OK, does anyone want to hear a story? Alright, listen carefully because I will tell you this story. There’s a Black guy who walks into a bar called Derno’s in Lincoln Park one Sunday night in 2019. It was around 8 p.m., and he wasn’t from the neighborhood. He lived in the Northwest suburbs and was lost, looking for another nearby bar called Duke of Perth, where he was supposed to meet some friends. Oh, by the way, that Black guy was me.
I walked into Derno’s simply to ask the bartender where Duke of Perth was. Inside, about eight middle-aged white men were sitting at the bar. As I tried to get the bartender’s attention, one of the patrons suddenly grabbed my coat and pulled me backward. I immediately turned around and smacked his hand away.
The man threw his hands into the air as though I had pulled out a nine-millimeter gun and pointed it directly at his face. For the record, I did not have a gun. I was just a man trying to get directions, but suddenly the bartender turned toward me and screamed, “WHOA!” with enough ferocity that his eyes looked like an explosive inferno.
Meanwhile, the patron who had grabbed me was smiling as I was being barked at by the bartender, even though I had not initiated the confrontation. The bartender appeared ready to rumble and demanded, “What do you want, sir?!” I answered as calmly as I possibly could and said, “I just want to know where Duke of Perth is. That’s all.”
Derno’s was only about three-tenths of a mile from Duke of Perth, about a five-minute walk. Still, the bartender responded with all the warmth of Lake Michigan in the middle of winter. He quickly turned his back to me, walked away and muttered, “It’s on Broadway!” The patron was still smiling, and that smile bothered me almost as much as being grabbed.
Another man had put his hands on me, yet somehow I had become the person everyone was watching. Somehow, I had become the threat, even though I had walked into the bar for nothing more than directions.
Then I did something the man probably did not expect: I apologized to him. I did not apologize because I believed I had done anything wrong. I apologized because I understood the room I was standing in and what could happen if the situation escalated.
There were eight white men and one Black man. If I allowed myself to become enraged, the bartender could call the Chicago Police Department, a fight could break out, or I could be arrested, seriously injured or worse. Those possibilities ran through my mind in a matter of seconds like a hamster in its wheel, and I knew proving that I was right was not worth what could happen next.
Maybe the patron was watching the New England Patriots play the Kansas City Chiefs and I inadvertently blocked his view of one of the televisions. Maybe he was irritated, or maybe he was desperate to commence a fight with a Black man or any man of color. I still don’t know, and years later I cannot tell you exactly what was going through his mind.
What I do know is that nothing justified him grabbing my coat. I have often wondered whether he was trying to provoke me into retaliating, giving someone a reason to throw me out or call the police. I cannot know his intentions, but I know what happened and how quickly I had to begin calculating what could happen to me next, which was much easier than solving algebra assignment sheets.
Unfortunately, Derno’s was not my only experience like this on Chicago’s North Side. There was the time I was kicked out of The Oasis Bar, where I believed being a tall, dark-skinned Black man immediately made me suspicious. At Sovereign Liquors, I was physically heckled by an intoxicated local, and at Fritzy’s Tavern, a man repeatedly hurled the N-word at me.
Different bars and different nights somehow kept producing the same hell. I was even physically pushed by a security bouncer last January at Logan Square’s Slippery Slope, although it is located on the Northwest Side, because he falsely accused me of purposely cutting a long line to use the restroom.
I know I am not the only Black Chicagoan who has had experiences like these in North Side pubs. Sometimes all we want is what our white counterparts can receive without a second thought: a drink, some peace and, most importantly, respect. You should be able to enter a neighborhood bar, purchase a drink and some food, watch a game, meet your friends or simply ask for directions without first having to determine whether you are welcome.
You also should not have to calculate whether defending yourself could put you in even more danger than the person who initiated the confrontation. That calculation is what stayed with me about that night at Derno’s. I had not walked in looking for trouble, and I wasn’t even looking for a drink. I was looking for Duke of Perth so I could meet my friends.
What I expected was something far more basic: to be left unbothered and treated like I belonged there. I expected to receive the same respect anyone else should expect when they walk through the door.
Now that I’ve told the story, here’s the million-dollar question: Should we, as Black Chicagoans and locals, let these racial ill usages permanently discourage us from frequenting North Side saloons? Hell no, because we deserve to eat, drink and be merry at any establishment we choose.
If white city natives and residents can socialize at pubs in Black spaces and on the South Side, then what is the actual difference? Why should a Black Chicagoan have to think twice about entering a bar somewhere else in his own city because of how he might be received once he walks through the door?
So I ask White Chicago a question: How would you feel if you were a Black patron being ultimately deluged by a group of white individuals who wanted to get rid of you? Take a moment and let that sink in, because the discomfort of imagining that experience is nothing compared with actually having to navigate it.
I have one more question for you, White Chicago, and it is ultimately the simplest question in this entire story. Can I come in, have a drink, meet my friends, ask for directions and expect to be treated with the same respect as everybody else?
