After an afternoon seeing "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" at the Roosevelt Icon, and a trip to Whole Foods to pick up some food for dinner, my daughter and I walked home east on Roosevelt, and into a huge mass of black-unifomed Chicago police. "Anything serious happening?" I asked.
"Not quite yet," they said. I asked what they thought of me and Molly and my friend and neighbor Julia taking a walk over to the protest at Cermak and Mchigan in a bit. Is it safe? Is it worth it?
"Why would you want to do that?" they answered--with twinkles in their eyes. Julia told them we were old hippies
and wanted to experience our past.
One cop said we shouldn't go because the protesters have bottles of urine they are going to throw. (Several police offers have told me that the last couple of days--and I wonder if that's a rumor, an apocryphal story or if it's true.)
I came in the house, making my way through another group of officers congregating in front of my gate--and turned on the TV. Sure enough, there is trouble
. The commanders are asking the crowd to disperse; the protesters are pulling out vinegar, ear plugs and linking arms for protection. Superintendant Garry McCarthy, helmutless, is among them. There's a clash and the police are trying to negotiate through it. The protesters have lifted a barrier and the police are pushing them back.
Again, I'm glad I'm in the house, that we didn't go for a look-see and that I have two groups of Chicago Police officers at my corner.
We are no longer accepting new comments on ChicagoJournal.com