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Get Organized  "There's a meetin' tonight, Petunia. It's time fo' action!" |
Ladies of the night say:
Urban Renewal Sucks!
of TheColumnists.com
If you’re anywhere within a hundred-mile radius
of Chicago, listen closely. That sound you hear is another rumble
in the urban jungle. This time, it has nothing to do with prizefighters.
Urban renewal has struck the Uptown neighborhood, a two and a
third square mile area on the city’s north side, just steps
away from Lake Michigan. Built in the 1800's as a lakeside luxury
resort area, Uptown was the status address where the filthy rich
and social glitterati hobnobbed, compared notes and bank statements,
and raised the bar for decadence, Chicago-style. After World
War I, the area became one of the nation’s feature film
production headquarters, a flash of fame extinguished by Great
Depression economics.Opulent mansions fell into disrepair, and
later, were divided into cheap rental units.
Urban blight dealt a lethal blow. Uptown plummeted from ‘shabby’
status to ‘decaying’ to ‘third circle of Hell’
at warp speed. Halfway houses and day labor docks replaced once-elegant
tea rooms and chic salons. What had been luxury apartment buildings
became rent-by-the-hour flophouses. Uptown was flooded with transients,
drug dealers and prostitutes, deinstitutionalized patients from
state psychiatric facilities, and prison parolees. Cops working
the Uptown beat considered it a ‘combat zone’ since
it had the highest incidence of alcohol and drug-related homicides
in the city. By the sixties, the area’s urban demographics
reflected a large influx of immigrants from Vietnam, Cambodia,
Ethiopia and Bosnia.
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problems for the ladies who work the streets. |
Uptown became an ethnic melting pot that boiled over on a nightly basis. Hustlers, thieves and pimps marked off their various turfs and guarded them like junkyard dogs. An uneasy alliance of predators followed the tacit street code: “Live fast, die young, but not if you can knock off the other guy first.” Narcotics ruled the street economy, followed closely by the hookers who prowled the strolls along Sheridan Road. Stepping nimbly over inert winos slumped in the doorways, they did a brisk business. Business that was now threatened by the ugly specter of Urban Gentrification which was going to ruin everything.
Once savvy investors recognized the area’s potential, renovation and new construction kicked in with a vengeance. With some goosing from venture capitalists, Uptown has become a Realtor’s golden egg. New condos and million-dollar lofts replaced the flophouses. Rehabbed two-bedroom townhomes, purchased for $200,000 just last August have already appreciated more than 40%, enough to kick off a frenzied buying boom. Yuppies cite Uptown as the best ‘new’ place to live, once again a luxury lakeside mecca.
Which is why you hear the rumble in the urban jungle. The locals aren’t happy. With all the gentrification, they’ve not only been priced out, but their ‘hood’s been stripped of all its former comforts. Local gin mills famous for ‘bucket of blood’ brawls got edged out by organic food co-ops. Starbuck’s have replaced the crack houses. What used to be bookie joints are now tanning salons or gyms. And those new concrete flower boxes down the middle of the streets? A nightmare for the working girls. Just ask Gorgonzola White, an Uptown lady of the evening with a lot on her mind.
“Ever try to flag down a trick when you got to be high-stepping over some damn begonias?” she asks. “It’s bad for business! Who ever heard of flower boxes down the middle of the street anyway? Somebody drivin’ a getaway car could get himself killed!”
Gorgonzola should know. She’s worked these streets long enough to see a lot of locals come and go. Familiar with the streets, the people, and the parole officers, she’s also an expert at the ins and outs of her trade. And, like any smart business woman, she recognizes when her livelihood is threatened by corporate greed. Which is why she decided not to take this lying down. In a dramatic move to preserve her community and her lifestyle, Gorgonzola organized a coalition of colleagues to fight City Hall.
Interested participants were invited to attend last week’s first official meeting of Prostitutes for the Eradication of Neighborhood InfraStructure, (or, P.E.N.I.S, as it’s become known locally) and voice their complaints. In the interest of raising public awareness, Gorgonzola graciously agreed to share notes from that meeting.
First order of business was the election of group officers. Gorgonzola won the presidency by a landslide vote.
“Only because she weighs 300 lbs. and would kick our butts if somebody else won,”
Maybelline Tuckett opined.
Other voters were more positive. It was her strong leadership skills, Soleil du Brulee said. She’d once seen Gorgonzola toss a customer through the window of an El Dorado when he forgot to pay her.
Next came an open forum where attendees were encouraged to voice their concerns about Uptown’s over-development. First to speak was Chantilly Bovine, the fuschia-haired drag queen from the War Wagon Lounge. By street standards, he’s a stunner, even if he’s been tossed through more than one bar room window. An occupational hazard that sometimes happened when you beat the wrong tom-tom. But with a little pancake makeup and mortician’s wax, the scars are barely noticeable.
“I’m all for cultural diversity, but these new people are killing our business,” he said. “Oxygen bars and health co-ops? Are they kidding? Whatever happened to that merchant’s association we used to have?” A wistful sigh. “Pimps, dealers and slum lords--now they knew how to keep it real!”
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like Fallatia (right) also have a stake in keeping urban blight. |
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“You said it!” Pomona Stutz nodded so hard her spangles shook. Known as one of Uptown’s most stylish streetwalkers, her wardrobe had suffered since the gentrification began.
It was hard to find flashy trash fashions in an community that now pushed organically correct. Lately, she’d had to order her street attire online through a circus supply outlet.
“And what about those damned coffee shops?” Sayonara Birnbaum looked around for confirmation. “Did you hear what happened to me the other night?” The youngest of the attendees, Sayonara favored geisha attire. In the Suzy Wong wig (meant to transform her into an Asian minx) she simply looked like Sarah Birnbaum with a black bowl haircut. But even though the accent she affected was more adenoids than Tokyo Rose her customers were convinced she was a pearl of the East.
“I was standing outside of Starbuck’s,” she began. “In a little red silk kimono and my day-of-the-week navel ring. Some dude comes up to me, asks me if I’m interested in a job. Duhhhh! Why else was I hanging around? So he hands me a business card, tells me there’s waitress positions at his new restaurant down the street. Some place called ‘If You Knew Sushi.’”
The other attendees nodded sadly. Everyone had similar horror stories.
“You want to know how bad it’s gotten?” Soleil du Brulee demanded. Her platinum dreadlocks gave her a certain presence, like a flocked Christmas tree with better legs.
“It’s like these yuppies speak a different language. Met a guy the other night from the Mercantile Exchange. I say, I’m into trade myself. He says he trades bellies. Not a problem, I tell him, as long as the money’s right. He says he means pigs. Not my thing, I tell him, but maybe one of the other girls can help you out. He looks at me like I’m nuts.”
Gorgonzola rapped for order. It was time for action, she told them. They were mad as hell and they didn’t have to take it anymore. They had to consider their options and act as a group.
“Last time we acted as a group, the vice squad picked us up,” recalled Chantilly. “Remember that incident on New Year’s Eve?”
“Then what about picketing?”
“In six-inch heels?” Maybelline rolled her eyes. “Count me out. I’m not used to being on my feet that long.”
“Letters to the editor?”
“He probably lives in one of these new condos.”
"Boats!" shouted Pomona. "Why didn't I think of it before?"
"You have connections in the Navy?" Chantilly lisped. "I've always had a yen for seamen."
"Not Naval boats. You've heard of the gambling boats? Well, there's also adult pleasure cruises down in Florida . I heard about it from my cousin Tangelo, who works on the S.S. Albatross. Smooth sailing all the way, she says. Good money, and if the customers get too weird, they just throw 'em overboard."
"Sailors...." whispered Chantilly worshipfully. His eyes were already starting to glaze.
Even Gorgonzola agreed it might be a workable idea. With the current yuppie stronghold in Uptown, it was time for a change of venue anyway. And the idea of fresh air, ocean breezes and brawny swabbies was sounding better and better. The group vote was unanimous. There was nothing to do but hurry home and pack. It was time for P.E.N.I.S. to hit the waves.
© 2002 by Gina Gallo. The illustrations are from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.
You can comment on this column or contact Gina Gallo with an email to: talkback@thecolumnists.com
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