As the Wicked Watch(29)

“Yes, I know, I saw it,” I said. “Nothing says ‘I don’t care about the children in this community’ like a swing set with no swings. They sent a group of Cook County sheriff’s office prisoners to clean it up, and they discovered the body.”

“Right. I saw you on the news,” Clark said. “It’s a shame it had to come to that. A couple years ago, Louise finally kept on until the Sun-Times looked into it. They busted the ward leader for siphoning off the money for the upkeep.”

“What ward leader?” I asked.

“Lucinda Mitchell,” he said.

“What did she do with the money?” I asked.

“Hell, she put it in her pocket,” he laughed, and sipped his coffee, which by now was bound to be cold.

“And that was two years ago?” I asked.

“Yeah, at least.”

I was still doing the math in my head, thinking about how long the playground had been neglected, when the commissioner continued to speak.

“It was a front-page story,” he said.

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“Let’s see, that story came out about a year before Lucinda went to jail, so a little more than three years ago,” he said.

It was worse than I thought.

“Three years? That’s inconceivable!”

Hell, Louise Robinson should’ve been tying up elected officials’ phones!

“You mean to tell me that playground was in bad enough condition to make the front page some three years ago, and it still looked like a dump until just recently?” I asked incredulously.

“Ap-par-ently,” the commissioner said. “I remember Louise talked about how it was going to become an incubator of crime. This was supposed to be a place where children could play. The Park District didn’t put any real money into it to start with.”

Parks in communities of color typically do not feature the new age soft turf used on playgrounds in more affluent communities like Lincoln Park. Kids on the South Side were lucky to get a slide.

“So the story didn’t compel the city to act at all?”

“Oh no, the Park District went in and cleaned up the debris and removed the damaged playground equipment, but they never put anything in its place. They let it sit there and rot.”

I would’ve asked Clark why he didn’t step in, but because it is Chicago Park District property, technically it wasn’t his jurisdiction.

“Look, I applaud her for at least trying,” he said.

Finally, something positive.

“She probably would’ve gotten more done if she wasn’t such a nasty person.”

I clenched my teeth to hide my disgust. Clark was again making the point that if you’re a woman, no matter where you are on the food chain, there’s a man somewhere carping about how difficult you are, even when you’re right. I wanted to ask him, “How is it possible that her tactics bother you more than the problem?” But I put food in my mouth, instead, to keep the words from flying out. Good thing it was delicious. I usually don’t talk with my mouth full, but to move Clark off his misogynistic rant, I made an exception.

“But . . . she is a current member of the South Side Community Council, right?” I asked.

“She’s a member, but she’s not a founder, no. That I can assure you,” he said. “I don’t know why she keeps telling that lie.”

For goodness sake, Clark. You’ve called this woman nasty, nagging, lying . . . all that’s missing is the B word.

“With all due respect, Commissioner, aren’t you being a little hard on her?” I blurted out, momentarily abandoning the ego stroke, which is sadly a requirement of being a reporter. That’s something they don’t teach in journalism school, but I learned rather quickly out here in these streets.

He took another deliberate sip of that cold coffee. I fixed my smile and remained affable, because I didn’t come here this morning to chastise this grown man. I came to borrow his credibility. Besides, he probably isn’t interested in knowing that the way he described a dedicated community advocate was as hurtful for me to hear as a woman as some of the tone-deaf remarks from my newsroom colleagues about race. I have good reasons for trying to get along with them and Clark, too. Listening to his bullshit would be worth it. I would just have to play his game a little longer.

“People don’t have to get out here and fight for their community. Whatever happened down in the south ’burbs, I’ll give her credit . . . When she wants to, she can be relentless,” said Clark.

“You sound like you admire her,” I said, with a healthy dose of sarcasm. Clark is a smart man, but I wondered whether he picked up on it.

He hesitated before he spoke, then said abruptly, “Weeelll, to some extent, maybe. I mean, we talk.”

That’s what I figured. That’s why I’m here.

“Would you mind giving her a call to let her know I’ll be contacting her within the next thirty minutes?”

“For you, I will make an exception.”

Clark wore on my nerves, but it got me to the next step. He pushed his plate to the side and pulled his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket.

“It’s loud in here,” I said.

“Good,” Clark said. “That’ll keep the call short and save me from the list of things I’m sure she wants to talk to me about.”