On the El and on the make

Ellen Fox

March 1999: Newcity Chicago

Weekday. Noontime. Argyle. Dan Ryan Red Line making all stops southbound to 95th. Next stop, Lawrence. Doors are closing. Watch your step.

No sooner do the doors slide shut than the man across the aisle starts up, "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, it's showtime."

Christ, I think, it's the guy who sings the off-key rendition of "Take Me Out to Ball Game," but adds his own lyrics about the Bulls. He's not as good as reggae rapper GQ the Teacher, though he beats the heart-wrenching mantra of the guy who says, "I'm homeless, I'm hungry, I'm trying to get something to eat. Can you help me? I'm homeless. Can you help me? Please?"

But this guy, the one across the aisle from me now, has a different song and dance. He flips over a folded newspaper and unveils three blue plastic bottle caps. Under one is the cutest little red berry of a ball, with nubs all over it. "Who says they saw it when I say they didn't?" He twirls the caps around one another, slowly enough that the ball is easy to find. "How 'bout you, pretty lady?" I purse my lips and shake my head.

But the woman in front of me - black-clad in a leather jacket - is game. She points quickly at the cap of choice, more wearily than wary.

"You put up twenty, I'll match your twenty," he nods matter-of-factly. "You got twenty?" Underneath the caps there reads some faint headline about the sunny outlook on Wall Street.

She pulls a crumpled twenty quickly from her pocket. "Put your twenty up. Now turn over your cap."

There it is! And there he is - my head gets hot for a second - good-naturedly peeling off a twenty real slow from his roll of big bills. Even the people who are staring straight ahead are watching from the corners of the eyes. "Thank you," she laughs appreciatively.

Don't do it.

A woman gets up from her seat for a try and loses her twenty like that. The gamester moves further down the train to give everyone the action. Now a couple of Latino kids try to put up ten, but this game only runs on twenties, fifties and hundreds.

The woman in black is down there now, still impossibly winning.

"Oooh, she picks 'em all," the woman next to me nudges.

Then the woman in black is hurrying out the doors, hopping into the rush for the Brown line at Fullerton. I look back one stop later and there's no sight of the gamester, either, just a big man standing solidly with a silver star on his coat.

(Ellen Fox)