By Diana Wright
Her words–cutting, uplifting, acerbic–have defined her role as a grande dame of Chicago’s gay community. But inside, Cannon says, she feels nothing.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
“I don’t consider getting out 1,300 meals a night to people with AIDS small,” she says, still sounding a bit angry. “My focus has never been direct action. That was my avocation. Taking care of people who are sick is what I have always done. It’s what I know.”
Anyone who thinks Cannon may have lost her focus or passion should witness her daily trials at Open Hand’s Grocery Land, 3902 N. Sheridan. She’s always working. When she does leave the center, it’s often to visit a friend in the hospital. She goes to more funerals than most people go to movies.
Cannon’s fiercely protective of those she loves. This means she’s also protective of the dead–such as Sotomayor, whom she speaks of in the present tense.
She speaks endlessly of the friends she has lost over the years. And she is angry that there has been so little progress in finding a cure for the disease. After Sotomayor died, Cannon felt completely alone.
Her passion is massive but her personal goals are modest, as she works the phones day after day ordering food and obtaining new vendors.
