Crosstown Trouble - Donol Clark

Crosstown Trouble

by Donol Clark

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive self-projection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities.

While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books.

This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

Crosstown Trouble Donol Clark

Let me tell you about one night and morning from a tarnished time past. As a young man, getting drunk and high was my preferred pastime along with practically everyone I grew up with.

This particular evening I was at a friend’s house talking about everything under the sun, but especially about 4x4 trucks. You see, my buddy landed a good job working at the Sherwin Williams chemical plant on 115th Street. Man, did that place stink for miles around, depending on the wind.

Steve “Smitty” was one of the few guys who could afford to own such a truck.

It’s amazing at how many places in Chicagoland you can find to go off roading when you go looking for them.

Well we got ourselves half-drunk and decided to head over easy where they sold pony packs of marching powder. We got into Smitty’s truck, cranked up the stereo and went on a mission.

We arrived at the place where I had a couple of acquaintances, and couldn’t find them. “Man, bro,” Smitty said in frustration “we came all the way over here for nothing.” I replied, “Relax, I have heard of another spot a couple of blocks from here. Let’s go check it out.”

Now we get over there and somebody hollers out, “Yo man, what you need?” We park, I jump out of the passenger side and go over to meet the dude. You see, I would get a little respect because I would meet people face to face standing on my own two feet instead of staying in the car like most people when they were visiting the neighborhood.

The man who greeted me was wearing a Michigan State jacket. When I was telling him what I was looking for, Bam! I get lifted off my feet from behind.

Adrenaline kicks in and I start to fight.

I find a hand hold, twist, then connect an elbow to the dude’s head. He drops me.

I’m freaking out, dukes up, cussing like a sailor. “What the frick and frack is going on?”

o at wh c e h ot ack t e. b n r tu y fac I m s n A i re . tol b ef o a p is d s e a h b he ro b c ke t b een a j r e e t v ne S ta ha v e ig a n I h , c i e e M You s n th e ha d o

A sudden strange calm comes over me. Everything becomes sharp and crystal clear, time stops. “Give it up, give it up,” he repeats. “Be cool bro, be cool bro,” I say in unison with him as I reach in my pocket and give up my cash.

“Oh well,” I say to myself as they run away and I walk back to the truck.

It’s weird how devoid of emotion I was after all of this.

Smitty starts speaking to me through the window. “Donnie, what’s up? We good?” “Nope,” I replied. “I just got robbed.” “No way!” he says. “Not you.” Like I have some kind of pull over here or something.

He got really pissed and wanted to take action.

In the meantime some other people came up to see what was happening. I informed them of what just went down. Well it turns out that these were the guys who ran the block and they got pissed off too.

You see, these dudes don’t want to lose guys like me coming on the block.

Old boy hands me a sack on the house and tells us to keep coming back.

While pointing his finger at a car ahead of us, he says, “Look at that dude right there!

The guys who robbed you, rode with him. Get him if you want.”

We told him thanks, and jumped back in the truck. Steve slides the truck out, moves up to the other side of the intersection lining the back of the truck with the front of the car that had our new opps sitting behind the steering wheel.

He didn’t know it yet but he made a big mistake being the first car in line on the corner. I’m sure he parked there to make a quick getaway. Only his partners haven’t come back yet and he was waiting.

I imagined them in the shadows watching all of this. I bet they got a bit uncomfortable seeing the guys they just robbed chatting so amiably with the dudes from the block.

As we are sitting there for a moment on the far side of the intersection, Smitty is looking crazy saying, “Should I do it, should I do it?” I said, “let’s get out of here, bro!”

He slams the gear shift into reverse burning rubber laughing like a wild eyed demon.

This truck has a lift kit on it. Exactly how high I don’t know. But I do know at the moment that I have to brace myself to keep my face from smashing into the glass.

At this particular segment of time the back of the truck is resting on the top of the car. People were coming out of the woodwork finding entertainment in the escapades they are witnessing.

We try to pull forward, steel grinds and screams in protest but we don’t move. “Oh man, we are in trouble now!” I say excitedly as Steve reaches down and moves another lever putting the truck in four wheel drive. He tries again and we pull off triumphantly.

I turned to look back and in surprise I said, “That car is trashed!” The hood is folded upward, you can’t see the windshield. I noticed antifreeze leaking everywhere in the street light.

As we are driving away we hear a horrendous noise coming from the truck. We pull over a few blocks away to investigate.

We get out to look, “Holy crap, look at that!” I say when I see the double tube steel bumper bent all the way to the tire. We found the source of the noise.

When you go off-roading you always keep chains in the truck just in case you get stuck.

“Good thing we have them tonight,” I thought to myself as I pulled them out. We find a stout tree and wrap the chain around it and the other end to the bumper. “Easy, easy. A little more. Stop!” I yell as Smitty pulls the truck up straightening the bumper.

I unhooked the chains, threw them in the back, jumped in and we were off.

No more hideous sound, success!

I was thinking of all the places we had this truck off road. Garbage mountain, the Rock quarries, forest preserves, industrial parks, railroads, sand dunes. I knew this was a tough truck and I was glad to be heading West again.

We stopped at a pay phone and called a couple of girls we knew and had them meet us at the apartment. When we arrived they were already waiting for us in the parking lot.

We all go in together and the festivities begin. As Steve and I share our recent experience with them, it becomes clear that Smitty is in distress about what happened.

You see, growing up we always had each other’s back and he felt like he let me down when I got my pockets emptied. I assured him that I understood he couldn’t see me and didn’t know what was going on.

In fact I’m glad he didn’t come running up like some kind of Barney badass and got us both shot. I had a hard time getting him focused on the other things we had going on in the room. I was really into my girl and didn’t want to talk anymore.

Well it was getting really late by now, early would be a better word because it was light and the birds were chirping. The girls wanted to keep partying and we were of course willing to comply.

So

we

w en t tr u c o n o n e k ag mor a in em b ec i a u s s s io n . S e hi m it s st ere t y w a s ow a s l to o d r o ud u er t n k t o d han r the ive and o ne in m w e t o o k hi y ca s r.

We headed East again and found my associate in his usual location. He walks up and we start talking. “Hey man, where were you last night?” I say. He answered, “I had to re-up, everything is cool, what you want?”

I noticed some movement in the mirror and something looked familiar. I told my guy what happened last night several blocks away. He looks the truck over, his eyes get wide and he says, “that was you? You better get out of here!”

up mps u j e ud g nad rchin e u l h t w u ar ho in g e clutc k e c h u t r t t d the oment I le ailgate. n a h t clutc me m o the t e a s n h i t e ed th on fo o t s. A t crash u y t w m a e r ve th b ig r he nd ha e h in g a v t e e s t u m so rv o w ha a nd d y n e t h r o w in g a d r e r a l o rw I’ m a n o w h e r e uck f r t f e o th o ut

As I realize what he threw was aimed for the back of my head, I noticed that he is wearing a Michigan State jacket!! “Unbelievable!!” I say to myself as I remember what happened only hours ago. Again, I was glad to be heading West.

As the years fly by waiting for trial here in C.C.D.O.C. I have plenty of time to reminisce. I now understand, even though I had good parents who wanted and loved me, I was still looking for purpose and fulfillment.

Iw al

as

o n t r y in g. g Yo to f u s e il l t e , he m y g h o le r a in nd m m yh ot he e a r rh tw a d it h to ev ld e m r y th e a b in g o u im t t ag h e in Sa ab vio le. r K Yet in g I h Je ad su k n s w ow he n n the Iw as ans a we ch r a il d l l .

He has been waiting for me to open my heart to Him ever since. Don’t be like me by foolishly waiting so long to call upon His name. If you hear His voice, don’t harden your heart. Today is the day of salvation, tomorrow is not guaranteed.

Donol Clark I Am From I am from Cottage Grove deep south From ditching school and basement beer kegs I am from the same houses block after block I am from concrete broken by ancient oaks And the sacred winds rustling the leaves I’m from Roger Ramjet and Julia Fay From chasing rockets falling from the beautiful blue And from harsh affection I’m from “you can be anything you choose,” And from “you’re just like your Grandfather” I’m from “the beginning was the word” I’m from Woodlawn From beer and BBQ From Yiya I am from conflict and hope

Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright

2025