Ephemeral Creation:
Music and Art in Chicago, 1978 - 1982 Part 1. →

by Ken Mierzwa

	Roseann behind the bar at O'Banion's Photo by Ken Mierzwa, copyright © 2003-2006
The near-north side streets were dark and deserted. We went through the door into O'Banion's, and the first thing that registered was the sound of crashing glass. I couldn't see a thing. There wasn't much light, and the walls were painted black. For a few moments I stood near the bar while my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. My first visit to O'Banion's was sometime in the summer of 1978. My friend Al said it had to be seen, so we drove down one night to check it out. O'Banion's was on the northeast corner of Clark and Erie. The building is still there, but today it's the latest of a succession of yuppie restaurants in a gentrified neighborhood. In 1978 it was still a pretty marginal area, with graffiti on the walls and sleazy liquor stores, the kind where patrons put their money, or sometimes a watch or a diamond ring, through a semi-circular opening in the bullet-proof glass and get a pint bottle back in exchange. Years later I learned that the same guy who owned O'Banion's also owned one of the sleazy liquor stores. In design, O'Banion's was a typical Chicago tavern. The front half was a long narrow room with a bar running most of the length. There was a bit of space in the very front, with a bench against the wall and some sort of pinball game or video game in the corner. The back room was more spacious, almost square, with a wooden dance floor, a small raised stage at the back, and a few tables tucked under the narrow balcony which ran along both sides. In the far right rear corner was the DJ booth, a tiny raised space reached by a ladder. I clearly remember Nancy from that first night, every now and then leaning down to take a request or dashing to the front for a moment, with her pale skin, long straight black hair, too much eye makeup, and black straightleg jeans. Roseann was at the front bar. Of course I didn't know either of their names at the time. The crashing sound turned out to be empty bottles of Stroh's tossed into the big plastic garbage can at the far end of the bar. It was standard background noise at O'Banion's, soon just an accepted part of the atmosphere, but at first it was a bit unnerving. I wonder how many people took one look and fled, never to return. My memories of the customers are less distinct. Probably that's because they were a nondescript and diverse lot. The "punk" scene had not yet become a fashion show, and in those early days there was a real mix of clothing styles. I remember lots of jeans and a few flannel shirts and plain tee shirts, some ratty salvation army chic, maybe a few leather jackets but not like it would be a year later. No one person really stood out from the crowd. But what did strike me was that no one was passing judgment on anyone else. Here we were, college kids just down from the suburbs, and while no one really went out of their way to be friendly, no one stared or acted rudely either. Considering how drunk some of those people were, that was actually a little surprising. I was accustomed to bars where fights were routine and lots of people acted like assholes after a few too many beers. While a few of these folks looked a little scary, like they hadn't had any sleep in days, it was basically live and let live. Quite a while later, in my journal, I commented on my early impressions of O'Banions: December 19, 1980: I have yet to convince myself that I know what made all the people in those bars what they are. They certainly have things in common, but there is also much diversity; in background, in education, upbringing, income, neighborhood, previous musical taste, and who knows what else. What drew them to this place? Individualism, certainly. Escapism, often. They attract attention, but many only reluctantly, and usually only at night. Many dress very ordinarily during the day, hold traditional jobs. It's a relatively small group, and proud of it. While outsiders are not discouraged, they tend to feel uncomfortable until they learn the music and the dress. What role does violence play? It's always there, felt, just below the surface, but very rarely openly expressed. Perhaps the music and dancing is the release, the safety valve, that prevents open, physical violence. It was so different from my recent experience that I kept going back, sometimes with Al and sometimes with my more open-minded friends from school. I remember dancing there with my friend Roslyn, and seeing the same excitement in her eyes that I must have had the first night. That was one of the best parts, seeing the excitement on the faces of first-timers. The music wasn't bad, and we never heard the same song twice in one night.
	the author and photographer, ca. 1980 Photo copyright © 2003-2006 Ken Mierzwa
continued..... next →
Chapter one † two † three † four † five † six † seven † eight † nine † ten † eleven † twelve Home ^. Photography ^. Mixed Media ^. Exhibits Copyright and all other rights reserved © 2006 Kenneth S. Mierzwa shadowplay2@mac.com February 5, 2003 - Updated: March 27, 2006