Carla’s painting of George Gerber (Copy of original)

Being dead didn’t suit George Gerber. And, for George Gerber, being dead didn’t last long.

By all accounts here was a sociable man, a vibrant man, something of a character.

George had moved from New York at some point and wore a Yankee’s hat to prove it. He loved baseball and its traditions. “Now it’s just ‘money ball,’” he complained.

The man lived alone in a balconied condo building within easy distance of the coffee shop. No one recalls any mention of a wife or children.

George had spent his working years at the Internal Revenue Service. We don’t know for a fact, but we should assume IRS agent Gerber was kindly when auditing widows and orphans, and was passably competent at what he did.

George kept up with a stack of newspapers each day (there’s still an honest-to-God newsstand on the corner) and he happened to have the kind of face the Chicago readers of Nelson Algren or Studs Terkel would find comforting.

The portrait that Carla Hayden painted is sizable. She plied acrylic washes until she found the whimsy and panache of the man she enjoyed. When the piece was unveiled George predicted it would end up at the Art Institute.

After George left this earth Brian and John, owners of the Brothers K, afforded the work a position of honor near the double-urn brewing machine where, as you can see, George remains very much alive and with us today.

First-shift baristas report the hint of a frown on that painted face during pre-dawn hours. But it disappears as soon as the Brazilian, Papua New Guinean or Guatemalan coffee is brewed and George breathes in the caffeine he needs to face the day.

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Harold’s cat (Copy of original)

Harold referred to Sebastian simply as “the cat.” It wasn’t until after Sebastian died that Harold told us his name.

For 12 years Harold and Sebastian (a name his previous owner had chosen) shared a comfortable, second-floor, 60s-era condominium.

For the first nine years a very pretty calico named Julie lived with them. Julie was coquettish, sunny and solicitous, something of a daddy’s girl.

Sebastian was not the smartest cat in the Friskies commercials and his play often turned into something Julie didn’t enjoy.

Harold says cats without claws (another decision by Sebastian’s first owner) feel defenseless and resort to using their teeth. Julie did have claws and could fight back but she hated being cornered by her roommate.

It wasn’t until Julie passed away that Sebastian acknowledged that Harold even existed.

On a scale of ten Harold rates his enjoyment of Sebastian as only a five, considering moments of “cuteness,” maybe a six. But there were also times when the tabby’s approval sank into Richard Nixon territory. Those teeth.

A good diet with occasional table scraps, visits to the vet, a clean and safe place to live, Harold provided everything a pet could ask for. He believes Sebastian took life on Hinman Avenue for granted. He had never foraged in the alley or needed to outsmart the coyotes.

As Harold gave us updates on Sebastian’s decline he showed the concern and exhaustion common to caregivers. “You can love a cat without liking him.” he told us. “Liking is an emotion, loving is a responsibility.”

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Jacob at Brothers K (Copy of original)

Jacob-600pxThe most dynamic scholarship being done at the coffee shop today is by a newcomer named J-Bub.That man over there studies carbon in the Hydrosphere. The other one is researching the aftermath of China’s 1911 revolution. A woman in the corner is fleshing out a one-woman play.

But by far the most dynamic scholarship being done at the coffee shop today is by a newcomer named J-Bub. J-Bub’s field of inquiry is trucks, big trucks. He watches for them through the windows.

J-Bub is a man of few words but that’s changing quickly. He knows many more today than he did a month ago. Next year he’ll know a word for almost everything, including synonyms.

This is J-Bub’s second outing to the coffee shop with his Popi and he’s noticing things. The baristas give people something and the people give the baristas something. That’s interesting, isn’t it?

He reads context. Since there are no toys on the floor, this coffee shop isn’t really for people like him. At their next stop, at the neighborhood library, he owns the floor and everything on it.

He knows large from small, likes from dislikes, dos and don’ts, hellos and goodbyes. He is studying the exercise of power and the rewards of civil disobedience.

Two-year-olds start to put concepts together. J-Bub identified a “new toy.” He doesn’t know how to ask the why of things just yet, but he’ll start soon and he’ll never stop.

One thing that impresses us all about our new colleague is that he does all this intellectual heavy lifting without so much as a drop of caffeine.fingerprint4-only-final-40px

Photo by Roland Lieber
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Lonnie Wilson

Who better to coach young men on male responsibility than an imperfect man who raised five daughters?

One of the rewards of sitting outside at our coffee shop is that Lonnie can roll up in his wheelchair and join the conversations.

His life has been more interesting than most.

In no way is Lonnie making excuses for himself when he explains that narcotics became an economic driver in the neighborhood where he grew up; and how they were systemically marketed and distributed.

And he never tried to hide from the young men he was employed to coach on responsibility that he had been “strung out” during a stretch of his life. “They knew,” Lonnie says. And maybe he was better equipped to reach them about the dangers they faced because of his scars and his time on the street.

“Things are difficult for men these days,” he explains. We’re not teaching our sons the things young men need to succeed in a culture wary of them.

The expectations of fathers and breadwinners has changed, he says. Male adolescents don’t have fathers in their homes when they need encouragement most. In many families a man is considered optional.

“I’m a lucky man,” Lonnie Wilson will tell you.

He was raised by an involved father, a stepfather and two grandfathers. Their embrace of “orderliness” as an encompassing virtue stays with him to this day.

Between Tasha, Tiffany, Jasmine, Jordan and Latoya, someone is always coming by to fuss over their father. They dutifully nag about his smoking – “…really, Dad?” – so he’s laid in a ready supply of air fresheners.

Lonnie’s been wheelchair-bound for some years (heart, stroke, brain surgery, etc.) so the doorway to the coffee shop makes it all but impossible to join the winter discussions inside. But he reports making progress with a walker and he’s promised himself to be walking freely next year.

There’s a chair at the big table inside waiting for him.

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Trinity Collins

People At A Coffee ShopFour years of free tuition to attend an elite, top-ranked institution doesn’t come without a certain price.

At the university where Trinity (they, them) graduated, an incoming freshman is four times more likely to be from the top one percent than from the bottom twenty.

The challenge for students like Trinity is to find community and keep pace with others who can elect not to work and are able to focus solely on their course load, who enjoy coaches and connections and can consider unpaid internships that open doors.

They, Trinity Collins, are more than grateful for the package that included free tuition. But as an undergrad, while maintaining a 3.8 GPA, they worked full time to pay for housing, fees, textbooks and living expenses. All of this while being the primary caregiver for a family member.

In hindsight the migraines, chronic pain and a missed semester were all but inevitable. And in retrospect those remote classes during the pandemic were a godsend for the overextended undergrad. Trinity became close to the members of an online “pod,” coming to share an identical tattoo with one of them.

Trinity notes the disconnect that a university business model which enjoys an endowment of $14 billion, and was so generous to them individually, exploits the labor of students, athletes, TAs and adjuncts alike.

They, Trinity, may continue their pursuit of history through a joint Masters and PhD Program. Understanding the past, they believe, is key to dealing with developments that today’s powers-that-be didn’t see coming, or chose to ignore.

At this particular moment, after graduating, Trinity looks forward to building a bit of savings and to enjoying the freedom and the luxury to simply “do things.”

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail