By Grayce Connors
I have always been amazed at how something that stands right in front of you for years can change drastically without your ever noticing it but, just leave for a while and you can return to find even the most familiar completely unrecognizable. My work as an actor had taken me all over the country (and the world) over the course of the last eight years and time off was a rare luxury. A sudden break in between shooting schedules offered me the chance to pay an impromptu visit to my hometown.
Oak Park, Illinois is a charmingly progressive suburb linked to the western border of Chicago. The older, northern portion of town is filled with grand estates, many designed by one of its most famous residents, Frank Lloyd Wright. The southern end of town is filled with modest bungalows and apartment buildings. It's a burb where you can literally be from the "wrong side of the tracks" as the "L" train runs right through the middle of town separating north from south, blue from gray, and the rich from the not-so-rich.
I was from the not-so-rich side of town.
The 900 block of South Taylor Avenue is bordered by the Eisenhower expressway on one side, and Harrison Street on the other. In its heyday, Harrison street was home to a varied assortment of shops that served the local residents with necessary services such as a drugstore, grocery store, butcher shop, bakery, toy store, and the like. The arrival of Wal-Mart and Target eliminated the need for these local merchants (just as they have in every town across the country) and now all the shops were gone. What once had been a busy little metropolis where one could run into a neighbor and chat while picking up a loaf of bread, was now a three-block long retail ghost town.
I stood on the corner at the end of my block in absolute amazement at the complete desolation. I had only heard of neighborhoods going through such changes but had never actually witnessed the results, and I certainly never expected such a thing to happen to my own stomping grounds.
I wandered slowly down the street, fondly remembering the various businesses and their proprietors; Ned, the handsome high school senior who worked the soda fountain at the drugstore; Mr. Otis, the grocery store manager who gave me my first (and last) stern lecture on shoplifting after catching me with a hot Kit Kat bar in my pocket; The lady who ran the toy shop and would let me play with the marionettes in the window after school till my father would come looking for me and drag me out by the hair...
These memories and so many more flooded my brain as each empty window went by, smudged with dirt, cracked, or frosted over with white paint. Suddenly, I found myself in a head on collision with a young man...
"Wow! I�m sorry about that, I was paying absolutely NO attention." I said, gently extracting him from me. I couldn�t help but notice that his face was flushed and his clothes were somewhat askew. A cologne or scent I couldn�t place touched my nose.
"That�s O.K." he mumbled. And went hurriedly past me to his car parked on the curb just beyond us. Before he got in, he stopped to look at me, then grinned, shaking his head as he revved up and drove off.
I barely had time to reflect on this curiosity when a particular storefront caught my attention and shook it violently, the way a starving dog would a little rabbit.
Rather than stand empty like its neighbors, this shop brazenly stood open for business, an oasis of riotous color amidst the small business graveyard. The spotlessly clean display windows sparkled in the afternoon light, the multi-colored awnings rippled softly in an undetectable breeze inviting one to stand beneath them. I accepted the invitation and what I saw in the display windows absolutely defied description.
A dizzying array of paintings filled each window. Paintings of such frenetic explosions of color and motion that I could barely look at any one of them for any length of time much less claim to understand them. The use of color was completely outrageous without being careless, shocking but not vulgar. I had to finally look away to keep my head from spinning completely off. The paintings were surrounded by various art supply products such as paints, chalks, and brushes and it was then that I realized two things; This must be an art supply store and this must have been where the guy who bumped into me had just come from.
Just as I was about to look beyond the displays and into the store, I was forced to shut my eyes and stand still for the most beautiful music I had ever heard firmly took hold of me and gently held me to my spot on the concrete. A brilliantly alive soprano voice soared with such clarity and emotion, translation of the Italian lyrics was completely unnecessary. I stood blissfully on that sidewalk for an indeterminate amount of time, frozen, unable to move, unwilling to miss a note. I had no idea if the voice was coming from inside the shop, or from one of the apartments above, but so intimately were the notes surrounding me that it might as well have been coming from inside my own head. The melody bounced from my skin and into the air around me, lifting each and every single hair on my arms and legs as it dissipated into the heat.
The music stopped as abruptly as it began, my gooseflesh immediately disappeared and the mild silence of the street returned. I found myself standing there with my eyes closed, breathing heavily through my mouth, eagerly willing the voice to return. When it didn't after a while, I slowly opened my eyes and looked around for an open window somewhere, vainly searching for the source of this musical heroin. Perhaps it was actually coming from inside the shop...
The front door of the shop was set about ten feet in from the sidewalk, the shop windows continuing down either side making a little walkway up to it. I walked up to the front door, shaded my eyes and looked inside...
No lights were on inside but the afternoon sun through the windows illuminated the shop in a golden glow. Aisles of art supplies competed for attention from more riotous paintings hanging on every inch of available wall space. Incredible sculptures sat everywhere and intricate mobiles danced and swayed from the ceiling. The sheer magnitude of artistic talent and expression filling the small store left me breathless with wonder and feeling more than a little inadequate.
