By: Zola
Chief Dieter
Plan Z Diet
Last week I was treated with a visit from my sister and my brother-in-law. We had made plans to go to Millennium Park and watch a jazz concert. Millennium Park is the perfect summer venue. The place is massive so it can handle big crowds. There’s plenty of outdoor space where everyone can lay out a blanket, set up a picnic, enjoy some food and then listen to the music. No one yells at you if you have a quiet conversation going on while the music is being performed. It’s all really ideal when the weather is right, and on this evening the weather was beautiful.
We got a tidbit behind our usual schedule so as we gathered our picnic supplies we decided to take the car to downtown Chicago rather than take the train. We realized it would be quicker and just about the same price so why not have the convenience? Besides, we had a lot of stuff to carry for our picnic so this would be easier.
As we approached The Loop area the traffic came to a crawl. It was 5:30PM so that was to be expected but it seemed extra snarled. I joked with my brother-in-law that he was probably happy to be sitting in the back of our little city car than trying to drive in rush hour madness. He’s not used to such traffic and the maneuvering required because he lives in a small town. He concurred.
I then looked up and realized that police personnel were directing all traffic to the left. Not one car was allowed through the intersection. Hmmm. No choice but to follow those in front of me. I had to change my plan about where I expected to park. Now I was thinking it might have been better to take the train. Too late.
As we creeped along I made a new plan. I could see a parking lot up a couple of blocks. If it was not full I was just going to head right in so we could get out of this traffic. Even if it meant hauling our picnic gear a few more blocks, being out of the car would be better. The “natives” accompanying me were getting restless. I was concerned though that the lot might be full. We were in the theatre district and that area fills up fast.
I had plenty of time to try to speculate what the traffic detour was all about. I was pretty sure it was movie-related. Because Transformers 3 is being filmed in Chicago they are regularly shutting down areas to do filming. I don’t go to The Loop that often so I have not been keeping up with the daily reports on which streets are being shut down or when. You just have to be patient and work your way around it.
When we got to the lot I breathed a sigh of relief. We could get in. The lot was only about 50% full so we didn’t have to go any higher than the 5th level and we found a spot. We pulled what we needed out of the car and everyone took a load. It really wasn’t that much. We were pretty efficient in our packing but we did have 4 of those folding chairs that squeeze into the canvas bags. We had a cooler. My sister was in charge of rolling that behind her cuz she’s the shortest one in the group and the handle is pretty low. I think she bought it for someone her height. I felt badly that she had the heaviest load but she had the wheels too.
We got to the bottom of the lot and came out on Dearborn Street across from the Goodman Theatre. It’s about 5 blocks from there to where wanted to be. The concert didn’t start until 6:30 but it was now about 5:45 and we were getting hungry.
We came around the first corner and about stopped dead. There were people everywhere. Lined along both sides of the streets they all had cameras and seemed focused on whatever they were expecting. I thought Shia LaBeouf was about to appear. He’s the biggest stud in the upcoming movie. A star for the young set. Seeing movie stars is always fun so I sort of kept looking to see where all the action was. I couldn’t see any.
I could hardly see anything. The sidewalks were 10 deep with people squished in shoulder to shoulder. The ones in the back rows were craning their necks constantly so it was really hard to get through. Try getting through a space maybe 10” wide with 4 folding chairs. And my poor sister with the rolling cooler! She was trying desperately not to roll over exposed toes in high heeled sandals but it was all but impossible. We did our best to inch our way through the crowd.
Every once in awhile we’d hear a small shriek. Then it would die down again. False alarm; whatever it was.
As we approached Michigan Avenue I realized we had gotten cut off from my husband. Oh fooey. Neither of us brought our cell phones. What if I can’t find him? He’ll end up wandering around Millennium Park mad as a wet cat. He’ll be hungry. And when he’s hungry he’s not fun. He’s tall so I could not figure out why he didn’t stand out in the crowd. I immediately got anxious.
About two minutes later I spotted him. He had stepped off the curb into the street. That’s why he didn’t stick up over most of the average-height folks. He did look a bit rattled but not bad.
We were all together again.
As I looked around I realized the crowd was not just lining one street. They were lining 4 streets. Both sides, all around one huge building. The building is the old Public Library. Now I think they call it The Chicago Cultural Center. It’s really pretty inside. I kept thinking I’d see movie trucks shooting in the alley or along the building. Nothing.
So we crossed Michigan Avenue with the lite and were now on the corner of Randolph and Michigan. The park begins right across Randolph so we were within spitting distance of getting out of this crowd and into the park. On the north east corner the crowd was much smaller. We were making our way through a throng about 4 deep when I finally decided to just ask what the blazes was going on.
I walked up to a young man with a camera and inquired, “Just whom are we waiting for?”
His answer. “Obama. He’s in that building over there”. The Cultural Center.
Ah. Now it all made sense. The crowd had formed along every side of the building hoping to get a glimpse and in Presidential security fashion, no one had any idea what side he’d come out of. There were police about every five feet. No traffic was moving in ANY direction. Even Michigan Avenue was cut off. The street pretty much became silent except for polite, quiet talk. And the periodic small shriek.
Another false alarm.
We stood on the corner waiting for the light to change. Another shriek. This time an unmarked, sinister-looking black car with flashing lights on the dash board came zooming around a corner. It took off up Randolph Street toward Lake Shore Drive. Then nothing. Back to the quiet murmering.
When the light changed our picnic party began to walk across the street toward the park. I got about half a foot onto the median that runs down the middle of the street and I heard a booming, “Go Back”.
I motioned with my free hand that I was just going to finish crossing the street. “Go Back!” This time louder and with heavy waving arms.
Okay, so go back we did. We lined up on the edge of the curb. The small throng had no choice but to let us in.
I started to eavesdrop on a conversation between two women next to me. The one was speculating that the motorcade would pass in front of us because the entrance ramp to Lake Shore Drive was just up the hill and they could have a straight shot. She thought that President Obama was expected at a birthday party at a residence on Lake Shore Drive. I broke in and let her know his birthday was the day before. Party over.
Well, whatever was happening she was clucking pretty confidently that Obama would be coming her way soon and she was going to have her camera at the ready. No one had any idea what direction they’d be coming from so it was all just a guess.
I stood there quietly thinking. If she was right me and my party now had a front row standing place in the action. All 4 of us were right by the curb. I thought of all of the folks who were spread around 4 blocks, 10 deep, craning their necks to get a glimpse. How long had some of them been standing there? Hours? I just walked up. And I didn’t even plan to be here. I’m stuck. I just can’t move. I have to obey police orders and suffer through this; whether I am hungry or not.
Truth be told I got pretty excited at the thought. I felt pretty darn lucky to have fallen on this opportunity. My brother-in-law was not so pleased. He was counting up the expense of the whole deal. We agreed to disagree.
About 10 minutes later we could hear the zoom.
I don’t remember how many huge, black Suburbans (if that’s what they were) came barreling around the corner and through the intersection. Yep, right past us. I think it was eight. All blacked out windows. Most of them had all the windows closed. You’re waving frantically and you have no idea which one he’s in or if he’s even looking at the crowd. You are left to speculate who else is in the cars with him. Valerie Jerrett? I know she accompanied him on this trip and so did Rahm Emanuel. They are both from Chicago and were invited to his party. Mrs. Obama was still in Spain so I knew she was not in the car with her husband. I found myself trying to visualize faces as they blasted past.
I found out from the woman who was so darn sure she had the perfect location (and she was right), that you don’t squeal and scream as the cars go by. There’s some sort of decorum you are supposed to keep. You wave. You don’t clap and you don’t scream. Most folks who were gathered seemed to know the drill. They all just took pictures as the cars raced by. I bet the pics were pretty blurry.
I was just fascinated by the orchestration. It all happened so fast but I can remember it with remarkable detail. I had seen something on TV once that showed how one of the cars has some kind of SATCOM satellite device mounted on the top in case the motorcade gets cut off and has to communicate with the Airforce who has planes flying on high alert just out of site. Then there’s the last car. This one is open on the roof. A man is up there with a high powered machine gun just poking out the top. The windows on this car are open and you see very tailored, very fit young men with sunglasses on all looking in every direction. This suburban also has the back window open about 8 inches. If you look closely and quickly you can see the rocket launcher barrel just in the shadows just inside that open window. You know another young man is sitting ready behind that rocket launcher with his finger on the trigger.
And that’s your last image. Your last image is of what the Secret Service, the local police and the myriad of other coordinators go through on a daily basis to protect the life of our President as he moves about his business. It’s not a lighthearted picture.
I am old enough to remember Kennedy in Dallas on that sunny day, waving from the back of a convertible; everyone all smiles. That’s certainly not how it is today. I find that sad. My brother-in-law was right. It IS expensive. But, I guess that’s the price we have to pay.
Cheers,
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