Sunday August 23, 2020: Near Second and 26th
A discouraging day. Same uncooperative stubborn people.
Saturday August 22, 2020: Some apartments in Oak Park, plus a new luxury apartment complex
Luxury apartments reminded me of a Las Vegas retreat. Most of the apartments are vacant. Started to interview one student whose parents were absent, but she abruptly stopped cooperation. Did say she was there because the wifi was better than at her parents' other house. For the price they are paying, the wifi better be fantastic!
Friday August 21, 2020: Near my house, and in Curtis Park
Had an intense proxy discussion with a fellow I recognized from the radio.
Thursday August 20, 2020: Near my house, near Franklin & 2nd, and northern reaches of Oak Park
I met the argumentative man who refused to cooperate on Tuesday. He still refuses to cooperate, but suggested if I keep approaching him he might eventually relent.
The poorly-dressed fellow looked like a Chinese sage. "There were renters her for awhile, in the Sixties, but this house has been vacant for decades! We let the census people know the house was vacant, but they keep sending people. They sent people in 1970, and they sent people in 1980, and they sent people in 1990, and they sent people in 2000, and they sent people in 2010, and they send people now, even though I mailed in my census form just last week! But the mail is slow! They don't even have paper forms anymore. It's all about computers now! The people who own the house are old! They are in their 90's!"
I had my first problem with language. I tried to interview a Bosnian man, but he doesn't speak English. Fun to listen to his music though.
Wednesday August 19, 2020: X Street, near Franklin & Second, and in Oak Park along Third Avenue
Strangely-enough, a restaurant was on my list. No one lives in the restaurant.
Found a hovel. There might be more hovels nearby. The woman was sitting on her bed in her trash-filled room, with flies and garbage present. The place reeked. I stayed as far away as I could, outside the door. She babbled nonsense and was difficult to interview. For example: "I am the Middleman, the Vice President of the United States, and the Ruler." M'kay.
The thin, whitish-purple-haired lady with the hippie house and the fancy rooster was suspicious of my inquiries. She said she had submitted her census data in March, but wondered whether the enumerator was a fake sent by her ex-husband to extract information. "He did try to kill me, once," she said.
I recognized the woman in the wheelchair. We were both in a health-maintenance class we took two years ago. When we got to her Irish background, she started singing Irish tunes. Fun!
Talked to a grandmother and her two grandkids. Really complicated backgrounds, from Alabama way. The kids called me the Censor Man.
A kid visiting his grandma's tried to help me understand the odd way the apartment complex was marked.
Gunthers was not busy, so I got two scoops of Swiss-Orange ice cream before the crowds came.
Tuesday August 18, 2020: X Street corridor and near San Fernando Way
An argumentative man refused to cooperate.
The little kid took me for the Door Dash man, and wondered where the food was.
Two tales of woe. A woman had a leg injury, and her mother died, so she moved into her mother's house to heal.
A man had a stroke and was moved by his sister in May to Oregon for his recovery.
Monday, August 17, 2020: Local Curtis Park sites
The recent transplant from Colorado really likes her new house, but the California weather has thrashed her back yard.
Friday, August 21, 2020
Monday, August 17, 2020
Remembering Some Of The Interesting People I'm Meeting at My New Job
So far I've been working either in my home neighborhood of Curtis Park, or in the adjacent Oak Park neighborhood.
Sunday, August 16: A cluster of sites that had already been approached by myself or others in Curtis Park.
My neighbors with the two white dogs who love Jasper were emphatic. "Go home!" It's too hot out here!" "Not till you confirm this address I'm looking for doesn't exist," I said. "It doesn't exist," they said. "Go home!"
A young woman came running up the stairwell towards her apartment, and stopped in surprise, because I was already in her stairwell. "I would like to interview you," I said. "You would like to interview me?" she replied as she retreated. She headed back outside to the car that dropped her off, jumped in, and the vehicle roared away.
Saturday, August 15: The northwestern corner of Oak Park.
I knocked on the door of a house where the elderly parents were gone, but an older daughter was present. They didn't want to interview. A friend of theirs left, whom they asked to close the outer gate. The elder daughter went back inside, closed the door, and I couldn't figure out how to escape their front yard. I knocked on the door again and a younger daughter came out. I explained my plight, which she didn't understand, because the yard's gate was open: I was pushing on the gate's handle when I should have been pulling.
"What race are you?" I asked. The fellow, only one year younger than me, replied "Gypsy!"
I knocked on the door of a small brick house and stumbled into a reinterview, which I had never conducted before. They had trouble opening the front door, and didn't open the screen door, so I couldn't see who I was talking with. I had to speak loudly - almost shout. I was probably talking to a seated, elderly black man, with several other family members also present. Apparently the trouble was the previous interviewer got the name of the elderly man's wife wrong. I misheard the name too, repeated what I heard, and they shouted their correction loudly. I asked the wife's middle name, and she said "Prince." "Prince? I like that name!" I blurted. From inside the house, a flattered feminine voice said "Thanks!" Despite the awkwardness of the interview, we had managed to make a bridge!
The elderly man noticed me knocking on his friend's door, so he came over. He talked about his days as an oral surgeon, especially when he worked at NASA. He regaled me with stories, showed me scars on his arms, etc., etc.
I was surprised to find myself in an apartment complex where everyone spoke Arabic. It felt like I was in Beirut somewhere. After knocking on a few doors and getting no replies, I met a young woman tending her infant children. She put on her head scarf and came outside to interview. I was impressed with her command of Arabic names, even though she seemed quite American in nature (claimed she was born in the UK). Some of the men in the complex came around out of curiosity, eager to interview, even though they weren't slated for one. They were generous and offered water (which I didn't take - I had some in the truck). The woman offered further help in the event I needed an interpreter, and pointed out women in the yard who spoke English. Alas, that was the last interview I conducted at the complex.
(more)
Friday, August 14: Second Avenue corridor in Curtis Park.
Talked to a family preparing dinner.
Thursday, August 13: Curtis Park.
Interviewed a young couple. The man sounded just like my nephew.
Interviewed the elderly Catholic man.
Talked to an extremely curt man who refused to interview.
Talked to the man whose roommates had complicated Italian names.
The house was divided into upstairs and downstairs apartments. The woman seemed eccentric.
Wednesday, August 12: North-Central Oak Park.
The man in towels eventually answered the door and explained he didn't want to interview just now because he had just taken a shower.
Talked to a baby sitter.
"I don't want to interview. I'm a rebel," the elderly woman explained. (Go ahead then, be a rebel.)
Knocked on the wrong door: confused Third and Fourth Avenues.
My first interview! Eventually realized the woman I was talking to was the aunt of someone who did a show with me at DMTC 20 years ago. Apparently he's an real estate salesman these days.
Sunday, August 16: A cluster of sites that had already been approached by myself or others in Curtis Park.
My neighbors with the two white dogs who love Jasper were emphatic. "Go home!" It's too hot out here!" "Not till you confirm this address I'm looking for doesn't exist," I said. "It doesn't exist," they said. "Go home!"
A young woman came running up the stairwell towards her apartment, and stopped in surprise, because I was already in her stairwell. "I would like to interview you," I said. "You would like to interview me?" she replied as she retreated. She headed back outside to the car that dropped her off, jumped in, and the vehicle roared away.
Saturday, August 15: The northwestern corner of Oak Park.
I knocked on the door of a house where the elderly parents were gone, but an older daughter was present. They didn't want to interview. A friend of theirs left, whom they asked to close the outer gate. The elder daughter went back inside, closed the door, and I couldn't figure out how to escape their front yard. I knocked on the door again and a younger daughter came out. I explained my plight, which she didn't understand, because the yard's gate was open: I was pushing on the gate's handle when I should have been pulling.
"What race are you?" I asked. The fellow, only one year younger than me, replied "Gypsy!"
I knocked on the door of a small brick house and stumbled into a reinterview, which I had never conducted before. They had trouble opening the front door, and didn't open the screen door, so I couldn't see who I was talking with. I had to speak loudly - almost shout. I was probably talking to a seated, elderly black man, with several other family members also present. Apparently the trouble was the previous interviewer got the name of the elderly man's wife wrong. I misheard the name too, repeated what I heard, and they shouted their correction loudly. I asked the wife's middle name, and she said "Prince." "Prince? I like that name!" I blurted. From inside the house, a flattered feminine voice said "Thanks!" Despite the awkwardness of the interview, we had managed to make a bridge!
The elderly man noticed me knocking on his friend's door, so he came over. He talked about his days as an oral surgeon, especially when he worked at NASA. He regaled me with stories, showed me scars on his arms, etc., etc.
I was surprised to find myself in an apartment complex where everyone spoke Arabic. It felt like I was in Beirut somewhere. After knocking on a few doors and getting no replies, I met a young woman tending her infant children. She put on her head scarf and came outside to interview. I was impressed with her command of Arabic names, even though she seemed quite American in nature (claimed she was born in the UK). Some of the men in the complex came around out of curiosity, eager to interview, even though they weren't slated for one. They were generous and offered water (which I didn't take - I had some in the truck). The woman offered further help in the event I needed an interpreter, and pointed out women in the yard who spoke English. Alas, that was the last interview I conducted at the complex.
(more)
Friday, August 14: Second Avenue corridor in Curtis Park.
Talked to a family preparing dinner.
Thursday, August 13: Curtis Park.
Interviewed a young couple. The man sounded just like my nephew.
Interviewed the elderly Catholic man.
Talked to an extremely curt man who refused to interview.
Talked to the man whose roommates had complicated Italian names.
The house was divided into upstairs and downstairs apartments. The woman seemed eccentric.
Wednesday, August 12: North-Central Oak Park.
The man in towels eventually answered the door and explained he didn't want to interview just now because he had just taken a shower.
Talked to a baby sitter.
"I don't want to interview. I'm a rebel," the elderly woman explained. (Go ahead then, be a rebel.)
Knocked on the wrong door: confused Third and Fourth Avenues.
My first interview! Eventually realized the woman I was talking to was the aunt of someone who did a show with me at DMTC 20 years ago. Apparently he's an real estate salesman these days.
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