Extract from Burrel’s memoirs: “Tattoos On My Soul” – “Picturing yourself on top of the world”
Like so many other Chicago black kids, I frequently daydreamed my way down the section of Lake Shore Drive that converges so sweetly with downtown Chicago. It was a favorite pastime. Cruising along with a couple of buddies, we enjoyed the warm summer nights best of all, all the more precious because there were so few. The top and windows down, the music up, we’d crank up the decibels until Frank Sinatra or Michael Franks, were blasting from the speakers with enough force to lift us off the road. Puffing on a joint or three, we’d meander up and down that beautiful stretch of highway, admiring the city’s dramatic profile.
I loved the brick and stucco, white-glove buildings that formed one boundary of the S-Curve, a sweeping arc of road stretching from North Lakeshore to East, hugging water, beaches and city. These dignified and stately apartments dominated the skyline, standing shoulder to shoulder, their banks of bright, unblinking eyes reflected on a black patent leather lake. This neighborhood was home to some serious old-money.
We’d stop, get out and sit down with our backs to the water, leaning back far enough, to be able to gaze upwards without cricking our necks. Picking out the penthouses, we’d imagine what it would be like to live in one of those palaces in the sky.
When those big, high-ceiling apartments were lit up from the inside, you might catch a glimpse of a flickering TV screen, the movement of people or the glitter of a majestic glass chandelier. We wove stories by the dozen and dreamed out loud. What great parties we’d throw, and what fine hosts we’d be! What beautiful women we’d have on our arms, how much Crystal champagne we’d drink and how everyone would look at us with envy…
It took me years to understand that those mind-pictures I painted hadn’t really been about owning an apartment on LSD at all. Rather those balmy, storytelling evenings had reflected a deep hankering to be the kind of man who inhabited one of those elegant, status-conscious buildings. I yearned to be a man of stature and substance, respected and accepted by other powerful people. Even as a young gang chief, I aspired to be more than Buddy Burrel leader on my block. I wanted to be a leader of men. Unable to articulate it in words, I dreamed it instead.
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