As my train hits Beverly, a wave of memory hits me- riding bikes down Snake Hill, ghost stories at the Castle, and most of all, walking to the South Side Irish Parade, a flood of green, neighbors and outsiders, kids in wagons and staggering drunks, cheering crowds of revelers.
Those days, I relished the chaotic party atmosphere that swooped down on the quiet family neighborhood once a year, basking in its' lawlessness.
This year, the quiet that engulfs me is eerie. The parade, a 30-year tradition that built from a kiddie parade to a wild orgy, was canceled last year for "safety reasons". No floats, no crowd, no marching bans or bagpipes, no beer brewing on the sidewalk, no vendors hustling shamrocks, no kids grubbing for candy.
My sister keeps saying how sad it all is. But she's practically the only one.
True to form, most of the South Siders I encountered were stoic, if wistful, in good spirits.
At Sean's Rhino Bar, Chef Mario Malaggi tells me, "it's a lot less crowded this year, which is a big letdown economically... we always looked to Paddy's Day for money we can use to pay the bills" after the slow winter months.
When the cops (most of whom live in the 'hood) heard of the pub crawl plans, they came out in full force. Pointing to a chalk line on the sidewalk, Mario explains they'd been told a health inspector would be by to make sure no one was smoking too close to the door.
Of course, as elsewhere in Chicago, the smoking ban forces drunks out onto the street.
Mario attributes the parade shutdown to some "Midlothian kids who beat up on police. That violence was uncalled for. The police are here to protect us. It was really just getting out of hand. Had they started to police it more earlier, maybe it wouldn't have been as chaotic."
Mario doesn't think the parade will ever come back. He speaks highly of the alternative event sponsored by the Beverly Art Center Saturday, which features live music and a kiddie parade.
Annie Coakley, one of the original "wee folk" of the first South Side Irish Parade, (kids marching down the sidewalk led by her father, Patrick Coakly and George Handry), was a member of the Parade Planning Committee for 14 years. "The parade has changed significantly over the years... we never thought it would ever be big like that. At first, you'd see people from the neighborhood, but then you started seeing more and more people you didn't recognize."
Canceling the parade was a tough decision, she says, but it was the right one."I don't think we could continue to do it and not have somebody get hurt. There were 300,000 plus people...acting irresponsibly, being overserved...not enough arrests being made. We didn't want to have a tragedy on our hands."
The parade was independently funded, and they didn't have the resources to handle these issues, they retain the permit, "in case the parade ever comes back" and she is hopeful that it will, she tells me.
This year, Coakley and about ten others, worried that their kids would miss out, held an impromtu march down the sidewalks of Western.
The pub crawl packed the bars well into the night, though it was nowhere near the expected showing.
The real party was where it had always been- in the homes and back yards of the South Siders, where this year the only difference was that there wasn't a glut of drunken strangers wandering in through the fence, puking in the front yard, or passing out in the alley.
The same cookouts, family parties, even the faint sound of bagpipes drifting across the yards. Many streets held block parties; one block gave kids a ride on a fire truck.
Most South Siders blame the rowdiness on the North Siders. The two cultures tend to clash, with differences in accent, attitude, and rules of decorum. The South Side is an insular, blue collar tribe.
South Siders have a great sense of humor and tend to be bold and outspoken. The Irish here are mostly 5th generation or more, their heritage celebrations based on the Irish Immigrant experience, with a bit of American Cheese on top.
Shamrocks and leprecauns abound, and Irish music plays over the sound of simmering sausages as swarthy men in thick woolen sweaters welcome neighbors carting soda bread and cases of beer into their front yards. Folks shout hello from their porches as you pass.
The most popular song, of course, is the old standard, "the South Side Irish":
We're the South Side Irish as our fathers were before. We come from the windy city and we're Irish to the core.
St. Patricks' Day, for me, has always been a homecoming. So after a few drinks, we make the rounds, visiting old friends and their families. On the South Side, this involves a lot of walking.
At one man's house, we are overwhelmed by the smell of corned beef and cabbage- and animals. There's a ferret, two dogs, and a meowing parrot roaming the tiny bungalow.
As he hangs a shamrock windchime on his door, he lifts his shirt to show off the cncer scar, joking, "I'm doing really well, there's nothing left of me to get sick!"
We then visit Eileen olsen, who says she'll miss the parade, but the cancellation has created "many more parties", and the spirit of the event will "stand the test of time".
At another house we are confronted with the ugly side of the South Side when an otherwise lovely individual drops the N-bomb (of course, racism is not predominant in or exclusive to the South Side). My sister skillfully handles this by telling a story about an African American cousin, and there are no further slurs. Racism is eroding by degrees here, but it is a gradual process in a place historically known for ugly divisions, particularly in the attitudes of the Irish towards the Blacks, recent immigrants working themselves up the ladder of society having had little sympathy for former slaves with the same goals. Today, more and more kids growing up alongside African Americans, with the benefit of a more modern education, are abandoning the foolish prejudices of their parents.
Back on Western, I see the cops gathering at Dicola's, the fish market popular during Lent. As I pass by, I hear a voice call, "Helen Kiernan, get the fuck in this car!" It's my old friend Peter, whom I haven't seen in years. He takes me to a backyard bonfire, where some old friends have gathered.
Over laughter, David White tells me, ironically, "the loss of the South Side Irish Parade is really a great detriment to our neighborhood." But to me, standing around the bonfire with my old friends, all grown up, the neighborhood spirit seems even stronger. After all, everybody's just doin' the same old thing- just without the wandering drunken North Siders to interfere.
*(okay, I edited it a bit- SW didn't actually pub the F word...)
