11/1: king of kostner

remember those drives with my dad i was talking about earlier? you know, the on-the-verge-of-death car rides...

well, im going to give you a slight sub-story to those morning drives.

again- you may think im kidding. believe me- i thought it was a joke too. until i actually saw it.

it was the night before i started my job- and really what the hell was i suppose to think a morning drive would be like? a cup of coffee, music, and the beautiful slums of chicago via an open window until smell of broccoli-sewage stated to take over?

besides my dads driving- yeah, nothing too out of the ordinary.

"oh so, yeah- it will be a good drive tomorrow. theres this guy i pass every morning whos boxing with a stick. i call him the "king of kostner"- really cool dude. you'll see him."

(ok?...so im going to pass a statue of a boxer with a stick...is there some sort of story behind this, dad?)

i'll be brutally honest about the Kostner Ave area...its a shit-hole.

by the time you hit the second gas station you might see prostitutes or crack-heads, and extreme loitering outside of the liquor store as if it were black friday and the doors haven't opened yet. there are 3 burnt down buildings, an L stop, multiple boarded up houses, some shady business with barbed wire fences, and some sell-all convenient stores before you hit the highway.

(annnd really- this area isnt even that bad...im just painting the picture since some people have zero idea what im talking about)

so anyway- back to the story.

"the..king- of kostner?" (okay)

"yeah- don't worry, you'll see him"

in my head im envisioning some old 1960s statue of a Mohammad Ali boxer-type, holding a stick with some plaque explaining how he was born in the ghetto and became a star. only being given the name "the king" after he fought off his arch rival the next town over.

...clearly i misinterpreted this "statue" the next morning.

i had just about fallen asleep by the time we got halfway down kostener, dead set on the idea that theres no way im getting up at 5:30am again

"LOOK! THERE HE IS!"

(take me word for word on this...)

outside my window there is an old man- maybe in his late 60s, wearing a vest, some beat up shoes, and holding a staff- not a stick...a staff- throwing punches..giving uppercuts, and ducking to imaginary punches...all while walking along side kostner ave mumbling something to himself.

my dad gives a honk (which i later find out is part of his routine)

he proceeds to look up at my dad and i driving by and waves his Rafikki-like staff in the air, while pointing and shouting something that i would think would have sound like  "what the fuck are you honking at ass-hole"

no- not at all, the windows are rolled up.

"hahah, he does this every day! man, that guy has got to be in some great shape! did you see those moves he was throwing? that's why i call him the "king""

.........................................(aaaa- what....?)

my jaw was dropped. i wish i had a video- because literally me writing it doesn't even do itself justice. its a homeless man, probably on something, holding a staff and throwing punches into the air! every morning, every day, on the same street!

"dad. please don't tell me you honk at him everyday?"

"of course i do- ive talked to him a few times- hes just out here doing this thing"

(there was a slight moment where my train of thought shifted to my dad making friends with homeless people...but then i thought- no way)

well, this morning- i was wrong again.

stopped at a stop light there he was on the corner, boxing his way to the opposite side of the street. (my dad rolls down his window)

"hey! so when are you going to be the champion?" (like it was some ongoing joke between them)

he starts walking closer, still boxing...

"im out here fighting ghetto-trash all day!"

(nooo way- i couldn't tell whether i wanted to laugh- so i just partially dropped my jaw- trying not to look like i had just seen a naked man run across the street)

"well all right, man- you take it easy!"

he smiles, you see about 8 teeth- "you know i will" and he resumes boxing.

for the last 4 months i have watched this man box his way up and down the street, wondering what makes him want to do this every morning, and this was the first time i had heard him speak (yes, about "ghetto. trash") and i couldn't help but think...

man- this guy really is just out here doing his thing.

so i soaked that in for a minute. it was an experience. and i could think nothing else of it. here was a man who yes- may be a homeless Rocky out fighting ghetto-trash on kostner ave... but he did it everyday.

it was his thing and he loved doing it.

...i think that's why they call him "the king"

that is all.