The Folks, Ah the Folks

I’ve seen it happen many times. Unsuspecting souls come to Chicago in those few short hours we call Spring, and fall hopelessly in love—sometimes with the city and each other—but always with the city. How could they not? Chicago when the green’s beginning has everything to match the Paris that they sing about. Chicago folks won’t look down their noses when you ask them to show you the simplest thing. A city’s not much, if you don’t like the folks who live there.

It seems that spring visitors meet one Chicagoan who shows them around. They end up in any of a million neighborhood restaurants or bars, and in minutes everyone there knows their names, where they’re from, who they are. Depending on the end of town, someone carefully explains why the Sox or the Cubs are ones everyone loves, and someone else chimes in with, “Hey, how ‘bout them Bears?”

It’s not the winning in Chicago. How could it be? In Chicago, it’s the folks, always the folks.

Soon enough, those poor visitors are making plans to move here. Who could resist hospitality like that?

It happens much the same to summer visitors. Sure the weather’s hot, but “cooler by the lake” is the mantra they hear. There’s so much beauty, so much people want to show them, to take them to do and experience. Visitors hardly notice the temperature that hangs like vines in the air. When they do, it’s turn a corner, and a cold beer’s waiting in a frosted glass. Did you want the Irish pub? the brassiere? the top of the Hancock for the view and champagne? or maybe down to Old Town where the Hippies still hang out, throwing peanuts on the floor? Ah, let’s do them all. Oh me, my name’s Liz. I live here.

Again new Chicagoans are coming to new homes.

Even if I try to talk them out of it, the city calls them to come on. It’s the skyline. It’s the lakeshore that goes on past what your eyes can take in. It’s the hot dogs, the pizza, the work ethic. It’s the lack of pretentiousness. Who am I kidding? It’s the folks that they meet. The folks feel like family should feel. Of course there is no deciding. They have no choice. They will come.

In autumn, the city color and the city lights are romantic, but the chill makes wise ones stay to themselves. They have a chance bundled in their woolen coats, hiding under wind-blown hair. They keep their distance. It’s reluctance. Folks in Chicago understand. No one bothers them. Fall visitors usually get to go back home.

The shock of the WINTER comes dressed in snow and white lights on the lakefront. The streets are clear, as clear as the nights. Those spring and summer Chicagoans hear the winter mantra “warmer by the lakefront,” and learn that it doesn’t mean that much to their noses or toes. They wonder how they came to be in such a cold, cold place as this. They talk about it, fret about it, while they drink hot chocolate or hot toddies with their Chicago families—the folks they can’t bear to leave.

Had they only first visited Chicago in the winter. The unsuspecting ones might have had a clearer picture to start. They would have known the city as a place before they fell in love with the people. It’s possible they would never have moved here had they met the city when it’s so much slower, almost hibernating in the snow. Instead, they got to know the city as the folks. It’s possible they’ll never leave.

I think Chicago is very much like blogging. You might think about it, and warn your friends if they want to blog. Encourage them to start in the winter, when traffic is sleepy, almost hibernating. Then they will really get a picture of blogging as it is, before they fall in love with the folks. Ah you folks. If they come in the spring, they'll get to know you right away. Then it’s possible, quite probable, they’ll never leave.

—me strauss Letting me be