North Side Belongs To Me

A ten year old black boy sits on a stoop in front of an apartment building in an over crowded neighborhood on the far north side.  He could hear his parents arguing about money inside.  His father was laid off and unemployment hadn’t gone through yet.  His mother was splitting time between cleaning houses and taking care of his sick grandmother.  Darnell Andrews was at a loss.  He had no brothers or sisters and he didn’t have anything in common with the other kids in the neighborhood.  While those kids played sports all day or were off getting into no good, he would spend his days locked in his room reading books and listening to his tiny clock radio.

It was 1980 and the entire north side of Chicago was one long chain of slums and ghettos.  Gentrification hadn’t quite set in yet.   Darnell was a daydreamer, a kid who blocked out the noises of the neighborhood with dreams of outer space and a future made up of robots and flying cars.  He hadn’t been hardened yet.  This was before his family fell apart.  This was before he would buy a pair of used Doctor Martens and shave his head. 

Little did Darnell know that this day would be a great turning point in his life – that day would be the day his father would die and he would discover punk rock.

“Darnell!  Good lord boy get in here!” his mother cried

The yelling between his parents had stopped and there was a pause before his mother would start calling for him.  Darnell ran into the house to see what the commotion was about and found his father on the ground, unconscious, barely breathing.  His mother was yelling at the 911 operator to get someone out there immediately.  Who was she kidding?  They lived at Howard and Greenwood.  Cops didn’t like going there let alone ambulance drivers.

One week later, Darnell stood at the side of his father’s coffin as it was lowered into the ground.  He stood cold and confused, only knowing what his father once told him.

“Son, if anything happens to me, you take care of you mother.  You hear?”

Darnell heard.

After the funeral, several of the family members congregated at the Andrews apartment.  Darnell sat on the stoop, in his suit, his tie untied, looking sad, trying to grasp that his father wasn’t coming home.

“Little man.” A voice said “Why you look so sad?”

Darnell looked up and there stood an older boy, maybe 16 years old in a leather jacket covered in spikes and a mohawk.  He had a ripped t-shirt that said “Ramones” on it.

“My name is Thomas.” The older boy said extending his hand “But my friends call me Chicago.’ He added as he turned around to show the word ‘Chicago’ painted on the back of his jacket.

“Hi Thomas.” Darnell said sadly as he shook the boy’s hand.

“Look, I said, my friends – that would be you, little man – call me Chicago.”

“Oh. Hi Chicago.  I’m Darnell.”

“Nah,  you ain’t Darnell.  That ain’t your name.” Chicago started to say “Look, if you’re going to be part of my crew, you need a punk rock name.”

“What’s punk rock?” Darnell asked

“What’s punk rock? Mother fucker, whatchu mean what’s… never mind.  All you need to know is that getting in with this shit is way better than getting in with this gang bangin’ shit these other mother fuckers are into.”

“Uh, ok?”

“Look my little protégé, you need a nickname.  Stand up.” Chicago said

Darnell stood up and Chicago looked him up and down, staring him straight in the face.  He squinted and tipped his head side ways and said “Ya’lls name is Bubsy.”

“Bubsy?” Darnell asked

“Yeah, you small but you’re fierce.  No one’s gonna fuck with a  mother fucker named Bubsy.”

“Bubsy.” Darnell said “Bubsy.  I like it.”

“Aye, lemme ask you one more thing.” Chicago said “Why you so sad?”

“My dad died.  Today was his funeral.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry to hear that.  But listen, you stick with Chicago and you got yourself a family forever.  You dig?”

“I dig.”

“Darnell!  Get in here and stop talking to that George Clinton lookin’ fool!” His aunt yelled from the window

“I gotta go.” Bubsy said sadly

“Aye, don’t you worry little man.  I got your back.  You stick with Chicago and everything’ll be OK.  Now bump it.” Chicago said holding out his fist. “Go on, bump it.  Every white mother fucker’s gonna be doin’ this shit in the future.  Bump it!”

Darnell bumps Chicago’s fist and goes inside.

Three years later, Bubsy and Chicago are walking out of the Cubby Bear after seeing some punk rock bands.  Chicago, still with a tall Mohawk and Bubsy with a tight buzz cut cross the street towards Wrigley Field. 

“You see this place?” Chicago said

“Yeah.  What about it?  It’s where the Cubs play.”

“That ain’t all.  This right here, this is where we’re all equal.  Just like punk rock.” Chicago started “You know who Ernie Banks is?”

“Yeah, he was baseball player.”

“Mother fucker, he wasn’t just a baseball player, he was the best baseball player to ever step foot inside this park.” Chicago started “and he was a black man.”

“So?  There’s lots of black ball players.”

“You know what’s different about him?” Chicago asked “He won over ever cracker-assed racist white person to step foot into this park, because he was the best.”

“OK, why are you telling me this?”

“No reason.  Just like, you been like the little brother I ain’t never had.” Chicago started “and like, here’s the thing.  I gotta leave for a little while.”

“Wait what?” Bubsy asked

“Now hold on, I’m gonna be back.  Just a few years.  I gotta check out for a bit and show some mother fuckers in San Francisco how to be punk rock.”

“Wait.  You’re moving to San Francisco?”

“Did I stutter?  Yeah, I’m moving to San Francisco.” Chicago said “But only for a little while.  I’m gonna write your ass every week to make sure you’re holding this place down.”

“San Francisco??”

“Look, there’s a lot of mother fuckers in there who are just passing through.” Chicago said, pointing at the Cubby Bear. “Most of them kids, once they’re outta high school are gonna forget about this shit and go to college and never come back.  Then there’s gonna be mother fuckers who come here for college and act like they own this place.  You gotta hold this shit down little man.  You gotta keep this shit real.  This is all we got.  You, me, those two mother fuckers over there.  We gotta keep this shit real.  You hear?”

“I hear.  But why do have to leave?  You’re my only friend!” Bubsy argued

“Look man, we all got a road, right?  You got a road, I got a road, we all got a road that takes us somewhere.  My road right now is taking me to San Francisco.  Your road is taking you somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“You promise to come back?” Bubsy asked

“Mother fucker, what’s my name?” Chicago asked “Of course I’m coming back!  The north side belongs to Chicago!”

“What am I supposed to do?  Who am I supposed to hang out with?” Bubsy asked

“Hold up.” Chicago said “Aye!  White boy!” He yelled at a chubby kid walking towards the train with some other kids. “Yeah you.  Come here.”

The boy and his group came over to Bubsy and Chicago, hesitant and slightly scared.  The boy had natural red hair, half of it shaved off and was wearing a home made Naked Raygun t-shirt.

“What’s your name little man?”

“Shane.  Shane O’Malley.”

“That is one of the whitest names… You know what? It don’t matter.  Your name’s Squats.  That’s your name, dig?” Chicago commanded

“Uh, ok?”

“Look little man, this is my boy Bubsy.  I’m leavin’ town for a while and he needs a new crew to roll with.  Where you from?”

“Southwest side.” He said

“Good lord.  Your momma know where you are?”

“Yeah, she dropped us off.  She’s picking us up a couple blocks away.”

Chicago leans his head into his hand and shakes it disapprovingly. “Ya’ll are SO WHITE.  Look, you and your friends here are now friends with Bubsy. Ya’ll exchange numbers and shit and I’m gonna go over here and pretend like I did not just have this cracker-assed conversation.”

For the next three years, Chicago and Bubsy exchange letters.  One day the letters stopped.  Chicago hadn’t written back in almost three weeks, which was unlike him.  Bubsy was getting worried, until one day, he was sitting on the curb in front of Punkin’ Donuts with Squats, Billy and two other kids.  The three had just discovered oi and ska and freshly shaved their heads. 

“Hey little man, why you look so sad?” A voice asked Bubsy

Bubsy looked up and there stood Chicago.  Bubsy jumped up and hugged him, introducing him to his new friends.

“This is that little cracker I introduced you to, isn’t it?” Chicago asked.  “And this other kid, Billy?  Ya’ll didn’t give him a nickname?”

“No, we call him Billy-Club.” Bubsy said

“Why’s that?” Chicago asked

Billy stood up, standing as tall as Chicago, turned around and showed him the scar on the back of his head. 

“See that?” Bubsy asked “That’s what happens when you call a cop a pig and don’t run away.”

“That has to be the dumbest fuckin… you know what?  You probably deserved that for being stupid.”  Chicago said “So the name is fitting.  You’re as dumb as a billy club.  Where you stay at?”

“Belmont and Pulaski.” Billy answered in his slight Polish accent

“Mmhmm, a Polish kid.” Chicago said “Bubsy, how’s momma doin?  She still mad at me for making you look goofy?”

“She’s good.  She says she wants to move to Indiana where my auntie lives.” Bubsy said “But I ain’t going.”

“Where you gonna stay?  With one of you boys here?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll figure something out.”

Bubsy ends up moving into a squat in Uptown with Chicago and a few older skinheads who ran with Northside ARA.  They continued going to shows and working odd jobs for money. 

One night in 1986, Bubsy walked up to two punk girls sitting behind Cubby Bear, looking all sad.

“Now why are two pretty ladies like you lookin’ all sad?” Bubsy said

“My name’s Bubsy.”

“I’m Diane.  This is my friend Violet.”

Flash forward to 1989, Bubsy sits in a jail cell, waiting to either make bail or be let go.  The cops had no evidence other than one lone teenager who would have fingered any bald black kid in a line up.  Unfortunately, Bubsy had no lawyer and if he got out, would have to come up with some sort of doctors note in order to not lose his job.  His brain replayed the events of the previous day and he pictured his mom’s face and her look of disappointment.

“Bubsy Andrews?” A cop asked

Bubsy shot up from his seat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You’re free to go.”

“What?  How?”

“I don’t know the whats and hows.  All I know is you’re free to go.” The cop answered

Bubsy, looking confused walked out of the holding cells and into the Police station, not knowing what happened.  He looked around to see if any of his crew was there, but none where there to be found.

“Darnell?” a detective said “Looks like someone turned himself in.  Apparently our eye witness can’t tell the difference between a black and Mexican.”

Bubsy, looking confused said “Excuse me?”

“Looks like the suspected skinhead was actually a Mexican kid.” The detective said “But don’t think we aren’t watching you.”

“Who was it?  Do you have a name?”

“Lets put it this way.  I have a feeling when you get back to your hole in the wall, or rock you crawl out from under, your crew will probably tell you all about it.” The detective said “Don’t think even one minute that we don’t know you were involved.  I’m gonna sweat this kid until he admits you were in on this.  Then it’s back in the holding cell and off to county with you.”

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