A press conference, the past, and the beauty of the city

An aide hands the mayor his remarks. Take it away, Aaron Sorkin.

But I like going because it makes me feel like I'm an extra on the set of the West Wing or something. I like watching the Mayor's aide hand him his remarks in big wide type, or seeing his press staff yell out "No off topic questions!" to nosy journalists. Gives you that sense of the inner workings of government you can't get from the TV news version.

But back on topic! Today's presser was in Uptown, in front of an old senior building at 5040 N. Kenmore. It's an eight story former hotel built in the 1920s. The architecture is beautiful, and it was a gorgeous sunny day in Chicago.

The Kenmore building

The point of the whole thing was to cheer on the government's efforts to get stimulus dollars into the economy. The Kenmore building will get $19 million for a green gut rehab. There will be 150 jobs created and a whole bunch of new units for seniors to live in.

About halfway through the press conference, an older man in a kippah sat down in front of me. His name is Rabbi Philip Lefkowitz, and he's lived in the neighborhood for 14 years. He says CHA closed down the Kenmore some years ago, forcing a lot of low-income elderly people out of their homes, many of which never will return because they have already died or will have by the time the building is completed in 2011.

Rabbi Lefkowitz peruses the plans for the Kenmore

Lefkowitz confronted CHA chief Lewis Jordan about this, asking him just how many people who used to live in the Kenmore would be coming back.

Jordan was taken aback a little, as I imagine anyone would be, and replied, "Those who are still alive will be able to come back."

It reads a little callous, but, hearing him say it, I think he was honestly answering the question.

It's one of those questions I wonder about a lot: when the Plan for Transformation is over, how many of the people who endured hard times in public housing will get to enjoy the beautiful, new housing that's replaced it?

In senior buildings, many will have passed on. In family housing, many move away, find new housing, lose their voucher, or just fall of the map. Of the approximately 16,000 families that were living in public housing in 1999, about 26% are in this category - missing or not responding to inquiries, according to CHA data from earlier this year.

The housing authority is working to get those families back. They've even hired a contractor to locate them. But some families will never come back, and that's the reality of the situation.  

I guess it's just like they say: you can't change the past. A lot of residents are still angry and bitter about how public housing got to be terrible in the first place - poorly constructed high rises, mismanagement, segregation, economic isolation. It's great that they're rehabbing the Kenmore now. And dwelling on the past won't create new housing in the future.

But sometimes, even when things are new and bright and sunny, it's still hard to let go of the old stuff.

For Rabbi Lefkowitz, he just can't help it. When he looks at that old building, he sees the ghosts of the elderly Vietnamese, Jewish and African American families that once called the Kenmore home.

For me, today, this is the beauty of the city. The sorrow of generations past. The bittersweet hope of the future. The splendor of an old building coming back to life. Maybe if we try to separate the sorrow from the hope, it makes it all a little less beautiful.

At least, that's how I see it.

Well, that's the news from your intrepid public housing reporter this week. Stay tuned for more tales of house and home in Chicago coming to you Monday...