Cake at the Bar

It was a dark and stormy night. I drove through the blinding rain along a country road lit only by my headlights. Although I had driven this road many times during the day, at night I felt isolated. I was the only person foolish enough to be out on the road and could only briefly sense the dark farmhouses that I passed. No help would come if I could not reach my destination.

I had left work late that Friday evening and had a two hour drive, expanded by the rain into three hours or more, to reach Siebkens, the resort hotel, restaurant, bar and hub of life for the auto racing community that comes together most weekends in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin. The formula car I was to race the next day was already at Road America, the track just outside town.

 When I arrived, the restaurant and office had closed early, probably for lack of patrons. Only the bar was open. I parked behind an eighteen wheel truck and hurried into the warmth of the tavern. The place was deserted, save for the driver of the truck and the bartender. I took a moment to scan the room, seeking comfort in the racing posters and pictures that crowded each other on the walls and ceiling.

 I took a seat at the bar, leaving one bar stool between me and the burly driver. I didn’t want to sit next to him, which would indicate my intention to begin a conversation or an intimate relationship. Nor did I want to sit far from him, possibly signaling disdain or fear.

Infiltrating Breakfast

Looking back on that blue sky Sunday morning in 1971, I ask myself, “What was I thinking!” At the time, it didn’t seem scary or even out of the ordinary, but from today’s perspective it seems totally unthinkable. But, hey, I was a child in my late twenties and also a child of the sixties.

I was working with a group of social-action community organizers in an underserved neighborhood of Chicago. Our approach was direct confrontation and our targets were the power structures of the city. We’d planned a meeting on a Sunday afternoon with Chicago’s Chief of Police, sent him a formal invitation and were pretty sure he wouldn’t show up. Our intent, then, was to castigate him for his failure to attend and for his great indifference to the needs of the community, thus enabling the growth of a coalition to address that indifference.