It’s morning on what was supposed to be the second day of travel, but for a two hour delay in our departure which is typical for Amtrak. It was embarrassing to have to explain to some Frenchmen the inherent inefficiencies of U.S. rail: how car companies lobbied to destroy public transportation in the 50’s; how in the 60s the American people, drunk with success from defeating the Nazis, sending a man to the moon and an unprecedented economic boom, bought into the idea that we had the resources for everybody to own a car; how in the 70’s on the verge of total collapse, passenger rail was saved by creating Amtrak in an ad hoc, temporary fix that is now approaching it’s 40th year.
They sat in silence, occasionally shaking their heads. “In all of Europe trains are cheap and generally on time...I can buy a rail pass there for only €400 and without worrying about tickets or how many stops... Why can’t America do that for themselves? Why don't the people have their government do that too?”
Now it was my turn be quiet, as I looked down at the floor. “Because that would be Socialism.” I didn’t look up but I knew they were nodding, not in agreement but rather in recognition of an all too common absurdity: Americans feared inadvertently becoming what they hated most which is a collectivist, godless commie.
Perhaps we’re a victim of our old cold war propaganda. Perhaps we lack the stereoscopic vision necessary to distinguish an unjust dictatorship and a strong government doing the people’s will. Perhaps we forget that the rugged individuals we worship as icons: the cowboy, the frontiersman, the entrepreneur, the inventor, all had plenty of support from their respective communities, and almost always traveled trails blazed by others. I couldn’t say.
This pathology, this sweaty adolescent phobia of ours in any case has led us to poor nutrition, crumbling infrastructure, hyper inflated schools and healthcare. And, yes of course, Amtrak. “We can’t have government do these things because it would make people think we were turning our backs on capitalism and free markets”
The words no sooner left my lips that I was reminded of all the Republicans, preachers and conservatives who became the most ardent of homophobes to conceal their penchant for the masculine exquisite. “We are a frightened people.” I didn’t need to say it, but did.
“But why? You are very rich, and strong. The Russians and Chinese are capitalists; communism has been gone 20 years.”
“I wish I knew. All I can say is that we are a frightened people, and frightened people are dangerous.” Somehow this seemed to tie together a lot of our previous conversations about “curious American behavior”: our gun fetish, Trayvon Martin, the war on terror, Guantanimo, how to talk in a calm and reassuring voice to red necks and street punks, and whether the youth hostel is in a safe Chicago neighborhood.
“I wish I knew.”
Part Two: July 15, 10:00 - 14:00 cst, Chicago.
The Plan
Experience as much of The Windy City as I can in a four hour layover.
Step 1: Arrival.
Two hours late. Originally 4 hrs between 10:00 and 2:00 departure has shrunk my horizons to 11:54 to 13:15 early boarding time, leaving out any chance for even a quick bus ride around the loop. I toss my bags in a locker that charges $5 a half and head out.
Step 2: Chicago Stuffed Deep Dish pizza from Giordano’s
The ride from Chicago to Denver can take anywhere from 18 to 26 hours, and food from the dining car can cost as much as $20 per meal without drinks. They squeezed an extra $45 from me, because the rail pass seats were sold out, so I was determined not to buy a single god damned thing on that fucking train! I think what I actually said was something like “Bit I wouldn't buy cobra anti-venom from those muthurfuckers if it cost 2 cents!”
A much better idea, to my mind, was to run out and grab a delicious pizza (8” of a meat lover’s deep dish would feed me for 2 days). But now I had only 1 hr to make that run.
Step 3: They’re off!
Having consulted google before the trip, I knew Giordano’s pizza was a 5 min walk from Union Station across the Chicago river down Jackson street. I order by phone, bolt out the first exit and was punched in the nose by 90* heat & 90% humidity. The only sign I see is for Adams st. to the right. Years ago, I walked the same streets with Adam during a war protest march, and remembered the presidents were in order: Jackson followed (Quincy-)Adams st. I turn left. A black man on the corner somehow knows what I was looking for and shouts,
“Jackson st. Is right over there!
“Giordano’s?”
“All the pizza places are to the right.”
“Thanx”
“Bring me back slice!”
Two blocks later, I’m in Greek town surrounded by pizzerias, but no Gio’s. I wander around trying to catch my barring, then check my watch. 12:00 and my shirt was soaking in sweat. I run by street guy,
“Wrong way!” He looked back at me as if to say “oh, well.” There, on the other side of the station was Canal st. And the Chicago river.
The streets were broad and traffic heavy. “Hey, buddy! Giordano’s?”
“Ya, up da road ’crossd by da McDonalts.”
“Thanks!”
The sweat stings my eyes. I have to wipe off my forehead to see. The light changes. I run in, “order for Park to go.”
“Just another 8 minutes.”
“Do me a favor, bring it to the bar.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Beer. The colder the better.”
“Hot one today. You look like you swam here.”
I looked down at my shirt. He was right.
“I’m waiting on a to go. What’s the damage?”
“$5”
“Worth it”
“Sure you don’t want some water too? You look like you need it.”
Step 4: get back in time
I run back but the locker timer clicks over and asks for another $5. On the computer screen a sick joke “Welcome to Chicago, have a nice day!” Shit! Everybody’s got their hand out today. I pay the ransom, release the hostages, and stuff the hot pizza box in my suitcase whole.
Epilogue:
I was wet and stunk so bad they took me for a cripple and carried my luggage onboard for me.
Later on, while the other passengers had to make reservations in the dining car for a piece of $25 shoe leather, eat overpriced junk food or trail mix, I played the sadistic glutton and pulled out the Giordano’s box in the observation lounge. It wasn't any cheaper, but it was the best pizza I’d ever had!
“Hey! Where did you get pizza?”
“Chicago!”
