I can, however, be specific about certain general things. I know that might sound contradictory but bear with me.
Number one, the Chicago Sister is always multifaceted. I think that comes from the fact that we have so many different frames of reference. I’m originally from a small town called Chit’lin Switch, in Mississippi.
But I know sisters here from the Caribbean, from Africa, from other sections of the country and I consider them Chicago Sisters.
Number two, Chicago Sisters take care of business. I don’t care whether we’re talking about Mahalia Jackson, Margaret Burroughs, Oprah Winfrey, Gwendolyn Brooks or Sadie Mae down on the corner, we take care of business.
Number three, we can put some Electric Slide under a brother that will make him feel like he’s listening to Earth music. Need I say more?”
Mavis Brickley, Robert Taylor Projects, four children, drug problem, (crack).
“I don’t see no mo’ difference between some Black chick from Chicago than I see from New Jersey or Kansas City or anywhere else.
A woman is got it hard, no matter where she at. My ol’ man cut out on me midway thru my second pregnancy, okay? He left me with one mouth to feed and another one on the way and a drug habit, okay? Does that make me a Chicago Sister?
What does all this bullshit mean anyway? Seems like that all some people have to do is sit around on they fat asses and try to put labels on other people.
Hey, it snows real hard in Chicago in the winter time and your ass can get real cold. Does that make me a Chicago Sister?
I’ve had my purse snatched three times this month, lucky I didn’t have no money in it. My youngest daughter was raped in the elevator last week. My oldest son is in juvenile home for trying to hold up the corner liquor store and I’m on the edge of losin’ my motherfuckin’ mind.
Does that qualify me to be a Chicago Sister? And how much do you get anyway, for being a Chicago Sister?”
Dap Sugah Charlie, ex-pimp, Gospel Singer.
“Chicago Sistah? O yes Lawd! I had four of ’em in my stable at one time … ahhem, before I saw the error of my evil ways and reformed.
“During those times, when I was filled up to my neck with sin ’n devilment, I’d tell anybody—gimme a Chicago woman any day. They some strong sistahs. I used to use binoculars to keep tabs on ’em when they were down in the streets, and they’d stand out there in them neon streets for six or eight hours at a time, in sub-zero weather, hustling their tails off.
I didn’t let ’em use hot water bottles ’n stuff, the way some pimps did, I’d have ’em wear extra socks.
Money factories, that’s what they were. Treacherous and slick too. You always had to stay alert else they’d get the uppers on you. Sistahs had a lot of heart and you had to be a lotta pimp to pimp’em, they’d eat a poot butt pimp up! Like I said, before I saw the error of my ways I took advantage of one of the greatest treasures in this country, the Black Woman, the Chicago Sistah.
“The big distinction I see, now that I’ve reformed, is that the same sistah who used to turn tricks is alive and well, but can’t nobody trick her. Lawd be praised!”
Riley Johnson, Stockbroker, Remy-Martin-Chicago Bulls fanatic.
“Bottom line, you better believe there’s a Chicago Sister, or a woman who fits that mystique to a “T.”
“My mom was definitely a Chicago Sister. There were four of us at home when Dad died from high blood pressure, diabetes and smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.
“Dad was an ol’ fashioned type and had always been the bread winner in our family. Mom was the housewife and mother, pure and simple.
“But when Dad died, she went to work. She had pie sales, did part time house work, catered for parties, sewed, she worked her fingers to the bone to see that we all had what we needed.
“And she put us to work too. She was infinitely patient and tender hearted but she didn’t tolerate any slacking. We did what we were told to do, pronto, or else we got slammed.
“She might not have to slam one of us but once a month, but when she slammed you, you were really slammed. I think she’s probably responsible for me knowing how to close a deal.”
Sarah Gooding, Socialworker, Intellectual.
“My gut reaction to the possibility of there being a Chicago Sister is the same one I had when I visited Cuba (illegally) in the Sixties.
“Remember the Castro-Che Guevara statements and commitment to the birth and development of the New Man?
“The New Man/Woman was going to turn the selfish, mean spirited world around. The New Person is in my mind, like the Chicago Sister, a revolutionary creature.
“The Chicago Sister is a city version of this phenomenon, the socialistic revolutionary who operates in an urban environment. It isn’t possible, at this juncture, to determine the direction of her humanistic expansion, but I’m optimistic about the future.
Am I a Chicago sister? I can’t say positively that I am, but my spiritual orientation is in that direction.”
Yasmin Idi Amin, owner, the Afro-Shoppe, Super Nationalist, author of “The Black Woman’s Right to be Wrong.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that the so-called Chicago Sister is a product of the dominant culture’s fantasy, a white man’s pipe dream, in other words, just about everything we’ve been taught to think, to believe about African women from Chicago and African women in general stems from a complete misunderstanding of the Black man’s true nature.
If Black men in Chicago were allowed to truly have dominance over his woman, the very idea of a “Chicago Sister” would be repugnant.
Yes, I’m saying repugnant because I don’t really think the brothers in Chicago, or anywhere else, want to have to compete with his woman, to be put down by her, to have her turn their children against him, to be forced to deal with a creature whose nature is false.
The true nature of a sister demands that she find her niche in the Black man’s scheme of things. We have to remember that the Black man is a king of this world, and the sister is a queen.
I don’t see the Chicago sister as a queen because most of them run their mouths too much. Queens are strong and silent and they know their place.
My definition of a “Chicago Sister” is a Black woman out of control. “What the Chicago Sister needs is a fully stocked kitchen and a backhanded slap to the mouth.”
Jeff Stoneham, Artist, Chauvinist.
“Yeahhh, I am the baddest motherfucker in this city and I’ll go one on one with anybody. Let’s face it, how many brothers do you know who can take a piece of steel and turn it into a bouquet of roses?
“Or work some faces into porcelain that look like the past and the future. I’m an artist, I can take anything and do art with it.
“The Chicago Sister? Shit! I made the Chicago Sister what she is. Yeah me, that’s what you got to look at, strong brothers like me.
“I don’t know who said it first, maybe it was me, yeah, it probably was me that said, ‘You can tell who the father is from the way the children behave.’
“That’s the way it is with a woman, you can tell a lot about the man in a woman’s life from the way she behaves.
“I don’t try to beat a sister down or nothing like that, but in order for a sister to have a successful relationship with me she’s got to know her place.
“I’m the man and she’s the woman, that’s what we have to have straight from the git. See, that’s the thing a lotta brothers get confused about here in Chicago.
“That’s the main thing, you can’t be confused about yourself. I guarantee you there’s always gon’ be a Chicago Sister ’long as you got brothers out there like me.”
Freddy Harris, night club comedian.
“O hell yes! Gimme a Chicago Sister any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Ain’t no doubt in my mind when the good Lawd was creatin’ them plastic witches in “EL-A” and those iron maidens in New York, he took a rest in Chicago and liked what was happenin’ so much he stayed long enough to cr
eate the Chicago Sister.
“My guess is that He waited ’til early summer so that the sisters wouldn’t have to wear winter coats, that way when brothers passed by they’d have a good chance to check out all that pretty butter on them hips and thighs.
“As most of y’all know I’m originally from Quebec, Canada, where most of the Black women are Eskimos. What I’m sayin’ is that you got some cold sisters up there. Maybe it’s got something to do with being so close to Detroit.
“In any case, the term “Chicago Sister” strikes a chord in my brain, you know what I mean? And they come in all colors ’n shades, a lil bit like BeyBey’s children.
“Three years ago I was real close to a sister that had skin the color of a banana, two years ago I was tight with a sister who had this beautiful plum-black color.
“Shit! What the fuck can I say about the Chicago Sister? They come in all kinds of shapes, sizes ’n shades, and if you ain’t never spent the winter with one of ’em, yo’ life has been a cold ass experience.”
Martha J. BenHawk, Teacher, mother of two.
“Listen to me closely. I’m not going to repeat myself. The transportation system in Chicago is as responsible as anything I can think of for creating the Chicago Sister.
“Let me explain; in a lot of cities, lets take Los Angeles, for example, you’re the victim of the bus lines, (if you don’t have a car) and the bus lines are really what determines what your social status is. Sounds crazy, huh? But that’s the way things are.
“In Chicago you can live in Cabrini Green and take a cab or a bus to one of the swank joints and no on will ever know the difference.
“You might have to play a little Cinderella, if you do live in the projects, or have one of the other unpopular addresses (picture any address you can think of on the Near Southside or the Near Westside) but lets face it, nothing is perfect.
“The point I’m trying to make is that the transportation system has created a multifaceted creature (interesting word isn’t it? ‘multifaceted’) who knows how to go up and down, back and forth.
“The transportation system isn’t perfect but it has helped in the development of a woman who doesn’t feel limited by how far she can go on the Dan Ryan, she can always transfer.”
Fred 15X, Muslim, Entrepreneur.
“I have to think that the Hawk is what makes a Chicago Sister what she is, Allah Be Praised, who is responsible for all things …
“Nobody can tell me that you wouldn’t be a Super Sister, struggling thru snowdrifts and all of that, ’specially an African woman, if you didn’t have the help of a Superior element behind you.
“We have to remember that we didn’t come from snow, we came from the sun. Now then, for an African woman to make that kind of adjustment, genetically, psychologically, is awe inspiring, ’specially in Chicago, where it can get colder, on many levels, than anywhere in the world.”
Debbie Ujima Payne, sorority sister, vegetarian, late twenties.
“I don’t feel comfortable with labels like that. What does that link me with? A sister who prepares a breakfast of high cholesterol bacon ’n eggs? Or someone who thinks an idea of a good time is a scotch ’n soda?
“I think it’s labels like that that inspire some people to think that African-American sisters are immune to heartache, that we can bear up under any kind of problem.
“This is stereotype stuff. “The Chicago Sister.” What’s that? What do I have in common with a sister whose idea of giving her children a nutritious meal starts with KOOLAID?
“I am a Chicago Sister because I grew up here. I ate the overcooked Negro food, I survived the “Black is Beautiful” label (yes, I am darker than your average telephone), and watched us lose Washington to Daley, and yes, I can identify with the Chicago Sister, but only if she eats her veggies.”
Melvin Simmons, bartender, The Other Place.
“Chicago Sisters?! You just missed them! There were four of ’em sittin’ here a few minutes ago. Oh yes, there is such a thing as a Chicago Sister, I’m married to one of them.
“The thing about what makes the sister so unique is real complicated, real complicated. You’ve got a lot of different threads runnin’ thru that cloth.
“Some of the sisters can be a real pain in the ass, some of ’em can be a cure for the pain in the ass. Dig where I’m comin’ from?
“I mean, some of the sisters can be so evil at times, but then we got some others who are sweet as honey. They come up in here all the time.
“Let me give you an example; sister comes in here regular, carries a briefcase, wears pinstriped suits a lot, her basic drink is a vodka martini. I get the impression she’s under a lot of pressure.
“She can come in here four evenings in a row, sit up here purrin’ like a pussy cat and then, on the fifth evening, for some reason she’ll come in here and nothing will be right … the music is wrong, there’s too much smoke, and I put too much vermouth in her martini, its like she dealing with PMS or something.
“And then, the following day, she’ll be right back at her sweet self again. I’ve learned how to go with the flow. One last thing, don’t cross the Chicago Sister, no sir, don’t cross ’em. We had a sister come up in here last month ’n shoot a dude who messed over her six years ago. I guess she just started thinking about it and decided to do something …
Rum ’n coke with a wedge of lime? You got it!”
Jamilla Drake, student, track star (100 yard dash, 400 meter relay) Gemini/Virgo rising.
“I can’t really say if there is a “Chicago Sister” or not, because I haven’t been to any other place, so I wouldn’t know with whom to compare her.
“Am I a Chicago Sister? Well, I was born here and I’ve lived here all of my life. Does that make me a Chicago Sister?”
Ashun DuValier, International Law, Linguist (French, Spanish, Italian, German, Greek, Russian, Yoruba) UN Consultant.
“Yes, there is definitely a Chicago Sister, and I’m one of them, I’m proud to say. I’ve been to just about every major city in Europe, Africa and South America, including a few island cities, my husband is originally from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, and I never feel totally at ease until I get back here.
“I think it has something to do with a sisterhood I feel with the women I grew up with. We know each other’s parents, we’ve partied together, shared secrets, seen a lot of stuff go down. No matter where I go in the world I always feel close to this.”
Robert J. Fox, politician.
“Well, I never called the girls I grew up with Chicago Sisters, but I guess that’s what they’ve become …”
David Mosshed, student, Cancerian.
“I’d have to say yeahh, yeah, there’s a “Chicago Sister” and her name is Jamilla Drake, Gemini, Virgo rising …”
Adesina Adelabu, Iyalosha of Ogun.
“If the Chicago Sister didn’t exist we’d have to invent her, wouldn’t we?”
Bo’, a Matador of the Night
If Bo’ had been born in Spain he would’ve been a Manolete; Manolete, a legendary figure of the bullring who developed the art of using only a few passes with the capote (the large cape) and the muleta (the small cape), each pass performed with surgical precision.
We have seen Bo-Manolete enter the arenas of the night calmly moving thru the mob with sandunga and temple’ (English equivalents would be confidence and determination), the sounds of invisible trumpets and cheers trailing in his wake.
During his picador-movements, drawing blood from the brave bulls, his sensitivity allowed him to merge his psyche with the beast making the charge, pushing his lance in far enough to wound but not to cripple.
We have seen him lure the night into the correct position for the banderillas with a quick feint to the left, or to the right, plant the sticks where they are supposed to be planted and ease away without a backward glance.
His faena, those series of interwoven movements with the muleta, have taken place across 2:00 a.m. restaurant tables, in fast cars d
riven on the lake front at 3:00 a.m., on swank bar stools around the world, in the midnight beds of African queens.
And finally, because the bullfight must end, as in life, with Death, we have watched him make the kill with his ears.
While many other matadors hustle to kill for the ears, and tail, he has often made the kill with his ears (or eyes), listening and watching the night to death.
While others frantically swirl their capes, do dances of frenzy, beg approval from the crowd and stab at the bull with nervous emotions, Bo quietly positions the night with a careful nod of the head or meaningful look and, at the moment of Truth, delicately slips his point into a vital spot, going straight in over the horn, the way its supposed to be done.
After the kill we’ve never seen him stand over the body, bragging about his greatness. The feeling he has given us, at the break of day, is one of harmony with the night, an animal that must be slaughtered to make way for the morning. Bo’, a matador-lover of the night, never kills for the sake of killing. If he had been born in Spain he would’ve been a Manolete.
Chicago-Madrid
I was sitting in the old bullring in Madrid, one chilly afternoon, people around us sipping twenty-five peseta shots of sherry from the vendor, when the thought hit me.
What the fuck am I doing here, in Madrid, at the corrida? Me, a Chicago born and bred brother from the ’hood. I turned to my lady with the question on the tip of my tongue, canceled it when I saw how absorbed she was. Or was it the sherry?
The question fixed itself on my brain. For an hour and a half I watched and listened to the bullfights in Chicago (they were broadcast from Mexico, sometimes from Spain) as Chamaco, Diego Puerta, Paco Camino, Manole Vasques, Juan “Bilboa” Montes, and someone who called himself “El Voluntario” fought huge bulls in front of me, merging with images of past fights on TV.
Was I hallucinating?
The six bulls and men fighting in front of me were dedicating the afternoon to the memory of Antonio Bienvenida, a courageous matador from an earlier time who had blown the horn on the hornshavers, the act of a man of honor and integrity.
Black Chicago Page 10
