The Amish Play Xbox

Chicago's Union Station is a great place to people-watch, which is one of my favorite activities. A few weeks ago, while on my way home to Lansing from Milwaukee I was laid-over for a few hours in Union Station, which gave me the opportunity to eat some bad fast food (disguised as a deli sandwich) and people-watch. While doing so, I witnessed one of the most peculiar sights I've ever been privileged to see.

With an over-stuffed garment bag, a full briefcase and an open-top box of extra magazines in tow, I made my way from the station's food court mezzanine to the Grand Hall (where that infamous baby carriage scene in "The Untouchables" was filmed). Along the way, I passed by a former coat room that had been turned into a small arcade, and to my surprise, at the arcade's entrance I saw three Amish men hooting and hollering while one of them played a game called "Wave Runner 3."

"How did you know that they were Amish?" you ask. "I hope you're not basing your assumption on the characters you saw in Harrison Ford's movie 'Witness.' " Valid point, my friend. So let me explain.

Up here in Michigan, we have several small Amish communities and on the few occasions I've seen Amish folk in town, the men are generally dressed much the same: straw hat, black suspenders (no metal clasps, of course), button-up black slacks, work boots, blue muslin shirt, and don't forget the mustache-less beard.

So sure enough, my three suspects at Union Station bore this description down to the last detail, which instantly made me wonder if it was true (blame "Witness" on this one) that the Amish don't believe in using modern technology. If this is simply some stupid legend, a fact I'm fully prepared to accept, then I apologize to all the Amish for years of assuming that you don't like clothes irons and DVD players. But if this is not a legend and indeed the Amish don't believe in all the technological toys with which our greater American society is so damn obsessed, then what the hell were three Amish dudes doing playing "Wave Runner 3"?

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I made another observation during that afternoon of people-watching at Union Station. I saw no less than a half-dozen homeless people — which, when I stop to think about it is quite sad, especially being that so many homeless folk live among us every day and yet I — we — don't hardly pay any mind to the notion. But on this afternoon, I was particularly upset to realize that every homeless person I saw was a middle-aged black man. Men who, had their circumstances turned out differently, could otherwise be responsible, productive, generous members of our society. Some people are quick to blame the individual for his or her poverty or homelessness, and sure, life offers many different traps and obstacles that, while they may lead some to stumble, they can cause others to fall to depths from which there seems no recovery. But I hesitate to place all or even much of the blame of homelessness on the homeless themselves.

For instance, one of the homeless men I saw in Union Station's food court was obviously an intelligent and resourceful man. When I sat down to eat my sandwich, he was sitting two tables away, reading the A section of The New York Times and occasionally glancing up at the passersby around him. Several times, he also so gracefully and nonchalantly walked over to the trash bin, sifted through the leftovers of former diners, and picked out his lunch for the afternoon — all this without anyone noticing him... well, except me, of course.

This entire event made me wonder if anyone else really gave a damn that a crafty, well-read, grown black man felt that he had to dig through the trash for his lunch, and that there are likely other crafty, well-read, grown black men like him in other train stations, in other cities doing exactly the same thing. The fact that he and others have to live such an existence may be in part his and their fault, or not at all. Regardless, does that make it right for us not to give a damn about the desparate, pitiful lives led by others around us, by grown men in our midst, while we comfortably sit and eat our own sandwiches? Shouldn't we at least feel a little uncomfortable and ask ourselves — I mean, really ask ourselves — why such men exist?

Ask yourself, "What happened to the factory job that employed this homeless man or that for more than 20 years before his company shut down operations here and moved them from the center city to the suburbs or worse, India?" Ask yourself, "Why did this man have a difficult time finding another job of comparable wages and benefits? What forces prevented him transitioning from manufacturing to advanced manufacturing or trades work or employment in the high-technology industry?"

And once we've asked some tough questions about some tough problems, and maybe even discovered some satisfactory, logical answers to them, then perhaps could we take our curiosity one step further and actually do something to resolve them? mb

Introducing... the Bynums of Milwaukee

In this, my first post, it brings me great pleasure to introduce to you, my reader(s), the future home of little Marvin Jr. or Stacy the Second (neither of whom exist yet, Mom, so don't hold your breath). The humble, brick Craftsman bungalow depicted in these images soon will not only become our first home in Milwaukee, Wis., U.S.A., it also symbolizes the realization of a long-deferred dream of ours: homeownership.

It may be hard to do, but if you can manage to see past Grandma's decorative touches (including the dead stuffed white cat curled up on the living room easy chair), you'll discover some wonderful Arts and Crafts detail, gi-normous windows and original woodwork. They sure don't build 'em like they used to.

This place was built in 1917, the year after my father's father and my mother's mother were born. As the seller said to me when I bumped into him after our home inspection a few weeks ago, "It's built like the Rock of Gibraltar." Indeed, it is.

Can't wait to have you over for a BBQ. mb