Chicago and the nation are in the midst of a carjacking epidemic and every Uber or Lyft driver needs to be aware. There were 350 Chicago carjackings in the first two months of 2021, even in frigid and snowy weather. There’s every reason to expect much more now that it’s spring. Even a cursory read of the papers shows rideshare drivers are carjacked in big numbers, even three Lyft drivers in two hours in the same Wicker Park neighborhood. With an estimated 100,000 Uber and Lyft drivers in the Chicago area, the odds are against you.
Uber hasn’t done much; neither has the City. When Chicago actually catches an alleged carjacker, they may be released right away if a juvenile. Even adults are often immediately back on the street after paying “affordable bail”.
“An 18-year-old is accused of driving a freshly-hijacked Uber vehicle last week while on juvenile probation for robbery and with two carjacking cases and a gun case pending in juvenile court. A judge told him he could go home on electronic monitoring by posting a $200 deposit.”
“Man with 2 pending carjacking cases is charged with driving freshly-hijacked SUV. Price to go home? $200”, CWBChicago.com, 3/22/21, retrieved 3/24/2021.
The reality is carjacking is out of control and the prosecutors aren’t serious about it. You’re on your own and don’t kid yourself the police can stop it. Uber and Lyft can’t or won’t stop carjackers from opening rider accounts. If you drive a lot in a city like Chicago, it may happen to you. How you react may determine life or death. As the title story here suggests, you really don’t want to fight back. It’s a massive hassle and expense to be carjacked as they’ll take your car, phone, and your wallet/purse. You’ll be out your auto insurance deductible. But, carjackers show no mercy and will kill you if you resist. The car is insured, let it go. A number of Chicago drivers have died or been badly injured by carjackers in recent years.
The carjackers have impunity:
“While police were transporting the juvenile, prosecutors alleged, the teen told them that he would be out of custody in a day and come find the officers and shoot them”
“Teen charged in Addison carjacking is ordered to remain in custody after he threatened cops following his arrest in Chicago, prosecutors say”, Chicago Tribune, January 25, 2021, retrieved March 24, 2021
There seems to be no safe time to drive. Carjackings occur morning, afternoon, evenings, and in the wee hours. The poorest areas, areas along the Eisenhower Expressway on Chicago’s West Side and near the Dan Ryan E-way on the South Side, are the worst hit according to the Tribune’s carjacking heat map. But, downtown and affluent North Side areas aren’t that much better. Carjackings occur at gas stations and car washes. You’re a sitting duck when waiting five minutes for a rider outside a bar or restaurant.
My precautions include maximizing driving in the suburbs and the least impacted city neighborhoods. If in the city, I prefer a pick-up at places where riders shouldn’t have guns such as the airports, hospitals, government buildings, schools, and employment centers like Amazon or FedEx facilities. Neighborhood pickups are sketchy. If residential, I want to see a rider walk out of their house or apartment. The older the rider is, the better. A common M.O. for carjackers is to use the Uber or Lyft app to lure you to a side street. They aren’t stupid so they probably won’t carjack in front of their house. They’ll drive somewhere else. Newspaper reports show it’s common for carjackers to arrive on a random street in another vehicle. When the Uber or Lyft shows up, multiple “riders” will exit that vehicle or already be standing on the street. They’ll get inside and pull guns on you. For me, if I see a car idling and my riders get out of a car or be teenagers out on the street, I’ll cancel and drive off.
I recommend aggressively canceling rides at the five-minute wait mark. Some tardy riders call or text to say they’re “on the way”. Every extra moment waiting is risky. I wouldn’t park and wait for your next ride unless it’s a secure area like an airport wait lot. Keep moving. Lone wolf carjackers seem to wander sidewalks looking for a driver sitting in the car. Be alert in any high risk neighborhood. Carjackers prey on drivers texting or otherwise playing with their phone. I aggressively look around. If someone suspicious moves toward me, I drive off. If you’re watching cat videos on Facebook, you won’t look up until there’s a gun pointed at you.
You also might want to avoid rider confrontations, even when they’re violating policies. I tend to let things slide. In recent weeks, Chicago Uber drivers have been carjacked for trying to enforce rules. Told riders to stop vaping? They carjacked him. Told them not to eat in his car? Carjacked.
A perfect summer evening found birds tweeting, people walking, and my Uber pick-up in a working-class North Side area near Humboldt Park. Small talk from my mid-twenties rider revealed an odd accent with a strong Southern flavor. He said, “I was born in Chicago, but lived in Missouri for a long time. Down near Branson. They’re all racists there, but I love ’em, anyway. I own land down there. Just got back to Chicago. I’m visiting a friend I haven’t seen in forever.”
I drove south down Kedzie Avenue from North Side tranquility into the tough West Side. Our destination was Little Village, the Mexican-American enclave on the Southwest Side.
He said, “Tell me your best Uber story.” A common request.
The rider laughed at the right points. He asked, “Are there Latin Kings in Chicago?”
“Yes. They’re headquartered in Chicago. In fact, we may see them on this ride.”
He thought I was joking, but I wasn’t. We were headed to the 2400 South block of Drake Avenue. That street name might remind some of Canadian hip-hop, but Chicago Uber drivers quickly learn Drake and Trumbull in eastern Little Village often mean visible gang presence.
I said, “The Kings are Chicago’s largest street gang. They’re the biggest gang in the country.”
“No! That’s MS-13.”
I imagined that was the Missouri influence. FOX News always talks about MS-13. “Google it.”
Moments later, he said, “You’re right! This article says The Kings are America’s biggest street gang.”
He thought Chicago street gangs were funny. “You sound like you know a lot about street gangs.” He asked a series of questions. “Are you in a gang?” “What’s your favorite gang?” “If you could join a gang, which would you pick?” I have nothing to do with any gang, yet can’t help but be aware of them because they’re around on some Uber trips.
Exiting a railroad viaduct, we were among the narrow brick facades of the countless 2-flats and Victorian worker cottages in Little Village. We turned left onto 24th Street. My Missouri-accented rider still joked about Chicago gangs as if they danced and sang show tunes like in West Side Story.
Bustling Little Village doesn’t appear menacing, especially in daylight. There are no vacant lots; homes are mostly maintained. Yet, the six decade war between the Latin Kings and Gangster Two Six defines the area at night. Blocks away, a seven-year old girl was shot in the crossfire while trick-or-treating the last Halloween. More than 100 would be shot in the neighborhood in 2020. As he blathered, I noticed something ominous: the street lights were out. Chicago street gangs increasingly cut wires to take down blocks of lighting. As soon as the City restores the wiring, the local street gang slashes it. This allows them to conduct their trade in more privacy, but it’s terrifying for Uber drivers. I often find it pitch black in gang homelands around 45th and Wood, 21st and Leavitt, 42nd Street in Brighton Park, and 24th and Drake.
I turned onto Drake Avenue, a one-way lined with working class housing. It was not quite as dark as one might expect with the street lights out because there was moonlight plus a house every forty feet, many with glowing windows and exterior illumination.
A car blocked the street at the first speed bump. These narrow side streets have a parking lane on each side, typically full of parked vehicles, often with the side mirrors folded in to avoid sideswipes. The through lane is just wide enough that a vehicle can stop and let another squeeze pass with inches to spare, if the parked driver is considerate and stopped a nose away from the parked car lane. The sedan ahead of us was dead center in the street. Passing was impossible.
Its trunk was open. About ten young men were around the car, attired in baggy shorts and T-shirts. They were moving something out of that trunk. My rider stopped talking and stared bug-eyed ahead. I stopped the car. His drop-off was conveniently immediately before the guys. I threw on the flashers. A heavy guy in baggy shorts and a red Bulls jersey crossed in front of us after placing a nonchalant look. They paid us no mind.
My rider twitched with nervousness. “Whoa! Are they a gang?”
“They’re probably the Latin Kings”.
“Bro, you can’t just drop me off here! They look like they’re ready to kill me!”
I didn’t think so. They gave us no more than passing glances. In fact, if they had perceived us a risk, they’d have either “checked” us if we were lucky or shot us and we’d already be dead. Instead, we had front row seats to watch a bunch of Latin Kings moving who-knows-what from a car trunk to a house.
“Bro, you can’t go! You can’t leave me here!”
Chitown’s gangs weren’t so funny anymore.
I said, “This is your stop. You have to get out.” The Kings kept glancing at us. I knew the gang wouldn’t bother me as long as we looked like an Uber driver and a rider with proper business on their street. I had a few prior pickups on that block where young men I assumed were gang members filed in for short trips around eastern Little Village. They were always polite and no problem. I once brought an UberEATS order to that block: the safest place in Little Village might be delivering McDonalds to two gang members. No one shoots the Big Mac guy.
Nevertheless, looking the part of a normal Uber ride meant being a normal Uber ride. My rider had to leave. He couldn’t sit and whimper. The Kings wouldn’t mistake Mr. Missouri and me as rival Two Sixers, but eventually they might come “check” us, perhaps thinking we were undercover cops. “Checking” is a stressful interrogation by a gangbanger and may involve them removing your shirt to look for rival gang tattoos. Failing the test means death.
My rider stayed glued to his seat. He phoned his friend, “Bro, are you outside? You gotta come get me! There are all these guys in the street! They look like they’ll kill me!”
The Latin Kings weren’t so funny anymore.
Fortunately, his friend must have been at the gate by the sidewalk because he was at the car in seconds. My rider got out. The Kings barely glanced at them. They would know his friend from the neighborhood. If they had a problem with the friend, he’d already be dead. A King slammed the trunk shut and the car moved in front of me. I pulled away to grab my next ride.
I slept listlessly. I was energized by adrenaline after Dantean Uber driving through vandalism, looting, and violence in downtown Chicago in the wee hours of the George Floyd riots on Sunday, May 31, 2020.
When I awoke, the press reports described shocking damage. The National Guard was on its way. The Police Scanner bubbled like a hellish ticker tape. Chicago’s 911 would receive 65,000 calls that day; a rider and I had already placed one on a group of looters around 4AM.
In the late afternoon, I was back on the road, mostly in the suburbs. I picked up a middle-aged African-American man who was headed to the South Loop, the professional multi-racial neighborhood south of downtown.
The Eisenhower Expressway enters Chicago from suburban Oak Park on an incline between Austin Boulevard and Central Avenue. The higher the car went, a massive plume of smoke, reminiscent of storm clouds, came into view ahead and to the South. My heart sank as I thought of the 1968 riots after MLK was murdered. The smoke seemed to originate around Roosevelt Road, a West Side retail area, but one still full of vacant lots after the 1968 riots.
My rider noticed the smoke cloud, too. “Oh shit!” he said. We both stared. He said, “Damn them, damn them. Did we not learn after 1968?”
While the rage was understandable when Martin Luther King, Jr. was understandable, it played out in a destructive way. Hundreds of buildings were burned. Fifty-two years later, the West Side neighborhoods of Garfield Park and North Lawndale are still mostly not rebuilt along the one-time commercial corridors of Madison Street and Roosevelt Road. Hundreds of empty lots full of trash and weeds remain. Disinvestment followed the riots. Virtually none of the stores burned in 1968 ever rebuilt. The West Side lost its retail jobs. For decades, Chicago Blacks complained of needing to travel downtown or to suburbs like Oak Brook for shopping. The riots were a factor not only in “White Flight” from neighboring areas, but one of many causes of the gradual loss of manufacturing jobs from the area into the 1970s and 1980s. The Black middle class left the area, as best as it could during that time of discriminatory Realtors. You cannot draw a straight line from the 1968 riots to, say, the then-world’s largest retailer Sears moving its headquarters from the West Side to its new Sears Tower downtown, but 1968’s devastation was a factor.
I was mostly quiet as my rider spoke of how the West Side never recovered from 1968. I felt terrible. I try to understand rage, yet destroying the stores in one’s own neighborhood makes the overall situation worse. I believe the smoke we saw was from looting and arson at a strip mall on Roosevelt, one of the few newer retail developments anywhere on the West Side, which the Chicago Fire Department successfully put out. I dropped my rider off at his downtown condo.
I went back to the suburbs because the Police Scanner suggested City neighborhoods were alight with violent looting. I couldn’t yet know but many thousands of stores were looted that day. The Police were completely overwhelmed as the City’s criminals in an organized fashion attacked the City’s businesses with trucks and equipment. The leaked audio of the hourlong conference call between Mayor Lightfoot and the city’s 50 aldermen that occurred mid-day Sunday is extraordinary. Aldermen cried. Black aldermen spoke of years of their hard work to bring economic development eviscerated in minutes. “Everything’s gone.”
Alderman Ray Lopez described a “war zone” of 400 looters blocking four lanes of Ashland Ashland and Latino street gangs restoring order with “AK-47s” at Ashland and 47th, “threatening to shoot any Black person.” Another Hispanic aldermen said Latino street gangs in Little Village attacked random Blacks, even local residents. Mayor Lightfoot said looters were so numerous and emboldened it took three hours for police in full riot gear to stop a mass looting at Pulaski and Madison, where two rounds of pepper stray didn’t deter the crowd that continued to fight the police. Ald. Emma Mitts said her ward was “the Wild, Wild West”. The Mayor got in a swearing match with an alderman. Aldermen demanded the National Guard come to their neighborhoods. With all pharmacies looted, aldermen wondered where residents would obtain medicine. Looters stole in broad daylight, even in front of police, because there were no consequences.
An alderman asked Mayor Lightfoot if the police were ordered not to shoot as he had seen an officer “running for his life”, chased by twenty rioters but only swinging his club and another officer beaten and dragged by looters. The police fired “no shots”, Lightfoot said.
In coming days, riders recounted to me what happened on that terrible Sunday. One pair of ladies who worked at a Dunkin’ Donuts said the manager closed the store Sunday afternoon as word of violence came in and they had just left, but a few coworkers were still there when a carload of people stopped in front. The looters smashed the glass in the front door. The employees ran out the back as the looters rushed in through the shattered glass.
“What did they take?” I asked.
“Not much. Water bottles and some soda cans.”
“No donuts?”
“No.”
Small wonder Chicago’s looters started with high-value targets: marijuana dispensaries, liquor stores, pharmacies, luxury goods, bank branches and free-standing ATMs, GameStop, cell phone shops, designer shoe stores, gas stations (for cash and lottery ticket machines). The longer a neighborhood was looted, the further down the chain looters went. Although some politicians would later claim looters wanted “bread for their families”, grocery stores were among the last. In the hardest hit areas, I would see insurance agent offices, restaurants, and coffee shops were eventually looted as they at least had desktop computers, a cash register, and water bottles to steal. One Black-owned downtown business was quoted in the paper as saying looters were so thorough they took everything down to her closet mop. Other Black-owned businesses were emptied of everything. It was like the Grinch in Whoville.
Mayor Lightfoot put the city on Curfew. She shut the CTA trains and busses, which increased the demand for rides on my Uber app. Pricing surged as drivers presumably shied away. Essential workers still needed to get to and from work. My gut kept me from driving the City; I could sense the tension and fear in the air. Rider conversations were limited and heavy; no one was in the mood for small talk. Ominously, suburbs like Forest Park blocked entrance to shopping areas with police cars and construction equipment.
After dusk, I took a rider into Oak Park, a suburb bordering Chicago’s West Side. The hazy air smelled woody and foul: fire. I couldn’t believe my eyes along North Avenue, the northern border with Chicago, which was lined with flashing lights. Police cars belonging to the famously liberal “People’s Republic of Oak Park” blocked all entrance to their town from Chicago. I could drive out, but not return without passing a police checkpoint.
A ride request beeped for the Belmont-Cragin neighborhood, just north of the West Side Austin area, but typically infinitely safer. As I headed east on North Avenue, a blaze of flashing red and white lights filled the usually busy thoroughfare. Smoke billowed from something on the left side. I would later learn that was a dollar store which had been looted and torched. Fire trucks were strewn in the street like a child’s toys. I had to turn left. On the corner I noticed Personal Liquors, with its large Patron sign, had a gaping window with jagged glass on the edges. The doorway glass looked broken in the looming dark, too. People seemed to be entering and leaving; looting continued out my window.
My Belmont-Cragin ride was UberEspanol. The boyfriend would accompany his girlfriend to her home in Cicero and return. Cicero is a safe working class suburb, but one passes through the West Side Austin area to get there. We were quiet and focused out the windows. Even in Belmont-Cragin, a corner Walgreens had its windows shattered with sketchy men entering. The store’s burglar alarm blared.
I chose to drive down Laramie Avenue, mostly residential, rather than the more commercial Cicero Avenue. I guessed there’d be more trouble among the shops on Cicero. Laramie has some stores at busy cross-intersections. We heard glass break at one; others had the tale-tell shattered windows indicating they’d been looted. The streets were eerily quiet of cars, although the phalanx of fire trucks were still visible when we crossed North Avenue as they fought multiple arsons. I was afraid; I think my riders were scared, too. My rider was gentlemanly by escorting his girlfriend through this.
I smelled smoky air most of the way. We breathed easier crossing into the town of Cicero. In Spanish, I asked my rider, “If you don’t mind, I will drive up Austin Boulevard in Oak Park to avoid that.”
He chuckled ironically and agreed. Austin Blvd. is the border between the often dangerous Austin neighborhood and educated, affluent, and racially diverse Oak Park. Few streets anywhere mark such a difference between the good life and despondency as Austin Blvd. Every side street and every major road into Oak Park was blocked by an O.P. squad car with flashers on. Chicagoans were not welcome in on this night. On the opposite side of the street, traffic was non-existent and a few businesses on this mostly residential thoroughfare appeared looted.
After returning my rider to Belmont-Cragin, I drove to the suburbs to avoid the Chicago unrest. Later, I got a Hispanic couple in suburban Elmwood Park en route to Chicago’s Humboldt Park area. The man was drunk and adversarial.
I could tell he was trolling me when he asked with menace, “What do you think of all this, the protests?” His accent was Puerto Rican.
“I support peaceful protests and police reform, but not the violence and looting.”
He turned angry. “You think that because you’re white.”
His girlfriend interjected to stop him, “Be nice!”
This continued the entire ride. He kept asking me about the looting and justifying it as best as he could in his drunken state; his girlfriend kept trying to stop him, “Be nice!” These kinds of situations are no-win for Uber drivers. Any rider can complain to Uber that the driver’s conversation made them “Feel uncomfortable” and that driver could be removed from Uber. I kept my emotions under control and let him say his piece.
“You’re the whitest guy I ever seen,” he said. “You don’t know who’s in your car. You know I could pull out a knife and stab you?”
“Be nice!”
I was glad the girlfriend was there because he was agitated about the police- he certainly wasn’t a fan- and he had too much to drink. When I dropped him off, he extended his hand for a shake. “Man, I’m just shitting you. But be safe out there. You should carry a gun.”
Then, as he stepped out of the car, he shook his hands and shouted, “White power! White power! White power!” as he walked away. He thought he was hysterical.
I retired for the night, fearing the chaos would continue on Monday.
Madison Street, smoky from arsons and blocked by fire trucks, Sunday May 31, 2020I saw Chicago Police blocking usually busy Cermak at Western Avenue, May 31, to stem the looting. More than 100 Chicago Police cars were destroyed in the initial Floyd Protest riots causing police to use damaged vehicles and even commandeer CTA buses. The red X’s here denote a damaged vehicle.
About 11pm on a quiet weeknight outside a Chicago wings restaurant, my Uber rider opened the front passenger door. I smelled liquor and perfume as she plopped down in my Honda HR-V. The young woman had an expensive coat, probably fur. Riders are supposed to sit in back, but drunks and gangbangers sometimes prefer the shotgun seat.
I began the ride and exchanged pleasantries, although she seemed agitated. It was a cool, but not unpleasantly cold, late winter evening.
She said, in that a-bit-too-loud way the inebriated do, “Can we talk about my boyfriend?” I sensed she may have dined with him in the restaurant, had a fight, and called her own Uber home.
“Sure, we have 10 minutes.”
“Good. Wait, what’s your birthday?”
A day in early June.
“No way!” she said. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“No way! That’s amazing! I can’t believe it! May 26. I’m a Gemini, too!”
“That’s cool.” I eased down Halsted Street in the densely populated, historic Bridgeport neighborhood.
She continued, “Because we’re both Geminis, we’re the Twins! We’re the same! So you can give me the advice I can’t give myself because I’m in the moment.”
“Sure,” I said, unclear why horoscope was so important as a prelude to dating tips, but why not? “Tell me about him.”
“Okay. First, I should tell you I’m a stripper and he’s one of my customers.”
Wow, I thought. She had looks, making it plausible.
She said, “I’m twenty and he’s older. But, he’s in an open marriage.”
Whoa, I thought. How to give her advice? I imagined a middle-aged family man at a strip club, trying to woo her with gifts and excessive tips, and when she noticed the ring on his finger, promising her his wife back home was fine with it. I also imagined it was 100% BS… perhaps the wife thought he was at a business dinner.
I didn’t want to offend her and I knew nothing of her situation. In a case like this, I think the fact she’d ask a stranger for advice- even a Gemini stranger- means deep down she knew the answer. She needed to talk through leaving him.
I gently suggested she could confirm her boyfriend’s marriage was actually open. I didn’t say it, but imagined her calling the man’s wife, ‘Hi, Mildred! This is Yesenia, the stripper banging your husband. I heard so much about you. Would you like to meet for brunch on Sunday?’ I was skeptical about that.
I said, “You’re twenty, right?”
“Yes.” We entered the McKinley Park neighborhood of century old factories, a legacy of Chicago’s industrial heyday.
“You’re having fights with this guy. You have your whole life ahead of you. Men pay money to see you dance, right?”
“Yes.” I could see she was deep in thought as she listened.
“Well, if I was twenty and lots of eligible, single men were willing to pay money to see me, why wouldn’t I want to date the best? Why not try dating unmarried men because a married man- even in an open marriage- he won’t have the time for you that a single man your age will. Maybe you will want to someday get married and a single man is best for that.”
“You’re so right!” You would have thought I was Aristotle teaching. “You’re exactly right! I should break up with him!”
I stopped in front of her building, ritzy for the area. Excellent digs for a twenty-year old. Exotic dancing pays well, though I wondered if the “open marriage” boyfriend helped with the rent.
“Thank you so much! I’m so glad you’re a Gemini, too. Your advice is so good!” She was perky even when angry at her boyfriend. She extended her hand for a fist bump. To avoid seeming creepy, I don’t look directly at lone female riders, especially at night. I turned and fist bumped her back. This was my first good look; she was beautiful. She could have any guy she wanted. She should dump Mr. Open Marriage.
She grinned with happiness. “Just think about that! What were the chances we’d both be Gemini?”
I was tempted to say ‘about one in twelve’, but she was sweet and I wouldn’t offend her. We all have strengths. I’m more on the math side, she’s better at pole dancing.
With that, she assured me I was a five star driver and disappeared.
Is there a pattern? Each incident involves a young man getting into his Uber at night, sitting down, and someone on the outside approaching and firing point blank. Luckily, they don’t shoot the driver. Is there much an Uber driver can do about this? No, other than avoiding driving much of the city at night. I can only imagine what the terror of a driver having his car shot up and rider murdered in a pool of blood and shattered glass in the back seat.
Driving Uber has been even more dangerous in 2020. Two Chicago Uber drivers were shot earlier in the summer. This morning at 12:45AM in the North Side’s Uptown area, a nightmare blew up Uber driver Jazib Aqeel’s last planned drive of the night.
At the exact moment that Uber driver’s car was pounded with bullets, I had a McDonalds bag in my car as I drove the Stevenson Expressway in from suburban Cicero to downtown Chicago. That delivery was my final ride of the night and my first significant entrance to the city. Chicago is now too dangerous for Uber driving at night. I was in the western suburbs as I had been Saturday night. Aurora, Naperville, Streamwood- all are much safer.
Brighton Park and Uptown each have between five and ten homicides year-to-date, far less than many areas. This summer’s three shootings of Uber drivers and this morning’s horrible murder of the rider have several commonalities. All took place after midnight. Trouble can happen at any time, but it’s worst in the wee hours, especially on the weekends. None of the four shootings were in Chicago’s most notorious neighborhoods like Englewood or Garfield Park. They were in Heart of Chicago (West Pilsen), Little Village, Brighton Park, and Uptown. Many city neighborhoods have street gangs. They’re armed and it doesn’t take much to get shot in crossfire or a case of mistaken identity.
Before dusk, my rider sauntered in August heat under the canopy of suburban Lombard trees. He stepped in, said hello in a burly Polish accent, and I started the Uber ride with a swipe on my phone. Surprise! Destination: Englewood, Chicago’s most famously dangerous neighborhood. To most, Englewood is synonymous with violence. It housed America’s first serial killer, H.H. Holmes and his 1893 “Murder Castle” of “Devil In The White City” fame on 63rd Street, and now hosts dozens of annual homicides. The South Side enclave is a long drive physically and metaphorically from Chicago’s western suburbs.
My rider chuckled. “Sorry about the shit neighborhood.”
I know Englewood isn’t quite the popular caricature of crime. It’s a complex place, birthing actress Jennifer Hudson and athlete Derrick Rose as well as gangsta rappers like Chief Keef and Lil Reese. There are churches and neighborhood watch “block clubs”. Residents plant community gardens in vacant lots and thousands of hard-working people get along with life. I’ve had many pleasant rides with Englewood residents. Yet, it has the landmarks of poverty and despair: the big red “X”s the City places on abandoned buildings slated for demolition, weed-filled lots, men congregating around street corners, and few retailers.
My rider said, “Can we stop at a liquor store first? I’ll tip you.”
“Sure,” I said. Liquor store stops are common night-time requests.
“What’s the biggest tip you’ve ever got?” He crouched forward from the back seat.
Before I could answer, I felt a crisp bill brush against my right hand. A cursory glance suggested it was a twenty, a generous tip. I looked more closely and saw Ben Franklin’s engraving. Not $20… a C-note. I said, “I guess this is my biggest ever tip.” Tips up to twenty bucks are fairly common, but larger than Andrew Jackson is rare. My previous largest tip was about $30. I felt three emotions: elation over a great tip, surprise, and a hint of trepidation. Uber riders just don’t give $100 tips. Hundred dollar bills are commonly used in crime and Englewood is known for drug sales.
He said, “I know a good liquor store. I’ll show you when we get close. You deserve the tip. You saved me from a DUI.” There was a whiff of alcohol about him so that made sense.
He was in the mood to talk. On the long ride on the Eisenhower Expressway, he told me he grew up poor in the Polish mountains. His grandmother made their clothes and mom cooked all their food. After immigrating, he worked as a construction apprentice. While coworkers drank in bars or went to sleep early, he’d stay up late studying the blueprints for the next day’s project. He was a foreman at age twenty; later he started his own firm. The $100 tip hinted it was successful. He had a side business of buying houses out of foreclosure to fix and sell for a profit, which was the reason we were en route to Englewood. I felt better about the source of the tip.
We exited the Dan Ryan at 63rd Street. Englewood is due west of the expressway. “There’s a good liquor store by Ashland.”
Blue lights flashed in the distance. It’s not uncommon in the city’s tougher neighborhoods to detour around crime scenes. As we came upon Ashland, traffic veered left at Laflin to avoid the police barricade. After passing, it looked more like a serious car accident at Ashland than a homicide investigation. So far, so good.
I felt deflated outside the liquor store. The parking lot was empty. It looked like it had been looted in the George Floyd riots. Probably every liquor store in or anywhere near Englewood was looted; the question was if the owners had reopened? This sad store was done.
“Shit,” he said. “Sorry, but we need to find another store. There should be one on 79th.”
“Let me Google liquor stores in Englewood.” Although the neighborhood has few retailers, liquor stores are quite common. Many popped up, but I had a sinking feeling at least some others hadn’t reopened after looting. We headed south. I recalled Racine Liquors, a permanently closed Englewood store I had recently noticed and photographed (below). It had been looted and torched. The local Wal-Mart, which would sell alcohol, was closed for months of repairs after the May/June destruction. Most every commercial business besides fast food was looted and only some reopened. Our options were limited.
On Ashland, we saw a Food 4 Less grocery store. “Stop here,” said my rider. He disappeared past the remarkable number of three security guards at the door. When he came back, his hands were empty. “Damn Lori Lightfoot,” he said, “They’re closed.” It had just passed 9:00 PM and Mayor Lightfoot dictated no liquor sales after that time to fight Coronavirus. “Can we go to a suburb?” He slipped me another hundred dollar bill.
Before long, I was on more prosperous 95th Street. Suburban police were better able to stop the Floyd riot looting from spreading so businesses in this corridor were generally not boarded up.
At Pulaski and 95th, I found a Jewel Osco grocery store. My rider rushed in and came back happy. He carried a pack of Busch beer. “Do you mind if I smoke in here?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s alright. If you can wait, I’ll smoke outside.” He reached into his wallet. I just knew it. Another $100 bill was pressed into my hand.
“Thank you so much,” I said.
“Thanks for finding this. I’m going to my houses and celebrating with my crew. Then, I’m going straight to sleep.”
The last leg of the journey took us northeast on the diagonal Columbus Avenue through Chicago’s quiet Ashburn neighborhood. Crossing into Englewood feels abrupt near Western and Marquette (67th) Boulevard. The vacant lots reappear in an air of neglect.
He explained his Englewood business. “I bought two next door houses out of foreclosure.” He gave a shocking price per unit. They were nearly free. “I’m restoring them and should be able to sell them for at least Eighty each.” Housing in Englewood is incredibly cheap for a big city like Chicago. Houses can be had for $40,000 and even nicer ones rarely fetch more than $100,000.
I dodged potholes on the street, which had more vacant lots than properties with homes. He called his workman to be ready to open the door. His homes looked gorgeous, cleaned up, tuckpointed, with new windows and new roofs. It seemed a sure shot he’d make money and the improved housing stock made two positive steps for troubled Englewood.
He stepped out, then came to the window. He extended his hand for a shake. “You’re the best Uber driver ever. I bet you’ll remember this Uber ride forever. I bet you’ll never get such a large tip.” He passed me a fourth hundred dollar bill.
“Thank you so much. That’s an amazing tip.” Moments later, he was inside with his beer and crew. I headed home with an incredible haul for a few hours of driving on a Tuesday night.
[13,662 cumulative rides, 4.99 rating] Chicago’s 21st Street around Leavitt is deceptively tranquil in the day: no vacant lots, well kept yards and homes, women pushing strollers, and nailing and cutting sounds from carpenters at the rehabs and new construction typical of gentrifying areas. People talk in Spanish and English. The Pink Line tracks and rumble of CTA El trains behind the buildings on 21st’s north side provide a false sense of officialdom… these are gang controlled streets. The Chicago Gang Map charts it as the “Hell Zone” of the Satan’s Disciples.
New teardown residential building next to a classic Pilsen residence in the 2100 West block of 21st Street, Chicago
Hot weekend nights are especially problematic. A nurse rider said summer is called “trauma season” at nearby Mt. Sinai Hospital. I’ve had rides on 21st. Probable gang members gather in small groups on sidewalks and around front gates in front of houses. They stare intently at you, then, look away. They give me no trouble. Street gangs have no particular interest in Uber or Lyft drivers. Yet, two Chicago rideshare drivers were shot in a month.
On June 26, 2020, a fifty-year old driver was on 21st Street at 1:30AM. Shots blasted the night. According to the Chicago Police Scanner Citywide Channel Two, detectives found 14 shell casings.
Who shot the Uber driver? Fourteen casings didn’t come from a six bullet revolver. A group of men who shoot at you at 2200 W. 21st Street probably are gang members with high-powered rifles. We cannot say if it was Satan’s Disciples or a rival encroaching on their turf. In a way it doesn’t matter because the point is driving Uber can be dangerous, even in neighborhoods that “look” safe.
Police think the shooter aimed at the Uber rider, but missed. A local news report’s video shows the Uber was a van. That might be a factor. Street gangs have no particular interest in Uber drivers. You might be driving their mom home or bringing his girlfriend to him. The risks are primarily in getting hit in crossfire or if they identify you as a potential rival. I think a sedan with lots of glass is less risky because any gangster can see who’s inside. This driver had a big van with tinted windows in back. I hear tinted windows are an invitation to get shot at by a gang. They cannot see inside and may assume you’re carting their rivals to attack them. They may shoot your tinted-window vehicle in self-defense.
Fast forward to July 25 not three miles away on the 3900 West block of 30th Street. Chicago’s Little Village neighborhood is infamous for decades of war between the Latin Kings and Gangster Two Six. The Latin Kings are America’s largest street gang. The Kings have outposts nationwide, but Little Village is their headquarters. The Gangster Two Six, known for their Playboy bunny logo, are no pushovers as they’ve held their own here against the Kings for 50 years.
Two Chicago brothers testified against “El Chapo” Guzman and his Sinaloa Cartel. The indicted Flores brothers ran El Chapo’s drugs through a Little Village warehouse. Some news media linked Sinaloa’s drugs to the Latin Kings via the Flores. Others wrote El Chapo wouldn’t deal with a large street gang whose many members might talk. I do not know and will not speculate.
Little Village doesn’t look dangerous with its well-tended homes, bustling immigrant businesses on 26th Street, and street vendors selling Mexican soccer jerseys, ice cream, and tacos scented with onions and cilantro. Uber drivers should know there’s intense gang activity, especially at night and on certain side streets. Billions of dollars of El Chapo’s heroin flowed through. Little Village had 20 homicides and 66 total shot in the sevens months ended July 2020.
Who shot the rideshare driver? If multiple males yelled at him and then shot him, think gang members. The shouting may have been gang slogans. Being inside Two Six territory, it could have been them or it could have been a rival gang like Latin Kings on their turf. As with the 21st Street shooting above, what matters is someone shot you.
If I had a lawyer, she’d tell me flag the rest as “you get what you pay for advice.” There’s no out-of-the-box solution to deal with gangs. I am no expert on gangs nor do I pretend to have great street smarts. The most obvious solution is to avoid driving at night, although shootings sometimes occur during the day. It’s also not simple to “avoid”an area because shootings occur in a shatterplot with certain neighborhoods being most dangerous (in Chicago, those include Englewood, Garfield Park, North Lawndale, Auburn Gresham, South Shore, Little Village, and Grand Crossing). But, with more than 75 active gangs, many areas of the city have at least some gang presence. Even “safer” areas can get you killed with bad luck. It’s also true that dangerous neighborhoods have better streets, sometimes marked with “block clubs” who watch the streets and call police on lawbreaking, and bad blocks, often with open air drug markets, abandoned buildings, and large numbers of men loitering.
The word on the street is gangs, especially big hierarchical Latino gangs like the Kings, SDs, and Two Six, don’t want to shoot you. If you don’t mess with them, they generally won’t mess with you. But, they won’t hesitate to shoot if they suspect you are in a rival gang or transporting a rival gang member. They make snap decisions: shoot first or be shot. The younger you are, the more at risk you are. If you’re Hispanic in a Latino gang area, you’re at higher risk of being misidentified as a rival. Ditto if you’re Black in an area controlled by Black gangs. I’ve talked to Hispanic and Black Uber drivers who prefer not to drive in their own neighborhoods for this reason.
A panel van and/or a vehicle with tinted windows may attract trouble like pollen for a swarm of bees. Keeping your windows up is considered smart because you would lower that window down before your drive-by. You might think windows down in back is okay if you’re alone, but an emerging gang tactic seems to be to a girlfriend drives with windows down in back. Her gangbanger boyfriend lies down in the back with his rifle. She stops in front of rivals; her boyfriend jumps up and shoots the rivals out the open window. Check that your headlights are on. Another drive-by gang tactic is to approach with lights off.
I think looking like an Uber driver is smart. Make sure your decals and, especially, your Uber or Lyft beacon are on. I always put my flashers on when I slow for a stop and the whole time I wait for a rider. I don’t drive erratically. Driving abnormally slow or racing down side streets may attract attention. The Uber app often recommends short cuts down side streets and alleys. Ubers are expected on streets, not alleys. Creeping down an alley in an unfamiliar area in the dark? No, thanks. Early this morning, I was dropping a woman off on the edge of Little Village. The app suggested using an alley rather than Lawndale Avenue. The rider said,”Don’t use the alley. I wouldn’t even use my own alley.” The sun was out, too. I avoid alleys to avoid the broken glass often found there. Loud music attracts unwanted attention from gangsters.
Fellow Uber drivers, in perspective, you’re probably more likely to be in a car accident than shot by a gang. Still, be careful out there.
A warm “Shelter-in-place” May 2020 Saturday night bled into Sunday morning. At 2:49AM, an Uber ride request came from a block away. Soon, I waited outside an apartment building in the 2200 South block of Chicago’s Hoyne Street. It’s a densely populated Near Southwest Side neighborhood full of community spirit, murals, and great Mexican food, now gentrifying, but with strong gang presence, especially certain streets at night. I had the windows partly down.
My riders took their time. I believe it was four minutes. A young couple climbed in. As they entered, the male said something to a young man in a white shirt and shorts walking south on our right. The white shirt guy said something back, not friendly but not unfriendly. My rider chuckled in irony. Although the City was under a Coronavirus “Shelter-in-place” quarantine, ever larger numbers of people were out as spring blossomed.
I moved forward and my riders spoke in a whisper. The man explained to his girlfriend how he knew the guy in the white shirt. I wasn’t paying attention as we rolled past 23rd Street to turn right onto Blue Island Avenue. I didn’t hear how he knew the white shirt guy, but my ears perked when I overheard, “He’s with the SDs”.
The SDs are the local gang, the Satan’s Disciplines. I’ve heard they’re “responsible”, even “corporate”, more focused on selling drugs than shooting than some other gangs. I’ve seen them in numbers on 21st Street near Leavitt and Oakley, their stronghold. Still, like other large Chicago gangs, they engage in gang wars, most recently with the Ambrose to the east and Latin Kings to the west. In the past year, the number of area shootings rose.
I dropped the couple off minutes later. My next ride request was at Cermak and Damen, a block from where that ride began. Heading east on Cermak, I saw commotion from Hoyne Street, where I had just been. Flashing red and blue lights danced off the buildings and trees. Down Hoyne, at about 23rd Street, there was an ambulance and a lot of police cars, cordoned off by yellow police tape.
“I was just there”, I thought. I didn’t know what the police were for, but crime scene tape and an ambulance? Probably a shooting.
In the morning, I checked for news. A “32-year-old was found on the street at 2:59 a.m. with gunshot wounds to his arm, abdomen and leg in the 2100 block of West 23rd Street, according to police. He was taken to Mount Sinai Hospital in critical condition.”
2100 West was Hoyne Street. Hoyne and 23rd. We had driven southbound through that intersection shortly before it happened. I wondered if the white shirt guy, supposedly a gang member, was involved. He had walked south toward 23rd.
Two weeks later, I picked up two ladies carrying a 24-pack of beer near 23rd and Hoyne. They were in the mood to banter. After some small talk, I said, “Wasn’t there a shooting near you a few weeks ago?”
They both laughed. The taller one said, “Oh, you know about that!”
I explained my ride before the police activity. I asked, “Did the white shirt guy have something to do with it?”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s the one who got shot.” My jaw must have dropped.
She said, “I had trouble sleeping that night and was in my room reading. I heard the gunfire on the street.” She went out and saw the white shirt guy in a pool of blood. “He was in critical condition for a week, but he’s out. He’s got a lot of scarring.” She said the word on the street was he was shot in a rival gang’s drive-by.
I computed mental math. We passed the white shirt guy walking south about a third of the distance between Cermak (2200 South) and 23rd. It took me a minute, perhaps, to get to Blue Island to turn right.
How long does it take a fit young man to walk the 2/3 of a block to 23rd Street? Chicago blocks there are 360 feet. Ninety seconds to two minutes? We must have been off Hoyne only 30 to 60 seconds before he hit 23rd Street, where he was shot with three bullets from a car racing down 23rd. That was close.
It’s an example how Uber driving can be dangerous. If my riders took an extra minute, we may have witnessed the shooting. It’s easy to imagine my rider yelling something at the white shirt guy while we passed at side street speed. I wouldn’t have wanted to be close when the rival gang recognized him at 23rd and Hoyne and opened fire.
4th of July in Chicago, 2020. Driving the Fourth is potentially dangerous, but lucrative. I would set a new personal one-day earnings record on the hot day. But, it wouldn’t be easy. Uber driving on Independence Day weekend is chaotic with pauses for fireworks in the street or ambulances and police cars racing by. The wrong types of red, white, and blue lights. Nearly 100 Chicagoans were shot on the weekend, at least 14 of whom would die, including a seven-year old girl.
What’s it like? In a normal year, a million people converge on Chicago’s front lawn, Grant Park, to watch the fireworks over Lake Michigan. It’s amazing to behold. It generates many Uber rides, too. Most suburbs hold similar, smaller-scale displays. This year, municipal celebrations were canceled due to the Coronavirus. Firework sales more than doubled as people prepared to host their own extravaganzas.
The night before was ominous as a few miles of West Side driving yielded four different police blockades for crime scenes and other trouble.
The year 2020 has seen terrible violence and I have posted about recent brushes with gunfire and armed riders. Riders tell me ID4 is extra dangerous because gangs and others call it “Revenge Night”. One can shoot rivals and possibly not be easily identified because omnipresent fireworks make it hard to distinguish because firecrackers and AK47s.
I drove Uber the evening of the 4th in the city. It’s so busy Uber drivers are stacked up with the app feeding the next ride or delivery before the current one ended. That makes positioning oneself in the city more difficult because the app will send you your next ride before you even finish.
I stopped to deliver McDonald’s on a side street in a South Side middle class neighborhood. I heard one, then two, police car engines roaring as they flew past me, lights flashing.
I noticed the unusual number of times I had to pull to the side of the road for ambulances and fire engines. Firework accidents?
I mostly drove deliveries. The noise of (illegal) neighborhood fireworks was defeaning. In dense Chicago neighborhoods, there’s no space for fireworks in tiny backyards. The innumerable parties tend to use the open space on the residential streets. I stopped several times, just as in prior 4th of Julys, for Roman Candles and whatnot to finish firing before driving over the cardboard leftovers on many urban streets. I post a typical side street pic with a mushroom cloud of firework smoke:
I earned a gross $611.33, my highest one-day total ever. A busy holiday. Also, were other Uber drivers scared of getting Covid-19 from riders or preferring unemployment compensation with the extra $600 benefit? Supply and demand was very much in my favor.
On the same Independence Day night in 2019, I had two Uber experiences that impacted me and exposed inner city danger
My ID 2019 rides moved me around, trending deeper into the Southside. I picked up two young guys headed to Englewood. My 80s music played. It rarely offends. As we drove 63rd Street- as hood as Chicago gets- Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” came on. My riders didn’t know the song, but soon took off their earbuds and laughed. They sang along, “Hit me with your best shot, fire away!” In Englewood, the lyrics were ridiculously suicidal, nothing like the self-confidence the song intends. People are shot with bullets everyday in Englewood.
My next Uber ride underlined how different life is growing up on Chicago’s South Side. I picked up a Mexican-American woman who spoke no English and her daughter who spoke flawless English. The girl was eight or nine. She spoke politely, addressing me as “Mister” and sounding like an intelligent adult. Most kids don’t talk to Uber drivers, but she was confident and poised as she spoke of her school and life.
We headed to their home in Back-of-the-Yards near Paulina and 48th, a dangerous, gang-controlled area. We paused as men shot fireworks in the street before us.
While we waited, the girl said, “Mister, there’s a lot of what sounds like fireworks where we live. But, it’s not usually fireworks, it’s just the gunfire.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if saying the Sun rises in the east.
Tears snuck into my eyes and I was so overwhelmed, I couldn’t even carry on the conversation without composing myself. This cute, eloquent little girl was reminded of the ordinarily gunfire by holiday fireworks. In most places, people say hearing gunfire reminds them of fireworks.
If this was an affluent suburb like Highland Park or Hinsdale, an intelligent youngster like her might be on track for Harvard and a comfortable life. In Back-of-the-Yards, she faces inferior schools, the possibility of dying like other Chicago kids from someone’s stray bullet, or being pulled off track by friends with low dreams or future teenage boyfriends with gang affiliation.
I hope her future is the confident woman against the world of the old Pat Benatar song and not ending in one of the ambulances that sped around on the 4th of July. May the aspirations of the little girl from Back-of-the-Yards be happy like firework celebrations and not someday wilted and wasted like the firework debris in the following photo of a collection of leftovers the morning of July 5, 2020.
Milwaukee Avenue 