By Wayne Lerner

IT WAS 10 A.M. WHEN THE PHONE RANG.

“Whadda ya doin’,” the surly voice said. 

Then he laughed that hoarse, loud laugh that probably disturbed the people in the office next door.

I could see him as he talked. The mouth surrounded by the scraggly beard, moving at a thousand miles an hour. Him walking and talking at the same time since he never sat for too long in any one place. Medium height, medium build, and large hands with fingers, which had been broken years ago. The hands hid the story of a man feared by many when he was much younger.

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm working, taking care of things here. I am saving peoples’ lives or, at least, I’m putting up with the doctors who are saving peoples lives.”

“We’re going for lunch,” the voice said.

“Where are we going?”

“Tilly’s.”

“Tilly’s? Where’s that?”

“Corner of Madison and Paulina, sucka. Today, we’re taking a ride.”

“Why am I going to Tilly’s? I’ll be the only white guy there!”

Hats laughed again. “Nope, there will be two of you. You and George Washington on the one dollar bill. I’ll pick you up at eleven forty-five. Be ready. We’re going to my ‘hood.”

Eleven thirty came and I grabbed my coat and walked downstairs. A beat-up ‘73 Bel Air was huffing and puffing at the corner, just outside of the hospital’s front door. Lord knows the car could’ve used a new muffler or baffle. The noise bellowing out of it was guaranteed to make the cops give us a ticket.

Then again, maybe not, considering where we were going for lunch.

Hats was sitting there, no seatbelt, no hat, no gloves, no coat, no nothing, just a big smile on his face and that loud, raucous laugh when he saw me. Hats moved easily between black slang and white language depending upon who he was talking to. Today, he was all slang because we were going to his turf, the area he roamed when he led the gang. It was cold and snowy that day in January but that didn't matter. He knew he would park right out front.

“Suckas, I’m here and I want Walter’s fine cookin’!”

The short ride was interrupted with incessant belching of fumes from the back of his car and his phone ringing. 

“Yeah. No. I’ll get back to you later. I gotta talk to the alderman.”

In between calls, I asked, “Why don’t you get a new car?”

“ Why do I need a new car? I like this one. It has character, just like its owner.” 

“This car is dangerous to drive. I'm worried about you and especially your wife and kids.”

“Ain’t nothing to worry about, Mr. Volvo. I’m a pro-fessional driver!”

“This car is fucking dangerous.”

“You look worried, white boy. Don’t stress. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Yeah, that part I’m sure of, but I’m also sure that this beater could break down and I’ll be trying to get back to the office and all your buddies in this neighborhood will be looking at me, thinking, ‘What’s that white boy doing here? Maybe we ought to step out and help him!’ I’m not so sure I’m looking forward to this experience!”

Hats laughed that crazy laugh again, so loud that it made the car windows shake and then he turned to me.

“Man, ain’t nothing ever going to happen to you. We be brothers and you know’d it.”

We parked in front of Tilly’s in a No Parking Zone. 

Hats would never park in a handicap space, but a no parking space was fair game.

The engine stuttered twice and then finally died. 

As we entered the front door of Tilly’s, Hats roared a big hello, announcing his arrival, Hats’ style.

“Suckas, I’m here and I want Walter’s fine cookin’!”

Tilly’s was a mainstay on the near west side of Chicago for the folks who grew up in that neighborhood and those who came from the southside to enjoy real southern cooking. 

I had heard about it for years from him and now I was going to have an adventure I would not soon forget. The west side burned after King died and businesses were looted...but not Tilly’s. It opened the day after, just like always. And it served bums and cops alike.

“What the hell am I going to eat?” I asked him.

“You’re gonna eat what I want you to, boy.”

My stomach was starting to churn and not in a good way.

“Grits, chitlins, pig’s feet, fried chicken, and any other shit I’m gonna put on your plate. And you better make sure you eat it all ‘cause they be watching you. See what you’re made of. Do you belong or you just a visitor?”

Men and women, regardless of age, came up and gave him a big hug. He was in his element.

He paid special attention to the young men and women, stopping to ask them about school or their jobs and their families. He was firm in his voice but soft in his heart. These were his investments and he was making sure to manage them carefully.

We moved to a table right next to the counter so he could be close to the kitchen.

Hats yelled out to the cook. 

“Walter, what the fuck you doing? Where’s my food?”

Walter stuck his head through the opening between the kitchen and the dining room and gave us a big, toothless smile. His unruly gray hair was molded into a big afro, held back by a hairnet. He, too, had a scraggly beard, but longer than Hats’. It looked like it hadn’t been trimmed since Kennedy was president.

“I’m gonna bring it out when it’s nice and hot, but not before, so sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up!”

Hats laughed and said, “Yeah and bring me another plate for my friend over here.”

Walter looked at me.

Now, my stomach was doing flip flops and it wouldn’t stop. I was getting queasy so I reached for the Tums I always carried with me.

“You mean the white boy’s gonna eat home cookin’? Don’t know he can take it.”

And Walter roared long and loud. And so did the other folks in the restaurant.

Tables were placed close together so many people could be served at one time, certainly more than the law allowed. They sat on ripped vinyl chairs, which scraped along the dirty floor as they pulled up to their tables. No mustard or ketchup on the table, just hot sauce and lots and lots of napkins.

I sat down across from Hats and made eye contact.

“I’m not gonna be able to eat this stuff ‘cause if I do, you’re going to have to take me to the emergency room.” 

Hats laughed. “This ain’t no Jewish deli, fool. It’s Tilly’s and you need to be here.”

Walter brought the food to the table. His white apron was covered in grease, his hands burnt in many places. He had a gentle smile, which contrasted with his booming voice. He used both to keep his rowdy guests in order and that usually worked. If not, Walter would pull his piece, which he hid beneath his apron. They knew he wouldn't hesitate to use it. Tilly’s was his home and nobody better fuck with him.

Walter smiled at me, “Here's your food, sir.” 

“Don’t call him sir. That here is James. No sir, just James.”

“Good to meet you, James.”

“My pleasure, Walter. It’s a treat to finally be here at Tilly’s. I've heard so much about it from Hats.”

Walter laughed.

“We'll see how you feel when you’re done eatin’ my cookin’. I’m not sure they serve this here food at your restaurants.”

I looked around as he put the plate down. All eyes were on me. I was in a suit with polished shoes, my overcoat folded over my chair. They were in dirty overalls or torn jeans, tattered shirts, and jackets with big, gaping holes.

I was out of place and I knew it. So did they. They kept watching me as I took my first bite.

I didn’t feel scared, just uncomfortable but I knew Hats and Walter would watch over me. 

I grabbed the fork and a piece of bread and started in. 

“Spicy! Holy shit!”

Food tastes I never had before. Sweet, sour, harshness and burning, like Walter used a bottle or two of horseradish and Tabasco just for me.

I picked at the food to be polite but I knew I couldn’t eat the whole thing. 

Hats watched me out of the corner of his eye with this big shit-eating grin on his face. I must have consumed a gallon of water to damp down the heat in my mouth and a loaf of bread to settle my stomach.

In a quiet, white voice, Hats said, “If you want to work in the community, you have to pass the first test. This is the beginning of our journey.”

“Okay, I’m up for it. You know I am. Nothing could be more important.” 

After about thirty minutes, I managed to eat most of the food. In between bites, I snuck two Tums into my mouth, knowing that I had some Pepto back at the office. I just had to make it for a little while longer. 

Just then, the vibe in the restaurant changed. No longer was I the entertainment. Folks shifted in their seats or swiveled on their stools at the counter to talk with Hats about problems they were having.

“What’s up, Melvin? Hats inquired.

In between chewing on the toothpick in his mouth and wiping the sauce off his chin, Melvin made the first ask. “What can the hospital do for me? Are there any jobs open?”

“Mevin, you clean? I can’t be getting you an interview if your demons still got ahold of you.”

When Diane left, the restaurant got quiet.

“I’m clean, Hats. Honest. I’m going to my meetings every week just like I told you I was.”

“Okay, Melvin. Call me on Tuesday and I’ll see what I can do. But don’t fuck me again, Melvin. That’ll be the third strike and there ain’t no more!”

As Melvin returned to his stool at the counter, a very distinguished looking woman approached our table. Her dress was clean and pressed and her hair done up like she was going out on the town.

“Diane, you look great!” Hats exclaimed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking this good, especially at Tilly’s.”

Walter sneered at Hats but Hats continued.

“How’s your daughter, Diane? Is Tessa off the streets? I put the word out to make sure no one hurts her. And I’ve talked to City Hall about getting more patrols in the area to grab the creeps before they bother her and her buddies.”

Walter moved over to make room for Diane to join us. He knew this would be a tough conversation.

Diane dabbed at her tear-filled eyes and sat down. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Hats. After James died, I’ve tried to keep her moving straight but my job keeps me so busy I can’t watch over her all the time. And I do have other kids to concern myself with, you know.”

“I do, Diane. I know. This is shitty but we will make it right. Can you and Tessa come to my office a week from Thursday? I got someone I want her to meet who may be able to help. But I gotta do some legwork first.”

Diane rose slowly from the table, kissed Hats, gave him a long, heartfelt hug and quietly left the restaurant.

Hats played the role perfectly.

He was the community representative and he knew how to talk with his people. 

He never made a promise he couldn’t keep but he did make promises. 

And then he would deliver on them. 

His relationships with the power structure in Chicago and Springfield along with the special connection he had with the hospital’s President allowed him to build trust by being good for his word. And I was getting the education he wanted me to have. He knew, in the future, I would have to represent the organization to these same people, sometimes with him and sometimes alone. They had to see me as being good for my word as well.

When Diane left, the restaurant got quiet. The customers turned in their seats to resume eating Walter’s fine cookin’ and to listen to the conversation we were about to have.

Walter looked at me and then Hats.

“What’s going on with the new Bulls/Blackhawk stadium, Hats? We sure could use the jobs here on the westside and it would be good for business. Cops would have to patrol more ‘cause folks with money be coming to the games and the city sure don’t want no trouble. That could help us get rid of our ‘friends’ on the corners too, ya know.”

“The plans are going to the City Council next week,” I replied. “I’ll be there representing the hospital. I’ll talk to the Mayor and the alderman about the timetable, contractors and jobs and I’ll get right back to you. And you can be sure I will let them know your concerns.” 

Walter just nodded as he got up to go back to the kitchen.

“May I have the bill please, Walter?” I asked. 

Hats never carried any money when he was with me. 

“There’s no bill today, James, the food is on me. It’s always on me when Hats eats and you done a good job with your plate.”

Walter shook my hand and turned to talk to Melvin before going back into the kitchen.

I grabbed fifty dollars from my pocket and dropped it on the table. Money well spent.

I got back into Hats’ Bel Air knowing that my life was in danger once more.

“Hats, thanks for taking me to Tilly’s. You’ve talked about it for so long, I just had to see it for myself. And, man, do I like Walter. He is someone I would like to get to know a lot better.”

Just a mile away from the hospital, but light years away from the life I know.

“Hey, Hats, before I forget. Let’s make a date for next week. Walter said he would make me his special egg dish for breakfast.”

Hats just roared.

Wayne Lerner is a retired healthcare executive and an associate professor of health systems management. To stay off the street and out of trouble, he is a board member of a safety net hospital system and teaches a graduate level course in the fall at a local health university.

A lifelong Chicagoan and White Sox fan, he lives in the northern suburbs with his wife of thirty years. Together, they have five grown children (with spouses/SOs), five grandchildren and five grand-dogs.

Wayne has published in professional journals many times and even edited a book on a major hospital merger but he has never achieved a dream he had while in high school and college to publish an original work of fiction... until now.