Chicago Ramblings At 4:00 AM

It's 4:09am on Saturday morning. I can't sleep. I've been up since about 3:30. I came downstairs and starting going through photos and decided to blog. Again, it's 4:00am, so I apologize for this blog in advance. It will most likely be ramblings. I'll write the funny stories and all about the conference later today or tomorrow. I have photos of the city and stories to tell. But I woke up this morning with this ringing in my head: "Can anyone help? ... Can anyone help?"

I had some free time on Thursday afternoon to get out and walk The Mile. I didn't venture much off this street. It's like going to New York City and walking Fifth Avenue and going back and saying "you saw the city". I realize that. But it was all I really had time to do. I didn't see any museums. I didn't go up to the top of Willis Tower and look out. I didn't see the suburbs or get out to the water. I walked The Mile from end to end. So my impressions of Chicago are probably not fair or accurate. I'll have to go back another time and really see it. But from my limited experiences there, Chicago just made me sad.

I found downtown Chicago to be "gray". It was tall dismal building after tall dismal building. Even The Magnificent Mile was not anything like I was expecting ... not like 5th Avenue at all. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't bright and cheery. The windows were subdued ... manikins in greys and taupes and browns and blacks. The restaurants seemed tucked away ... no bright signs, no twinkle lights, no "personality".

And the weather was so nice - not too cool and not too hot. I can only imagine it in the bitter winters - simply depressing.

The thing that woke me up at 3:00 this morning was the memory of some of the people that I saw while walking that mile.

There was a woman sitting on the street with her two little boys (under 5 or so) with a cardboard sign asking for money. The three of them sat lifelessly. One boy holding a box of Junior Mints. A small red plastic toy sitting next to another one. They had blank looks of hopelessness and defeat on their faces. How does a three year old get a look of hopelessness and defeat? How do little ones like that sit so still and somber? Shouldn't they be running around? Shouldn't they at least be making a car out of a rock or looking for bugs or making a stick into a sword? Things little boys would naturally do sitting outside? What was that poor woman's story. What had happened to her? What would become of those precious little boys?

There was a 50-60 year old white man dressed like Michael Jackson pitifully dancing to Beat It on a corner for money. He made me sad too.

There was a blind man with a cup that clanged when people put money in it. Just like you would see in the movies. He had a cane and he sat there listening for the clinking sound of a nickel, a few pennies, maybe a few quarters.

All along the mile, you could look to one side and see watches and purses, shoes and gorgeous coats. There were beautiful clothes and warm smells from pizzerias. There was Coach and Prada and Tiffany's and Cartier. There was Burberry, Bloomingdale’s, Gucci, Michael Kors, and Nieman's. And if you looked to your other side, by the street, there were hurting, needy people after hurting, needy people. Wealth on your left side and poverty on your right. It was so bizzare. People walked past them as if they couldn't see them. Off to their appointments, meetings, more shopping or perhaps in a hurry to get back home. And I was one of them.

But the man I hope that I never forget, was standing on a corner with a paper cup ... I am crying even now just thinking about him. He had a voice that would carry a whole block - even over the sound of the traffic and the honking and the bustle of people. His voice rang out ... "Can anyone help? Can anyone help?" with emphasis on the word help. He held his cup up high over his head as he called out. Too high, I thought. No one can reach it way up there. I can't explain it. Maybe it's the 4:00am dramatics, but it was such a piercing cry - so not about some spare change in his cup. He wasn't even holding it out for people to fill it. It was like the cry of so many people I had seen there that day. "Can anyone help? Can anyone help?" They needed so much more help than a few dollars would provide. They needed help like he was crying out for. Life changing help.

And people walked on. I walked on. I'm not sure what I could have really done, but I wish I would have done something. I wish I would have stopped. I wish I would have helped in some way. So much so that two days later I can't sleep. I can still hear him call out as clear as if I was there. "Can anyone help?" I wish I had a better ending to this blog entry. I wish I had an amazing story to tell you. I wish I would have helped.

Where are those people at 4:00am this morning? Where are those children? Where is that man who was crying out for help Thursday afternoon. Did someone help him? Hopefully they are in shelters at night with warm food and dry, clean beds - unlike the cardboard boxes with pillows and blankets I saw in the park.

My heart is breaking for them. My heart is heavy. I wish I would have stopped. I wish I would have helped.