you a precious chance to hit up some of Chicago’s culinary A-listers.

Now in its fourth year as a citywide event, Chicago Restaurant Week has added over two dozen first-time participants to its list of gastronomic giants, and some stars are rising in unexpected locations. Of the 200 plus restaurants, eight are south of Roosevelt Road. Pilsen’s May St. Cafe leads the octet with a stellar reputation and the Latin flare to back it up. On the website, May St. is described as a fusion of “Puerto Rican, Mexican, contemporary American, and Nuevo Latino cuisines.” In other words, it’s the food your Mexican grandmother would serve you if she were trapped inside the body of a trained professional chef.

May St.’s interior is a dimly lit space characterized by a refined quaintness. The luxurious dark-mahogany tables, the plush benches lining the walls, and the napkins that look and feel a lot like satin are lightened up with a charming portrait of a colossal blue fish, bundles of daisies on the tables, and the quiet buzz of families, lovers, and friends sharing dinner.

Decked out in chef-whites and a smile that could light up a black hole, owner Mario Santiago makes his way from table to table like the gracious host that he is. To the Puerto Rican chef born in Lincoln Park, Restaurant Week is about more than just pumping dollars into the economy—it’s about giving people the chance to experience something new (i.e. a $120-plus meal for a fraction of the price). “Monday is my day off,” he tells us with a look of anticipation in his eyes, “I’m gonna check out some places…”

Santiago’s special Restaurant Week menu is expertly constructed and gives the diner a chance to experience the essence of May St.’s everyday fare.

To start off, you’re given the choice of a fresh, zesty salad starring jicama, or a plate of ooey-gooey-awesome enchiladas that our kind waitress described as “Believe me, very, very good.” Sure, these enchiladas fulfill the canonical requirements of tenderness, warmth, and sharp cheese. It’s the 4-day-in-the-making mole sauce, however, that renders them exceptional. This intensely colored elixir of flavor is simultaneously fruity, nutty, and smoky, and is a product of love and family tradition—Lupe, May St.’s other chef, attributes the recipe to her dear Abuela Ines.

As an entree you’ll either enjoy the juicy chicken Milanese, a breaded and lightly fried beauty Santiago created specially for this week, or one of May St.’s masterfully-executed crowd-pleasers, the lechón asado. This dish involves flavoring pork with a garlic-citrus marinade and then slow-roasting it for roughly the length of a Super Bowl. The result is pork’s textural answer to the Turkish delight: a bowl of juicy, fall-apart tender, flavorful pork that sends your tastebuds into a tizzy.

For dessert, you cannot leave without trying the White Chocolate Flan. There’s a reason Chicago chef–royalty Art Smith picked it as his favorite chocolate dish on Food Network’s “The Best Thing I Ever Ate.” Quite simply, it is exquisite—both creamy and rich, this modern twist on a traditional closer balances the joyful sweetness of white chocolate with the natural tartness of mixed berries.

There do exist paths to gustatory disappointment at May St. Cafe—the guacamole, for example, foregoes taste for creaminess and the pastel tres leches lacks a vital moistness—but the route mapped out by the Restaurant Week menu is pretty much guaranteed to please.

Restaurant Week ends this Saturday and with it the prix fixe menus and many of the specially designed selections. What endures, however, is Restaurant Week’s underlying message: Chi-town can eat, and it can eat well.

May St. Cafe, 1146 W Cermak Rd. Tuesday-Thursday, 5pm-10pm; Friday-Saturday, 5pm-11pm; Sunday, 5pm-9pm. (312)421-4442. maystcafe.com

Courtesy of Co-Prosperity Sphere

Type is all around us. We see it on billboards, in magazines, and across our computer screens. It’s so ubiquitous that associating its design with any particular city seems a bit odd. But Dawn Hancock, co-curator of Typeforce 2, the Second Annual Showing of Emerging Typographic Allstars, points out that many artists interested in pursuing typography feel obligated to move to New York, which has long been a center for the craft. Typeforce 2, which opened last Friday at Bridgeport’s Co-Prosperity Sphere, makes a strong case for Chicago’s place as the second city of typographic design.

The official poster for the event (designed by Sonnenzimmer, a graphic art and screen printing studio) features the famous Swiss typographer Jan Tschichold. According to Hancock, Tschichold “wanted to do typography that was different for his time.” The work displayed at the Co-Prosperity Sphere largely follows his example. The exhibit emphasizes creative and innovative presentation while taking for granted readability and legibility, two fundamental concepts in typographic design. “Crackle Crack” by Frances MacLeod and Caroline MacLeod displays onomatopoeia in textual form, expressing the sound of words like “ribbit”, “splat”, and “plop” through font work and graphic design. Another piece, “Typefreaks” by Quite Strong, a checkerboard of circus posters, likens typographic oddities such as the semicolon, index/fist, and interrobang to a bearded lady and two-headed marvel.

The theme of elevating type from the everyday to the heights of fine art recurs throughout the exhibit, but one artist, Bill Talsma, takes this idea to a new level. His pieces, “What’s On Your Mind,” “Change,” and “Recent Activity” feature text from Facebook, displayed with authenticity in Lucida Grande as if they were pasted from a screenshot. But this text is not just posted on a wall. Instead, it is displayed conspicuously on a series of lacquered plaques accompanied by a silver-plated trophy, an award given in exchange for a status update. Talsma says he hopes to establish an unconscious connection with the viewer through the familiar display of lettering, mirroring the automatic interrelation between any piece of text and its reader.

One difference that distinguishes this year’s show from Typeforce 1 is the method by which the artists were chosen. In 2010, the curators hand-selected designers based on work they displayed on the streets of Chicago. Once the artists were approved, they were given free reign to create whatever they wanted for the show. “This year,” Hancock states, “we put out an open call for submissions,” and the pieces on display are the best of that pool. But while this year’s artists were not necessarily selected because of their work displayed in Chicago, it’s clear that the emerging Typographic Allstars of 2011 draw their inspiration from the city. One screen print by Sonnenzimmer, for example, takes text from a poster advertising an event at the North Side music venue the Empty Bottle. Designer Matthew Hoffman takes notes on his phone while walking around the city and works these thoughts into his type later. His window display, the most geometrically interesting piece on display at Typeforce, abstractly resembles a city skyline, featuring high-rises made of bass wood with carved-out letters.

The artists’ hometown pride extends beyond inspiration for the exhibit. Nick Adam, whose work at Typeforce spans the length of the back wall, started the Mayor Daley Forever campaign, designing campaign posters and T-shirts as if Daley were running for this year’s election (and every election thereafter). According to a statement on Adam’s website, this campaign commemorates Daley’s “political brilliance [and] acknowledges his personal sacrifice to the people and city of Chicago.” Hancock explains that because she and most of the people who helped put together the exhibit hail from Chicago, it is especially important to her to find a place for the city at the forefront of typographic design. By bringing these artists together, Hancock and the Co-Prosperity Sphere are proving that, in the world of type, Chicago is a force to be reckoned with.

Co-Prosperity Sphere, 3219 S Morgan St. Through March 7. Hours by appointment. Free. (773)837-0145. coprosperity.org

Such ambiguities reflect the democratic agenda of WHPK’s annual collaboration with the Film Studies Center, “Pictures and Sounds.” With talent drawn from the deliciously obscure Midwestern avant-noise/free music scene, “Pictures and Sounds” revisited the live soundtrack tradition of early silent film. The musicians selected short films and performed to them live as they watched along with the audience.

Playing first was Chicago’s own Chris Bush, better known as Flower Man, who earned a name for himself as the proverbial better-half of the psychedelic retro-electronics outfit Caboladies, and later entered more minimalist territory with his solo work. Alongside the first film selection, a short from Midnight Star Media, Bush dealt out sparse blips and reeling peals, expertly punctuating the anxious, repetitious hallucinations caught on video. Daniel Dlugoseilski (Bodymorph) of Detroit chose to take his performance in the other direction: rather than trying to blend in with the abstract visuals, Dlugoseilski’s music was a visceral reimagination of Stanley Kubrick’s 1955 film-noir, “Killer’s Kiss.” Accompanied only by agoraphobic saxophone yelps, even the most frantic chases and scenes of combat took on a new futile pallor. Next up was Frank Rosaly, perhaps the most renowned of the performers—if not for his percussive agility then for his numerous and wide-ranging collaborations in the world of noise. Although scheduled to accompany a new film by his friend Derek Welte, complications led to the screening of “Jeux des Reflets et de la Vitesse,” a French experimental film from the ’20s of first-person travel footage. Rosaly’s sound-barrage renewed the disorienting aspect of this otherwise age-tempered footage. The last act was Second Family Band, an offshoot/resurrection of famed Madison music collective Davenport. Weaving their characteristic tapestry of American psychedelic folk-drone, they achieved a remarkable, though not exactly harmonious, counterpoint to the excerpts from Sergei Parajanov’s 1968 tour de force, “The Color of Pomegranates.”

“Pictures and Sounds” was certainly a demonstration of some of the tremendous talent that the Midwest has to offer in the way of experimental artists. In the end, though, it was the fallibility of the performers that gave the presentation its charming, inspiring character. Great communion was made afterwards with the sharing of flasks, swapping of emails, and purchase of—what else?—cassettes.