Anthony
By Will Kern
I got this gig in January in Chicago,
organizing a benefit for the Midwest Shelter
for Homeless Veterans. This means I have to
leave LA for a couple months, so before I go I
look on craigslist.com to find a place to live.
Easy enough, I think, but not a lot out there.
Most real expensive, and most isn’t available
until March. I need something sooner.
So I see this ad for a couple of roommates.
Pakistani guys. That don’t bother me much. I
don’t got nothing against Muslims. So I call
the number, and this guy named Ryan
Macintyre answers the phone and I say, “I’m
calling about the apartment room for rent. It
says on craigslist you got one.”
“Yes,” he says, “I have a room for rent. The
Paki guys? They’re are real cool. They’re
students at UIC.” (that’s University of Illinois,
Chicago).
“Are they loud? I need someplace that’s real
quiet.”
“Well, you know. They’re students. They
cook a lot of funny-smelling stuff. That would
be your main problem.”
“Are they smokers?”
“Yes, they’re both smokers.”
“Well, that’s kind of a deal breaker then.
Thanks.”
I start to hang up the phone, but he stops me.
“I have another room that’s above them. It’s
great, it’s got a skylight and everything. You’ll
really like it. And it’s real quiet. And that’s a
non-smoking apartment.”
“Tell me more,” I say.
“The apartment is close to campus. The
neighborhood is going through something like
urban renewal. It’s all being turned into
condos and it’s changing really quickly.”
“How much is it?”
“It’s $25 a day.”
That sounds like a very reasonable price, and
being that I’m spending the homeless shelter’s
money to get this benefit put together, I got to
watch my spending. And it’s not like I got a lot
of options.
“When’s your flight come in?” Ryan says. “I’ll
pick you up from the airport.”
Great salesman Now I don’t have to spend
money on a taxi. I told him when I was coming
in, and sure enough, he picked me right up.
Ryan is a nice guy. He takes me for a run to
the bookstore so I can pick up a couple of
things, then takes me to the grocery store and
the bank.
So he takes me the apartment, which is on
Fillmore and Western. We haul my bags
upstairs, we’re right at the back door, he’s
putting the key in the lock, and he says,
“Anthony’s not home yet. You’ll meet him
later.”
“Who’s Anthony?”
“He’s your roommate.”
I say, “You didn’t say anything about a
roommate.”
“I’m sure I did.”
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t say anything about
a roommate.”
“It’s in the ad.”
“There wasn’t an ad. You told me about this
apartment on the phone.”
There was this awkward pause, and then
Ryan says, “Well, I don’t know what you want
me to say. If this is a problem…”
“Uh, actually, yeah, it’s a problem. You didn’t
say anything about a roommate. You said it
was a room with a skylight.”
“Well, um…”
“Listen. I don’t have time to start looking for
another place. I have to get working.”
“Anthony’s fine. Don’t worry about Anthony.”
“Who is this guy?”
“He goes to school at Columbia College. He’s
getting a degree in hip hop.”
“They give degrees in hip hop?”
“Apparently so.”
This all seems really wrong to me. “Man, I
don’t know. If he’s a musician type he’s going
to be playing his music real loud and—“
"No, he won’t. All he’s got is a clock radio,
and he always keeps it low. So what do you
say? Do you want the room?”
I don’t have much of a choice, so I take it.
Ryan has a place on the first floor. “Call me if
you need anything,” he says.
I go out later that night, and when I come
back, Anthony is there. He’s a black male, 27,
tall and heavyset, with something like a half-
afro. He’s talking to himself, and he doesn’t
seem all that glad to see me. He’s mumbling.
“Mumble di mumble di mumble di mum. HUH!
Mumble di mumble di mumble di mum.” I can’t
understand what he’s saying but all
I can think is, “Yeah, and I’m not too happy to
see you either.” I got a ton of stuff to do. I
don’t have time to deal this.
So work on the benefit starts, and I am literally
balls to the wall for ten to twelve hours a day.
The shelter’s grand poobah, Bob “Doc”
Adams, is my boss in all this. I tell him I can’t
believe how much work it is putting this thing
together. Bob Adams is a guy who starts
working at 8:00 am and very often finishes
close to midnight. “Welcome to my world,” he
says.
So I’m really busy, and I don’t really notice a
lot of the stuff going on around me.
Anthony is weird. He talks to himself all the
time. Very often it seems like doesn’t notice I’
m in the room. I can be watching television,
and he’ll come in, talking to himself, and start
the dishwasher – which is LOUD! – and then
leave the room. He’s also got weird habits.
He scratches his balls and picks his nose a
lot. And he cooks sausage all day long.
I don’t feel really good about living with
Anthony, so I start calling around to my friends
to see if anyone knows about a room for rent.
It’s all slow going. But I’m looking. I call this
woman named Pat Acerra who runs the
International Theater of Chicago (they’re
supposed to be taking Hellcab to Italy
sometime in the future), and we’re trading
emails and playing phone tag. But at this
point we don’t speak.
Anthony is here a lot. Almost every morning
and afternoon. I think, Why is he here? Isn’t
he supposed to be at hip hop school?
It seems like he sits in front of the TV and
watches movies on cable all day long.
He’s not unfriendly. I can ask him stuff like,
“Hey Anthony, how do I get the bus to the
Jewel Osco?” And he’ll tell me exactly how to
get there. But there’s something not right. I’m
not sure what.
He’s gone for long stretches. He has a girl
that calls him a lot. Her voice is very loud and
demanding. I’ll pick up the phone and she’ll
say “Anthony! Anthony!” And I’ll say, “No, it’s
not Anthony. Hold on.” And then I’ll tell him
he’s got a call.
One day she called when he was asleep and
she told me to wake him up. I told her I didn’t
know him well enough to do that, that she
should just call later. Anthony talked to me
about it that evening.
“I got a call this morning,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “It was early in the morning.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I don’t really know you well enough to do that.”
“You’re keeping my phone calls from me.”
“No, I’m not.” I thought this was stupid. Why
in God’s name would I do that? “I didn’t wake
you up because I don’t know you well
enough. Next time she calls, I’ll wake you up.”
In hindsight, this should have been one of
those moments where God steps out of
Heaven, touches you and the shoulder and
says, “Hey…” But it didn’t register. I’ve got
tons of work to do. I don’t have time to deal
with roommate bullshit.
Then on about my ninth day, I came in
through the back door, and I saw Anthony at
the stove cooking sausage. He was singing
his lungs out, bobbing up and down like he
was Stevie Wonder. There was a joyful
exuberance to it. But there was something
else. He looked like a madman, like a
psychotic. I know I got to get out of here. But
I’m also really, really busy.
In the middle of all this, we get another
roommate. A Korean guy, a graduate student
who’s doing research on drug addiction in
America. He picked this neighborhood so he
could be close to his subjects. Great. We
have a good connection because I speak a
little Korean, he speaks a little English.
Then it’s day ten. It snows in Chicago, and
the snow is really, really beautiful. I’ve been
living in LA for the past nine years, and I miss
weather. I miss snow, I miss seeing the
beautiful white stuff come out of the sky. And
this is a big snowstorm. It’s really coming
down.
It’s around 8:00 pm. I turn on the Spurs
game, they’re getting their clocks cleaned by
the Pistons. But I watch anyway. It’s been a
long time since I’ve had a break, and I really
want to relax. I pull open the blinds on the
living room window so I can look out at the
snow. It’s very peaceful, seeing the snow
come down silently, reflecting purple off the
streetlights, then blanketing the trees, cars,
porches, sidewalks, gates, everything. When
the commercials come on, I stand at the
window and look out at the snow.
This goes on for about twenty minutes.
I’m standing up looking out the window when
Anthony comes out of his bedroom.
“We got to talk about something,” he says to
me.
“What about?” I say.
There are three chairs in the living room
facing the TV. He points to the middle
chair.
“You got to decide where you want to sit,” he
says.
“I’m sorry?”
“You got to decide where you want to sit.” He
points to the middle chair. “You’re sitting here
now.”
He’s right. Chips and beer are in front of the
chair on a coffee table.
He continues, “but the other day when I was
watching TV, you sat over there.” He points to
the other chair. "So you gotta decide where
you wanna sit."
Me: ???
Then he says, “Because you’re always trying
to sit behind me.”
“What?”
“Yeah. You’re always trying to sit behind me.”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking
about.”
Then his face changes. He talks slower.
There’s a hint of suspicion in his voice.
“And the reason why you opened up the
blinds just now is because you want all those
people across the street to see that you’re
sitting behind me.”
“I’m… just… looking… at… the… snow…”
Then he storms into his bedroom and slams
the door.
Now I’m freaked.
The first thing I do is head into my bedroom,
stopping by the knife rack to see if all the
knives are in place. They are. We have this
huge butcher knife, but it’s sitting in its
holster. I get dressed, get my phone, and I’m
out the door in two minutes.
The first thing I do is call Ryan. I get his
answering machine. “Ryan, this is Will Kern.
Listen, I got to talk to you. I’ve got an
emergency situation here. Please call me as
soon as possible.”
I head downstairs to his first floor apartment,
thinking he may be home (remember, Ryan
has a place on the first floor). I knock on the
door, a pretty black girl answers. “Yes?” she
says?
“Is Ryan here? I’m the guy who lives on the
third floor. I have something of an
emergency.”
“Is it Anthony.”
Pause. “Why would you say that?”
“Uh… no reason,” she says. “Ryan’s not
here. Did you try his cell?”
I walk down the street to the local bar and call
Bob Adams, the chairman of the shelter. He’s
a licensed clinical social worker. Maybe he
can give me some advice. I tell him what just
happened, and he says it sounds like what I
already knew, that Anthony is paranoid,
possibly a schizophrenic, and possibly
dangerous. He suggests I get out. Now!
I stay at the bar for a while, then head back to
the place. I head in real quick, get in my
room, lock the door, and put a chair under the
doorknob. No way Anthony is getting in here.
Not without an axe. I get on the phone and
leave messages to my friends. I need to find
a place to stay NOW!
The next morning, I get a call from Ryan, real
early. I tell him what happened.
“Hmm…” he says. “Well, by law,
I’m not allowed to tell you about Anthony. But
this is the worst I’ve ever heard about him. He’
s never done anything like this.”
“What do you mean, ‘by law’?”
There’s a pause. Then: “Anthony is an
outpatient at the psychiatric hospital that’s
affiliated with UIC. B-b-but he’s completely
harmless. We’ve had doctors live in that
apartment. They know his situation. His is
really a benign case.”
He continues: “Listen, he’ll be out at the end
of the month. He was only supposed to stay
until the end of the month, and then he’s
moving on.”
“I’m moving out today.”
“Well, of course, that’s up to you.”
“So you need to come by my apartment with
my deposit money.”
“Okay. What time?”
I got to hand it to Ryan. He didn’t try to screw
me. A lot landlords would have. I got bit by a
mouse in an apartment in Dallas one time,
and I moved out the place that day, but when I
tried to get my deposit back from my Indian
landlord, said, “I’m sorry, my friend, I have
spent your money.” Ryan at least didn’t do
that.
So Ryan’s coming over at 4:00 pm to settle
up. I finally get ahold of Pat Acerra. She can
take me in. Perfect! Now I have a place to
stay!
I continue working. Lunch time rolls around, I’
m totally stressed. I figure it’s time to get out
of the house. I decide to take a walk down the
street, hit the local diner. Looking at the knife
rack on my way out to see if anything’s
missing.
I get out, it’s freezing. I get about two blocks
away, and all the time I thinking, boy, am I glad
to be out of that place.
I walk to the corner of Roosevelt and Western,
about two blocks away from the house, and
about a half block on front of me I can see this
black guy in front of me, this dude with short
hair and a big leather coat and glasses, about
27, and he’s crazy, and he’s going,
“WAHHHHHHHHHHHAHHAHAH, I’M GONNA
FUCK YA’LL UP MOTHAFUCKAZ!!!” And of
course I think, what is it with this city that
everybody is insane!?! He ducks into a KFC,
and I think, man, dodged that one.
I pass the KFC, and then five seconds later he
comes out, WHAHHHHAHHHAH YOU
MOTHAFUCKAZ GONNA DIE!!!”
I cross the street, he’s right behind me,
“WAHAHAHHHHAHH” I’m heading to a diner
kitty corner and he crosses too
“WHAAAAAAAA” I cross with some black
people and they say, “What the hell’s wrong
wit that boy?” “He crazy look like.”
I get to the street corner, and I’m five feet
away from the diner. There are something
like four people on the corner. He’s going
“WHAAAAAA” then all the sudden he looks at
me, like for the first time he notices there’s a
white guy in front of him. He breaks off his
screaming. He gets an angry look in his eye.
He lunges for me. The people on the street
shout DON’T DO IT MAN!!, he freezes, I rush
into the diner.
I think, Jesus, I’m safe. I sit down at the
counter. The place is full of black folk, except
for an Asian man behind the counter. The
waiter hands me a menu and I tell him I want
breakfast, two scrambled, hash browns,
bacon, coffee.
Then the door flies open, and the crazy guy
comes in, “WHAAAAAA, I’M GONNA KILL
ALLA YA’LL MOTHAFUCKAZZZZ!!!”
Nobody seems to notice. They go on about
their business like he isn’t even there. He sits
down at a table and people go about their
business.
Black guy 1: “No way the Bears can beat
Carolina.”
Crazy guy: “YO ASS IS DEAD
MOTHAFUCKAZZZ!”
Black guy 2: “You crazy. Them Bears gonna
jack those niggas. They got the D.”
Crazy guy: “WHAAAHAHA! YOU
MOTHAFUCKAZ GONNA DIE!!”
Black guy 1: “I’m from Carolina, and I say no
way Bears beat Carolina. And if you wanna
bet the spread, put up yo cash!”
Crazy guy: “WHHHAAAAA. FUCK YOU,
MOTHAFUCAA!”
So it’s Breakfast with The Excorcist movie.
Then the crazy guy gets up and starts moving
around the diner. He goes into the bathroom
and you can hear SLAM SLAM SLAM BANG
and folks are trying to act like nothing’s going
on. The Asian guy looks really stressed. The
waiter looks off at the noise.
He comes out of the bathroom again, and he
starts shouting at the waiter, and the waiter is
countering his every step, trying to keep him
cornered. There’s a Chicago Sun-Times
sitting by my elbow, it’s not mine, it’s just
sitting there, and the crazy guy goes,
“WHAHAAAAA…’’ then he sees the paper and
he brushes past the waiter right up to me and
say, in a very quiet voice, “Excuse me sir.
May I see your newspaper?” I say, “yes,” and
he takes the paper and starts waving it
around, “WHAAAAAAAHAHA!”
Then after a few minutes of this, he leaves.
I eat my breakfast, pay, and head out the
door. It feels like somebody has pulled all the
nerves out of my head. Like somebody has
reached in and pulled all the nerves out of the
back of my skull.
I head back to the apartment and pack my
things. Anthony is nowhere to be seen.
Before Ryan comes, I write a note in Korean
to the other guy in the apartment, the Korean
guy. I slip it under his door, but he comes
home a few minutes later. He reads the note
and asks me what’s going on. I tell him the
story about Anthony.
"If I were you, I wouldn’t stay here,” I say.
“I don’t want to,” he says.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Ryan comes in. “Hey Will, I got your
money. Let’s settle up.”
But the Korean guy is suddenly wise to all
this. “Will told me about Anthony. I don’t want
to stay here either.”
Ryan: “Look, he’s going to be out soon.
Monday at the earliest.” (Ryan told me the
end of the month, which is almost two weeks
away. Now it’s “Monday at the earliest.”)
The Korean guy says, “I don’t want to stay
here. I’m going to have to move out.”
Ryan says, “Look, it’s really no big deal,” he
say, getting flustered. “I tell you what. Why
don’t you move into my apartment downstairs
for the time being. And I’ll move up here. I’m
not afraid of Anthony.”
Korean guy: “Okay.”
Ryan: “Because I’m not afraid of him. There’s
doctors that stay here. Anthony’s condition is
not serious. It’s not that big a deal.”
Korean guy: “I’ll move into your place then.”
Ryan: “Uh, fine, uh, fine.”
Ryan then pulls out this cell phone, and walks
into the living room. I follow him, because I
have to call a cab. He punches a number on
his cell phone, and I hear his conversation.
He calls his girlfriend:
“Yeah, it’s me. Hey listen. Don’t come over. I’
m going to be spending the night at your
place tonight. … What?… I’ll explain later…
What?… I said I’d explain later! Listen…
Listen… Okay. No, I’ll explain later. Just so
long as you understand me. Don’t come
over. You got that? Don’t come over. I’ll see
you later.” Then he hung up.
I caught a cab to Pat Acerra’s place and got
the hell out of there. And that was the end of
that.