Al Voney has a deal going with the Tribune Company. Voney, a wiry, toothless, 57-year-old south-sider, has a monopoly on the shoe-shine business in the Tribune Tower. The deal is that he gets access to the building–including the security-conscious newsroom–but he works as a free-lancer. He gets no company benefits.
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“No one dictates to me how I shine their shoes,” Voney explains. “I run it or I don’t shine it. I give the best shine. I put on two coats of polish and then I rub it in. When I’m done, their shoes are blasting off their feet.”
Many of Voney’s shines are by appointment. He nets an even $3 for each five-minute shine, including tip, and offers a package deal of seven shines for $20.
Among the worst offenders, Voney says, are blacks, who are on the increase in the Tribune newsroom. “Most of them shun me,” he says. “The only black man in this place who lets me shine his shoes is [editorial columnist] Clarence Page. But he’s a brainy dude. The rest are small-minded.”
On a recent day, Voney had done ten shines since he arrived at 9:30 AM. He was thinking about going home, leaving by early afternoon. He likes to bet on the horses, and there is no sense hanging around the office if no shoes need shining.
“In the last ten years, since Daley died, Chicago has become like Detroit–a dead man’s town,” Voney says. “The bars are closing too early. The city is dilapidated. There’s nothing to do.”
