“I loved the baseball strike last year since it meant the end of inundation by Cub fans,” says Bill, a twentysomething slacker who’s hung out in front of the Dunkin Donuts at Clark and Belmont for the last five years. “Cub fans walking between Waveland and Belmont are scum. They boo at us, make fun of us. I don’t need no less self-image than the one I already have.”
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Bill blames Cubs fans and “plastic 708-ers” for the black wrought iron fence on the northwest corner of Clark and Belmont. He calls it the “Belmont Berlin Wall” and says its purpose is to keep kids from congregating. In recent years the CHA and various real estate companies have been installing similar six-foot-high fences on the perimeters of their low-income properties. Architects call it “defining defensible space.” A barricade you can see through, the wrought iron fence has become one of the less intrusive security strategies in the urban landscape, keeping undesirables at bay without sacrificing the view.
“So what do you have against the kids who have made this scene famous from Hamburg to Tokyo?” Bill asks Thomas, as a chorus of punk rockers surrounds the two.
Bill says we’re witnessing the end of a scene. “Clark and Belmont has changed a lot in the last eight years. There are still, maybe, 11 people who hang out who were true punk rockers. You know, there used to be a unity among the age group from 14 to 23, and they would collectively put together free shows with hard-core punk groups, local talent, people you knew on the street who also played in a band, and they would have rave shows, and the energy was amazing. We were just doing it for our own enjoyment. It was beautiful.
