Jeremy’s place in Chicago was a 4 bedroom, 2 story house in Wrigleyville, a neighborhood that as you might guess is right near Wrigley Field. The neighborhood was going through a gentrification process, about half the houses had been remodeled and were single family homes for the well to do. The other half were old and tattered, a fact that made the place affordable for the characters that were Jeremy’s room-mates. They were all very cool dudes, one was a suit, another was a waiter and the third was a guitar player who played in a Grateful Dead cover band.
Back before all my troubles began i was what some would call a “Dead Head”. From ’92 to the last show ever in Chicago, I had been to thirty shows and enjoyed what I considered the thirty best times in my life. So finding out that I was now staying in a place near Wrigley Field and with the lead guitar player in a Grateful Dead cover band felt like a confirmation from the universe that I had made the right decision.
Jeremy explained my situation to his room-mates and none of them had a problem with me staying there, in fact, they were all quite supportive. Mark (the guitar player ) told us that he had a show that night and if we wanted to go then he would put us on the guest list. I was starting to think I might be in a dream, this was all too good to be true, and to top it all off, he pulled out a big bag of weed and said “help yourself”. After everyone was sufficiently stoned, we headed out to see Mark’s band. The gig was in a bar that held maybe 100 people, after getting us in the door and a round of beers for all, Mark went off to start warming up with the band. We found a good spot and waited while we watched the people streaming through the door, a very diverse looking bunch from college folks to hippies to yuppies but before long the place was packed and it was showtime. The band was incredible, Mark played Jerry better than anyone I had ever heard try, the crowd loved it. I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about the day before and where I would be if they had gotten their hands on me, and where I was now, in Chicago, with a beer in my hand, listening to Grateful Dead music! The night came to an end far too soon and as I laid in bed thinking about what a nice distraction the night had been, the reality of my situation slowly began creeping back into my mind as I drifted off into another night’s restless sleep.
I spent the next couple of days sorting a few things out, first I had an apartment full of things back home that needed to be taken care of, so I called my family and asked if they would go box it all up and keep it in storage for me, with some reluctance they did. I also had two cars that needed to be sorted out, one, a ’71 Pontiac Catalina, was my favorite. In its heyday, everyone’s head would turn when I rolled down the street, but since my original bust, I had neglected it somewhat. It was still a sweet ride. My parents took it and left it sitting outside, something that would cost me considerably later on.. The other was more of my utility vehicle, a Subaru that was very reliable. that was taken by my brother and he gave it to my ex-room-mate as compensation for me having to take off on the lease, a very fair arrangement I thought but I had my golf clubs and my pool-cue in the trunk and hoped to get them back. I did not tell my family where I was or where I was going just to be on the safe side and not to put them in a situation where they might be tempted to turn me in. My step-father thought I was making a huge mistake and that I should turn myself in immediately. He was a former marine and held the opinion that you should follow the law no matter what. My brother was on parole after spending three years in a federal pen on a drug charge, so he was paranoid that they might find out if he helped me and jeopardize his parole. An understandable position but it turned out to be completely unfounded. My mother was more sympathetic about things, she was not happy I left, but she understood my need to be free.
A few years earlier me and my girl at the time were in Deer Creek Indiana seeing a few Dead shows and while in the parking lot after the first show we offered the folks in the car next to us some beers. We got to talking and found out we were staying at the same campground so we took the party back there. We partied all night as one of the guys had a nitrous oxide tank and we had balloons til the morning light. While talking with them we found out they lived in Chicago and they asked if we had a place to stay for the Chicago shows which were next on the tour. We were planning on staying at a hotel but they offered up a place to stay and from that night on we would be friends for life. Since I was in Chicago again I thought I should look up my old Deadhead friends.
Mike and Marty were my friends names and while Marty was a very cool dude, Mike and I were like two peas in a pod when it came to how we viewed the world and so it was Mike I gave a call. We went to a Cub’s game and sat in the bleachers on a beautiful spring day, I don’t remember who won but when you’re in the bleachers at Wrigley, it is fun whoever wins. I told him about my troubles and as I expected, he was very sympathetic about it. He told me that he would help in any way he could and to feel free to call anytime. This was great news as it gave me another place just in case the mountains did not work out. After the game I took Mike to see my new friend Mark’s band, being a fellow Deadhead, I knew Mike would love it. He did and we saw them many times while I was there.
While there I looked into getting myself a new identification, Jeremy and I went to a variety of shops looking for information on how to create a new identity. I bought a few books on the subject and proceeded to read about how to go about doing it. They all had similar formulas to creating a new I.D., first, go to a county records department and find a death certificate on somebody who died when they were young. Then apply for a birth certificate in that person’s name. Then use that to get the rest of the package, ss number, driver’s license, etc. The only problem was that these books were all written in the 1970’s and we were entering the digital age where most counties had digitalized their records, and even if I had found one that had not yet, I was still going to have to commit what the state would consider a crime to do it, I was not going to give them more ammo to shoot me with.
I had been in Chicago for about ten days and had spent far too much money for my new way of life. I had continued to live like I did before but I had no future earnings to rely on and I had to change my way of thinking fast. I knew I had to get out of Chi-town if I was going to do this, otherwise I would just use up the money I had and then go back and turn myself in, an option I was not very interested in. I contacted my friends in Colorado to make sure I was still welcome out there. They told me I was so we made a plan for them to pick me up in Denver in 3 days time I went down to the Greyhound station and sorted out a ticket that would get me into Denver in three days. After securing the ticket I would have two more days in Chicago, better make them awesome.
The first night Mark was not playing but was keen to take us to a bar that had an improv night with some of the cities best musicians showing up to play. It turned out to be even cooler than he explained as the music was amazing! They even let us spark up a joint right there in the bar, one of the coolest bars I have ever been to. The second day Jeremy, Mark, Mike and I went to another Cub’s game and once again had a blast. We finished the night off with one more show of Mark’s band ( incidentally, the name of Mark’s band was Uncle John’s Band’). A very fitting end to the best experience I ever had in Chicago, So far, the life of a fugitive was going very well.
A Continuing Story About Life On The Run