Streets line up neatly down here in Chicago downtown, a series of quite perfect grid that give birth to numerous intersections and its buddy, traffic light and its bastard cousin, a stactcato driving experience in rush hours. But there is little concern of the traffic on the street on this windy night. It is the off traffic, pedestrian, that you must worry about. Make sure you turn your GPS gadgeton because it takes quite a skill to navigate this human traffic as it seems that there's always somebody zig to your zag in your effort to get closer to your destination.
Our destination tonight is the newly christened Millenium Park, a series of Urban Design development neatly placed next to the prime Michigan Avenue. Basically it's a park with cool new concert theatre by Frank Gehry [and some other minor albeit cool details]; You cannot miss the park because of Frank's signature sclupture can be seen from away. Once you reach the park, do not enter though as our real destination is actually a show called "This American Life" and the park is just conveniently located next to the place where the show plays.
"This American Life" is a popular NPR (National Public Radio) show hosted by this guy named Ira Glass. He's popular enough to generate several thousands passionate groupies usually reserved for drugged abused aging rock n roll star (i'm exxgerating here, a bit). The show tells the story, real story, of Americans, ordinary ones they say, a short snippets of their lives.
I've never heard his show before and tonight I'm here on the floor of an open theather (actually is a rooftop of a building, what a novel idea) on the ground, my eye level at the bottom of a clusters of seating-lucky-bastard people, trying to enjoy his show for the first time. Not enough seats for everbody;it's a free show; so complain is not tolerated with pain of guantanamo imprisonment.
Boy, this rooftop is packed; I was praying for a riot, but it seems to be that mots of NPR listeners are well behaved intellectuals, no luck here.
I admit I had no idea what kind of show this one turns out to be. We are facing a blank concrete wall and on my right there is a small stage with a band set up (guitars, a black sleek grand piano, and other instruments) and some microphone. We were mainly lighted by the bright lights of hte surrounding sky scrapers. Quite a sight actually. You can see the clouds, illimuniated with brownish light, racing through the dark sky. If you must know, yes, there's a big butt in dirty blue jeans elevated on a steel chair just about 4 yards off my face, but I try not to pay any attention to it. The ground has a rough feel to it, some sort of coarse floor you see in a place where they don't want old people to fall when itss weet.
It's a quite a cold night, but with the sardines in a can arrangement of tonight's show, it helps bring a relieve, powered by human radiator.
Two class of people, the seater and the grounder. I'm the grounder.
Me and my own people create a cluster on the ground next sandwiched between two round clusters of seaters. If you are hovering above us like a lost angel, our cluster shapes like a sand glass clock.
A voice comes out of thin air,quickly dominating the quite chattering noise and everybody quiets down. It's a warm, young voice, a voice belongs to, if I try, a mid thirties man, specifically design to sound real real good on microfone and project warmth and funny feeling just by spoken words. The crowds went wild and bras thrown out to the stage [sorry,twas different show].
He continued speaking, narrating a story about a boy name Tim, a chicago primary school boy who's obssessed with this one building in the city. This was back in 1960's. The narration follows a series of cartoonish slides depicting the event in ths story. It works better than you can imagine [think Toy Story, but before Walt Disney invented animated movies]. The narrative follows smoothly combined with the jerky switching of one slide to another. Somehow they just fit together, smoot and jerky, Ying and Yang.
Story continue, the building that TIm loved, The Building, is about to be torn down, to be replaced by a new building to take in its stride. For the next 7 minutes we hear, filling in our imagination, on how this young little kid try to save his beloved building, going meeting the corporation CEO office and getting this gem told to him "you know kids, I'm glad you like the old building, I hope you will find the same qualities in the new building that you will like". This building is not the only building torn down in the city, but as Tim Said "Not all building are the same. Some building has characters and talks you".
This sad story continues as Tim pass by the building everyday its various stage of destruction, it's marvelous details torn down by cold big machineries designed to destruct oh so efficiently.
Tim has a friend call Richard. They have been sneaking to the scafooolded buuilding at night and try to experience. Tonight was their rendveous again but Tim could make it. And that was the last missed appointment Tim has ever made with Richard. Richard was missing for a couple of days and Time with as earc h time try desperately to find his frine din the amonghst the debris in of the torn building. A month later the body of Richard is found under the rubble.
Tim is now grown up and work in the city. The new building has been erected on top of his Building but he's still sad.
Story ends.
I must warn you my recollection ofhte story was sketchy. I forget to bring my note.
The whole story took about 30 minutes. It's a story telling. A good one. One I've heard before, but not in America. Now I understand the appeal. Just hearing stories thorugh the radio waves and let words paint your imagination. We were kids again.
This guy is good.