Life in village on edge of humongous big city in day gone by . . .

To be absorbed in small gulps . . .

The man who wouldn't stand up . . . (Oak Park IL, March of '97) I'm in the booth-and-counter joint at Oak Park and Roosevelt, slurping my coffee and eggs early on a Saturday. Several other white guys are at counter. Another sits in a booth up front slurping his order. He's all bundled up, hood up and all, which tips me that he is not entirely in tune with his environment. We're all white guys, except the waitress, who's a white gal. Five, six white guys and gal in search of happiness as the week winds down.

In comes young man, 17 or so, black kid. Stands and orders to go. There's a bit of white-guys-place-I'll-stand-so-they-don't-think-I'm-buttin'-in about him. So what? Life in the big metropolitan area.

Kid leaves. Pause. Guy out of touch with environment asks guy at counter, "Was that a black kid?" Yes, he's told. "I don't like black kids." Pause. "They bother me [understood, pick on him as a likely target]." Pause. "I don't like white kids either."

"Take it easy, Joe," says counter white. Joe subsides.

Few minutes later, in comes black guy, 25 or 30, sits at counter. In no way is he apologizing for himself. Comments on the weather, forcing conversation. He could be from Roosevelt and Pulaski. Has the intonations that he'd use at a joint there. White guy at counter picks up with him. Off to races discussing weather, etc. Few pauses.

This black guy may work in the ‘hood, may be known in the joint. Point is, he brought aplomb to the scene. Did not throw his weight around but was not about to sit in silence, was certainly not about to stand. Good.

Cheerful earful . . . Other restaurant, other voices. Lake Street, the heart of town, where Oak Parkers muster up their full quotas of cosmopolitanism and let it all hang out, or over their belts anyhow.

Chatty older woman in small booth (everybody white in this scenario) reads item from her newspaper at 40-ish man at counter, noting he might use this "in [his] English class." It's a boo-boo with misplaced adjective, something like "man with children 25 to 30." She fastens on this repeating it four times, each time spelling out the problem: should be man 25 to 30 with children, etc. Man at counter grunts acknowledgement, politely enough.

Not politely enough. Politely is not what she has in mind anyhow. Enthusiasm is what this early-morning conversational predator wants. She wants some building on her poignant observation with something of his own. We know she is not satisfied when leaving she says ever so sweetly, still her good-morning-sunshine self: "I hope your day goes better for you, so you can be your usual cheerful self." Pow.