If all goes well, the planners say, in a year, maybe two, the bulldozers will come and level the old neighborhood.
That’s tough talk, but it’s backed up by the coalition the residents have formed, the demands they’ve made (they want a percentage of any profits the White Sox make from the leasing of sky boxes), and the downtown lawyer they’ve hired to press their case.
“Our community is what’s left over from when they built the Dan Ryan,” says Gus Zimmerman, who is 80. “On the other side of that viaduct is Bridgeport. We don’t have much to do with the people over there. We just live here, peacefully, never bothering nobody.”
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“Everyone’s so worried about the White Sox leaving Chicago,” says Susie Myers, another longtime resident. “But no one cares nothing about us.”
The whole struggle boils down to one tough decision for city and state politicians: are the residents of South Armour Square or the White Sox more important to the city as a whole? This is not, of course, the first time that the interests of local residents have collided with what politicians and planners call the larger needs of the city. The classic case occurred in the 1960s, when city officials turned a deaf ear to the howls of west-side residents and demolished much of Little Italy to make way for the University of Illinois’ Chicago campus.
Maybe at first, Saint Petersburgers (or whatever they call themselves) will buy tickets to watch the Sox. But once the novelty diminishes, why would they bother? What allegiance do they have to players in Sox uniforms? What connection will they have to the exciting Sox teams of the past? Most important, who in his or her right mind would pay good money to sit inside a stuffy stadium and watch a lousy team flounder?
