Субурбаны оказались тверже: жители пригородов вступились за правила, тогда как горожане в Чикаго предпочитают молчать

Three years ago I moved back to the city of Chicago after spending 29 years in the suburbs. Newly divorced, I was eager to return to the environment I had bragged about to my suburban friends as we drank beer at backyard barbecues while our kids ran around on expansive, carefully manicured lawns. You know, typical suburban stuff. “City people are tough,” I said. “You have to be when you’re constantly getting jostled and pushed around. Everybody here seems so…submissive.” I’m beginning to think the reverse may be true. I came to this conclusion after attending a concert at Ravinia Festival, a century-old outdoor music venue in Highland Park, Illinois. Ravinia’s concert calendar can best be described as “diverse.” The August calendar alone features Chance the Rapper, Hugh Jackman and the Danish String Quartet. I made the trek from the city to hear the Coral Reefer Band, formerly known as Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefer Band. Despite Buffett’s death in 2023, the surviving members realized his cult following of Parrott Heads still needed their annual summer fix of “Fins,” “Cheeseburger in Paradise” and “Margaritaville,” no matter the lead vocalist. While the Ravinia pavilion holds 2,800 concertgoers, most of its attendees — predominantly upper class and lily white — are content to sit on the lawn. There they sip prosecco and eat gourmet cheeses brought from home while listening to the music, since most lawn seats at Ravinia have little or no view of the stage. When Ravinia concerts end, the crowd makes its way to the parking lots or boards a Metra train that stops directly outside the venue. Some are heading to Chicago, but in my train car most were returning to nearby suburbs. As the train waited for the venue to empty out, a rider not part of the concert crowd and clearly under the influence of…something, loudly warbled a Van Morrison tune. The other riders avoided eye contact, silently wishing he’d stop. Then he lit a cigarette. Smoking on Metra trains is prohibited, and it took mere seconds for the crowd to erupt in protest. Glaring at the offender, a male rider in front of me said, “Be nice. Put it out.” A smartly dressed woman sitting across from him was less cordial. “Stop smoking,” she yelled. “Would somebody call the cops?” another woman said. Within minutes, two uniformed officers appeared and escorted the man from the train. Marveling at this scene, I wondered what would happen if the Van Morrison wannabe lit up a smoke after boarding one of Chicago’s L trains, used daily by about 400,000 mostly city residents. Short answer? Nothing. Riders would crinkle their noses. Some might search for a seat at the car’s opposite end or even switch cars. But, with the exception of one passenger, I have never seen anyone confront a smoker; and I take hundreds of rides a year. Last summer on the Green Line I witnessed a youth light up a joint that would have made Snoop Dogg envious. He and his friends passed it back and forth, filling the car with the pungent aroma of weed. Meanwhile, an elderly woman, who looked as if her city plans included touring museums, sat silently in the cloud. Maybe Chicagoans fear repercussions that could result from confrontation. Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson has been heavily criticized for failing to combat the growing crime problem aboard the city’s public transit system. Or maybe we’re just immune to these scenes. Heck, I once saw a rider on the Blue Line hang wet socks over a metal support bar as the train sped toward O’Hare. Fellow riders found other bars to hold on to. Or maybe we’re just not as tough. So thank you, Ravinia suburbanites, for doing what I, an allegedly hardened city resident, don’t have the courage to do. I should have thanked you on the train. But maybe I’ll see you at a future Ravinia concert and can do it in person. I’m also happy to share my prosecco.