Vroom!

It was June 10th or so, 1965. I was a fresh college graduate living in Chicago. My parents had dropped me off at my new apartment and driven back to Syracuse, New York. I was alone, really alone. For the first time.

I had a new car, a poppy red Mustang with an all-white interior. Fun car. New home. Vast new city. All to explore in my new car. So, I ventured forth and drove just about everywhere. Downtown Chicago for starters. Lake Shore Drive for certain. Far north first, then south as far as I dared go. Must have been Hyde Park or so. I really didn’t know where I was so needed reassurance that the expressway system seemed familiar and had directional signs, or the lake was firmly visible. The lake is always east of Chicago. That’s the first thing people told me. Remember that and you won’t be lost.

I remember those early days well. One thing was the noise. Traffic was constant, not just the jumble of vehicles, but the noise they made. The occasional motorcycle, too. Vroom, vroom, indeed. Ear splitting noise. It made me pause and remember if this level of noise had been a part of my past in other hometowns. No. Not this much noise.

The noise became and anchor impression rooting me to urban, city, foreign place. I needed to identify every rumble and clashing sound to better know my surroundings.

I was writing a blog this morning when the vroom happened. This in 2025. This at 6 am. The window was open and the vroom clearly sounded. Asserting its existence in this place and time, the motorcycle pronounced its voice of vroom. It sparked my early memory of living alone in Chicago after graduating college.

Although I was a California/Massachusetts/New Yorker now living in Illinois, I had studied in Illinois for four years. I had visited Chicago many times in that timeframe. I was not unfamiliar with this region. And I had many good friends from campus who lived in the metro area. I was not alone, truly. I had people to call and visit. And distant relatives lived in Chicago, too. I was not alone.

But waking up alone in the apartment, knowing I had to make all my meals, wash all my clothes, make all my decisions, and still make a living in a place not yet home, was stark reality. It spelled alone.

A sound. A smell. A variation of light. Memory of other times. Other places. It all comes back to mind.

Vroom. Indeed.

May 19, 2025

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Intimacy

As we mature, we become deeply involved in relationships. Some of this is basic family relations – siblings, parental – and the like. Next is friends who enter our homes and we theirs. Neighbors, classmates, mutual hobbyists and so forth. Then we develop friendships that go much deeper. We comfort one another when we are hurting physically or emotionally. We discuss the matters of life and learn much more about ourselves and each other. We can even anticipate how others will react to various situations and stimuli. Good friendships do not spread to everyone we know. No, good friendships are special, close and deeply personal. We focus attention and brainpower on these few friends. Some special relationships focus on specific topics of interest and importance. Yes, we have specialized friendships. Most common. But one day, we get to know one person very well. An emotional connection forms with deep roots. A need to know the person more fully expands in personal ways. We sense this b...
Read more

Bits & Pieces

Pie: Apple pie more specifically. With Thanksgiving just passed, many of us enjoyed a good apple pie. Sure, there was pumpkin to accompany the turkey, but in our family multiple pies are offered in the holidays. Apple is surely one. Pecan, pumpkin and others, too. But I almost always choose apple. When I was in college, I was asked what kind of pie did I eat most often. In front of my mom, I answered apple, because I was always looking for a pie as good as mom’s own. Of course my mother was pleased, but it was a true statement just the same. When I was married, Ann’s pie was darned good. Her mother’s recipe. But we fiddled with the recipe until it took on its own generational name, and boy, was it good! Today I still order apple pie for dessert because I am always looking for a great pie to challenge our family recipes. I rarely do find such a prize. Do others do the same? Do you search for a great pie of choice, continually? If you do, what’s your story? Why do you do this? ...
Read more

Remembering Tom Sherlock

Tom Sherlock died on Wednesday, April 3rd. He was 65 years old and did not survive a heart surgery. That was his unexpected end and sad enough. But there is more to his story. Tom joined Dan Schuyler and George Safford to create what became the Village Chronicles, a weekly newspaper serving Warrenville, Illinois. That paper expanded to serve Winfield and then West Chicago. The paper published for eight years and built a good reputation for itself. Tom served the paper in several ways. He was our information technology guru, provided hardware and software to support the paper's operations. He was our sole bookkeeper, accountant and financial manager. He designed our distribution process and provided office space for meetings and layout and typesetting. His efforts supported the work of 32 volunteers who wrote and reported on the communities we served.  The newspaper broke even financially most of the time, but it was a struggle. Tom managed to find money to keep the newspaper afloat...
Read more