My Friend Kenneth
By Michael Woyan
Page 1 sex Page 2 drugs Page 3 sin Page 4 lust Page 5 envy Page 6 fortune Page 7 evil Page 8 pirate Page 9 thief
There are certain and special people which
change our lives indelibly, and if we're
lucky, sometimes we're made aware of their
catalyst-like natures immediately. Their
presence makes our life's resolution a touch
more vivid, our life's volume a decibel or
two higher. They have a unique force of personality
that can profoundly influence our perception
of the world's possibilities for us without
encroaching on the personal space necessary
for transformation. They often inspire personal
change in those around them without correcting
us in our notion that it was our idea all
along. My friend Kenneth is one of those
people.
I had a vintage apartment in the Old Town
neighborhood on Chicago's near north side.
Actually, it was a condo owned by a sad,
but usually affable man named Steve. I was
new to Chicago, in my twenties and trying
to find my way in the world. I had little
in the way of furniture and possessions,
but I was happy with the expansive space,
superb location and the cheap rent it offered
so I set up shop there, one floor above an
odd and eclectic tavern called The Old Town
Ale House. The first couple of years that
I lived there, Steve did too, sometimes with
a third roommate, sometimes without. Shuttered
with wooden shades, the apartment in the
early years was dark, dusty and spare reflecting
Steve's spirits, which were severely dampened
by a failed marriage to an unsound woman
and a legal career with limited prospects.
Ultimately he married well, moved to the
suburbs and never in thirteen years raised
my rent. Eventually the space, like my life,
brightened.
I found myself subject to the tyranny of
commerce, better known in America as the
act of chasing the buck, attempting to make
my mark in the mortgage business. This is
best done without imagination, by soliciting
Realtors for business, usually receiving
calls on the pager at the most invasive of
hours, acutely aware of the irrational natures
people exhibit languishing in that gray twilight
that exists on Maslow's lowest level of food
and shelter in his Hierarchy Of Needs. Also
made illuminatingly clear to me were the
linear concerns of the referring real estate
agents and the status of their all-important
commissions. I learned quickly that people
making a lot of money in this country often
consider themselves an expert on a variety
of subjects on the sole basis that they make
a lot of money.
Old Town was a special place in the late
eighties and early nineties with a demographically
diverse population of yuppies, artists, teachers,
musicians, actors, writers and wait servers
(often one and the same) all cohabitating
among an intellectually vibrant nightlife.
I was told that Bill Murray and Harold Ramis
lived together for a time in my apartment
in the 1970's. You see, Second City, the
famous improvisational theater troupe where
such comedic talents as John and Jim Belushi,
Alan Arkin, Ed Asner, Gilda Radner, Gavin
McCloud, Chris Farley, Shelly Long, and Dan
Ackroyd were developed, was located around
the corner from where I lived. One block
south was a comedy club called Zanies, which
brought in some of the best stand up comedy
acts in the world. Not far away the Steppenwolf
Theater Company was gaining world renown
for its Tony Award-winning production of,
among others "The Grapes of Wrath,"
which boasted such highly regarded thespians
as John Malkovich, Gary Sinise, John Mahoney,
Joan Allen, Gary Cole, and Amy Morton. I
used to show up an hour before curtain for
the half-price tickets to most shows and
saw some of the best theater in the world
for fifteen dollars. Possessing a 4 a.m.
late liquor license, most everyone came to
the Old Town Ale House for a drink or ten
at one time or another.
Click here to continue reading "My Friend"
Written by Michael Woyan
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