Block 6: “Soul City”
Block 6: “Soul City”
Today, I’m back out West on 46 E. Lotus, right next to the legendary MacArthur’s Restaurant. Everybody knows MacArthur’s for its soul food, but I’d argue it’s more than that—it’s the staff’s deep connection to the West Side community that makes it truly special. Celebrities from all over stop by MacArthur’s, much like Ben’s Chili Bowl in D.C., and their photos line the walls inside. I always say, you’re not truly famous in Chicago until your picture is hanging at MacArthur’s.
At the start of the block, I’m greeted by a little library. If you haven’t seen one before, these are small wooden boxes that look like birdhouses, but instead of books, this one was filled with canned goods and toiletries donated by neighbors. I loved it—it really set the tone for the whole block.
With only a few days left of summer, Mrs. Graham’s block was alive with activity. This is the West Side, just off Madison, so of course people were outside enjoying the weather. As we walked, I noticed a worker on the roof of Mrs. Graham’s three-flat. She told me she’d finally been selected for the city’s “Roof Lottery.” It’s an incredible program that offers grants to income-eligible homeowners for roof and porch repairs.
“Dang! My boiler needs to be replaced. Is there a lottery for that?!” I asked.
“Yeah,” Mrs. Graham replied matter-of-factly. “It’s called CEDA.” This lady does not mince words.
Mrs. Graham has been on this block for over 50 years. Her kids grew up here, and she’s kept the block in check by never compromising her morals. When there’s trouble, she starts with a conversation. “I’ma talk to them first,” she said about people loitering. She walks right up and says, “Baby, you can’t hang here.” And they listen.
She’s an effective communicator. No amount of community policing or socially-tested deterrence measures can substitute for her words. She’s disarming and empathetic but also firm. Whether it’s, “You can’t sell drugs here,” or, “You can’t gangbang here,” she delivers her message with love. If someone doesn’t heed her warning, she’ll call the police—but that rarely happens.
Mrs. Graham used her My Block, My Hood, My City block club grant money wisely. She purchased Ring security lights for everyone on the block and used the leftover funds for practical upgrades like new locks on gates and fence repairs. “Take the grant money and put it into the block. No parties, no silly stuff,” she said. She also hires a contractor to cut the grass in empty lots once a month. Her philosophy is simple but powerful: “Just fight for what’s yours. You got to have a cause!”
At 80 years old, Mrs. Graham is still outside every day. It’s inspirational. You can talk about loving your block, but she shows it. She explained how people park in the neighborhood because it’s close to the highway and has plenty of stores and restaurants nearby, but they often leave trash behind. “I come out here every day with a broom to sweep the block,” she said. I suggested she take advantage of our trash bin program, where we install permanent bins at both ends of the block and hire a local student to collect the bags.
But honestly, Mrs. Graham already has plenty of ideas. She’s working with a group that brings actual goats to the block to clear overgrowth in vacant lots. The goats graze on grass and shrubs during the week, and the lot transforms into a petting zoo on the weekend. Mrs. Graham truly is a GOAT in her own right.
Working with people like Mrs. Graham excites me because she lifts her community, and development naturally follows. She showed me the 10-year plan for what’s being called “Soul City,” an effort to transform a 12-block stretch of Madison Avenue into a hub for Black-owned businesses. The vision is to create something akin to Chinatown, Greektown, or Devon Avenue up north. With MacArthur’s already anchoring the area, they hope it’s just the beginning.
Before I left the block, I had to stop by MacArthur’s for some BBQ chicken, yams, and macaroni. As I ordered, someone behind the counter noticed my My Block, My Hood, My City shirt. Then, the moment I never saw coming: one of the workers asked to take a photo with me. “Let’s go take a picture with Jahmal next to Harold Washington’s photo,” they said. I couldn’t believe it. I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever received. I feel like I’ve officially arrived.