The mayor of Chicago was worried about his poll numbers. It was another weekend of high crime statistics. 44 shot, six dead, including a four-year-old boy sitting on his front steps and Miss (Aunt) Louella Majors watching the BET Soul Awards from her lazy boy in Englewood. Mayor Jenkins was at war with the Teacher’s Union, city streets needed repaving, and there were always problems with red light cameras. But the mayor knew it was the shootings that would damage his legacy and cost his re-election. He wasn’t the only mayor of a major city experiencing these problems, but it was cold comfort seeing other cities with only slightly more or less trouble than his own. In the three years since his election, Jenkins’ short Afro had grayed, the bags beneath his eyes deepened and darkened and his expression rarely broke from the look of someone who had to be emphatic to be heard. His commanding stature had made voters think he had things under control, but they quickly learned that wasn’t the case. Rumors of his custom-made suits and expressive grooming appointments added to the ongoing questions about his real commitment to the city.
The mayor and Ezekiel Adams, his current Chief of Police, (the fifth in two years), did the Monday ten o’clock press hustle, fudged the stats, and blamed the uptick on the mild, late fall temperatures, coupled with daylight savings which threw the city into darkness before six o’clock.
“What a shitshow,” the mayor was heard to utter under his breath to Zeke. “Why can’t you get this under control?”
“It’s not – It’s above -”
“It is your job description and I’m paying you a small fortune.” Adams’ short and thick stature made them an odd-looking team. Adams had been in the force his entire adult life. Well-liked, his easy manner endeared him to the press as well. Almost too good looking to be an enforcement professional of any kind, he could have easily played a detective on TV.
A Tribune reporter captured the exchange in a flash of camera light. “Mister Mayor, why not let them all just have at it? That’s what it’s starting to look like anyway. It’s hard to find a safe street in this city.”
“What the hell are you -” the mayor’s sharp facial features closed in and froze in a growl, a flaccid COP and the camera flash and now this imbecile caused him to lunge, “What kind of shit are you selling?”
“That’s it – a shit show. Give me three minutes, Mr. Mayor. When’s the last time you heard any ideas – even bad ones, to get your numbers down. Next November is coming fast.”
And with that last line, the mayor’s ears, like a decoded bank vault swung open. He grabbed the COP by his pressed navy-blue woolen uniform lapels, and said to both men, “In my office, now.”
Humbled now to be in step with the top two leaders of the city, Mike Hanrahan, City Editor of the Tribune, slowed his pace to walk three feet behind the mayor. A wiry man, with a red crew cut, he dressed in fleece vests, plaid shirts, khakis, and hiking boots year-round.
Hanrahan’s idea seemed simple. Anyone, from anywhere in the city (proof of address required), would be allowed to come to Soldier Field on a given date, with their weapon of choice, and as much ammo as they could carry, and may the best combatants win. “It’s sounds brutal, but I’m convinced there will be quite a few citizens left standing.”
The mayor and COP nodded.
Surprised, the media man went into more detail.
“A stage, built like a city street will be constructed. There will be cars, bikes, and other distractions to create a facsimile of places where crime occurs. Gang bangers and their rivals, angry citizens with a gripe, personal vendetta, or an enemy that craves obliteration, can apply. Get your rival to show, and it is a no fault, may the best person win, contest.”
“Sanctioning violence? You’re asking me to-” Jenkins got cut off.
“You’re doing it anyway aren’t you?” Hanrahan answered but looked to Adams for confirmation. “No prison sentences, few fines, the criminals are back on the streets by the following weekend.” The Chief could only raise his eyebrows in agreement.
Mayor Jenkins was horrified but felt a bristling chill at the back of his skull run down his spine. It was the feeling he got whenever he or someone else came up with a good idea. He looked at Adams and couldn’t get a reading, but that didn’t stop the reporter from continuing.
“No shooting to begin until within the confines of the playing area. It stops when the victors exit.”
Both could see the COP start to take to the concept. Adams said, “If they choose to participate, but try to go back to business as usual, officers would be given a shoot to kill mandate when apprehending criminals.”
The media guy shrugged, “So what else is new?”
Adams lurched toward the reporter, but the mayor stopped him with a swift swing of his arm.
The execution of the plan would be a bit more complicated. The mayor created a task force, delegated, and tried not to think about it as he conducted the city’s day to day business.
“I want as many details worked out before, and if, we announce.” he said to his planning committee. “The skeptics will find any hole they can in the event design.”
They brought in statisticians and gamblers to run numbers and create odds. “It’s going to be a mass causality event – it’s just a question of how massive.” They tried to estimate how many participants would sign up but like other events like Lollapalooza, decided to hold 10,000 participants on each of three days over Labor Day weekend. A lottery could be implemented should requests exceed that number. Some of the committee doubted they would have enough requests for one day. In theory, they wanted to welcome all, but the committee hoped few would attend. People around the planning table knew some citizens would wish to be flies on the wall, there were obviously to be no spectators allowed. The CTV cameras and drones would be the only record of the event; that, and the survivors’ tales.
Ballistics experts raised the most important issue on the third day of meetings.
“You can’t just send the 22s in with the 44’s. To say nothing of the guys and gals with long guns, machine guns and assaults. You must create at least the appearance of a fair-ish fight.” And fair-ish became a catch phrase as the talks proceeded.
The committee felt safe confronting the mayor.
“People are saying this is racist – it’s going to be largely black on black crime – murder – you’re culling the herd and sanctioning it – trying to make it a positive – a benefit to and for the city.”
“Isn’t it? Won’t it be?” Hanrahan, the reporter who had been invited to sit on the committee with city employees and aldermen. “Fewer criminals – their behavior has immediate, unpleasant consequences, and the city pays less in police salaries, incarceration, public defender fees and the general fear and ennui of law abiding, tax paying citizens. It’s brutal but I’m not seeing a downside here.”
“People will think the mayor is trying to eliminate half the blacks in the city – it will be a microcosm of black-on-black crime.”
“That’s fair-ish.” Adams said.
“But wait,” said Hanrahan, looking over his notes from conversations with the experts. “I’ve got another idea. Let’s give the morning to any and all self-defense, man on man or woman combat types. You solve two problems – batons, Manriki Chains, spiked knuckles, and swords are chunky white guy weapons – and then, sort the rest of the day by bullet or gun sizes so all the fights are fair-ish.”
“Yeah, that way, we finish each day with a bang, and the most time for clean up.” said the most ardent fan of the idea. He was the old bald guy who had run the Department of Streets and Sanitation for decades.
“Can you believe we’re talking about ending with a bang?” the mayor’s twenty-six-year-old assistant said. He was sickened by the cavalier way the committee talked, but wanted a career in politics and this was the first time the mayor had given him a committee post. When he looked around the table, he realized he had silenced the group and laughed dropping his eyes, “I mean.”
That day ended with a lively debate about whether the event needed a catch phrase, and could the city get away with selling tees and caps. Phrases like Bigger than Bunker Hill, More Vicious than Vicksburg were floated through City Hall while some thought, Get It While You Can could work. Someone even suggested “Dream No Small Dreams” as they stood and collected their notes at the end of the day.
The mayor knew dances, religion and civic engagements no longer held the community’s attention. Mayor Jenkins had been slow to accept urban areas were now battlefields. Just these three days, just this one arena, just this one time. It was needed to let off some steam. Because wasn’t that the real problem with urban crime – it was perpetuated upon people who didn’t share the perp’s anger and frustration. At least here, he argued (to himself), people were entering an arena where everyone knew the rules, understood the odds. Those heading home on a dark night, or leaving a club a little tipsy, weren’t going to be robbed or killed, mugged or beat up, and at least for one weekend, the month before the election, he hoped the city would be unusually quiet. He longed to guarantee the city some calm.
Mayor Jenkins checked in with the committee at the end of every day. He was meticulous in following up on every decision made. He was surprised how quickly he was thinking on his feet, solving new sets of problems every day. He felt energized and invigorated as he began to commit fully, without question, doubt or reservation. Mayor Jenkins began each day fuller of himself and more confident of realizing the task at hand. When his assistant questioned him one morning when the two were alone in the office, Jenkins shot back:
“How do you pull off a Band-Aid? We’ve been too slow peeling off this problem. I think it’s time for a big rip.”
As plans came together, at first, the committee agreed there’d be no hospital, then one nearby volunteered. “Don’t you think we don’t see these sickos and their victims in here every weekend anyway?”
“Should we run shuttles from all over the city? We’re going to have some abandoned cars tying up the downtown lots otherwise – we should also encourage neighborhood carpools.”
And though he didn’t know it yet, the mayor was releasing something new into the atmosphere of his city, this city he had lived in and fought for to be a just and safe place.
The mayor came to assume the death and injured toll would be significantly higher than the average weekend stats, but these would be people who wanted to be there and took on what city lawyers called “acceptable risk” for themselves.
Slowly, but a little more day by day, the committee convinced themselves of the efficacy of the idea. Like twelve angry men and women sitting in the jury room, they talked among themselves, convincing themselves they were doing the right thing. “It shakes things up – break things, try something new.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever done anything like this before – not intentionally – sure, there’ve been unintentional, spontaneous bursts of violence – riots, uprisings, but nothing planned.”
“This won’t fully solve the problem – but it will cast the entire situation into another light.”
It wasn’t that hard to figure out the mayor’s hopes for the event – and probably his COP shared many elements of his dream. He wanted all the criminals, the law breakers, the murderers to go away, to vanish, to die, if necessary, but at the very least, to leave his city and leave the innocent people of his city alone. If this event took care of half of them, or even a third of them, it was so much better than nothing, and he was willing to take heat for what would surely be called by some a questionable technique.
Jenkins had been frustrated by his inability to change his city. For as long as he could remember, he had felt he could do a better job than the men and women who’d previously held the office; he was smarter, more sympathetic, an empath, and he knew how to fight smart, so few people had been hurt in his rise to success. He’d made a lot of money, given back to his community, and given to social justice programs before he was mayor. He changed the law so students could attend the city junior colleges free of charge. He had been proud of that though within a year of his election, enrollment hadn’t increased significantly, and crime stats ballooned. His feelings went from elation to confusion to shame to anger to a smoldering bitterness that tasted like office coffee left in a warming pot past seven p.m. Could this, once and for all, make the point no one had successfully made – that urban violence was an ugly, unsatisfying way to deal with civilization and its discontents.
As the announcement date approached, the oddest details held committee members in thrall. The latest concern of the committee was the need for a start-up ceremony. “We can’t just let them in ready to blast anyone in their way. It must be a level playing field. They must start and end on time.”
“Like a game – except… You could be there and sound a gong or fire a starting pistol.
It sounded absurd but the mayor got the point. He thought of fireworks and decided a quick display would start and end the event each day.
It was also decided there would be no latecomers allowed, but all would be free to leave when they were ready. “We can’t force people to stay against their will,” he said to unanimous, affirmative nods.
As the last details fell into place, the final consideration was the transportation of the injured and deceased. The mayor was adamant he didn’t want all hospitals in the city forced to accommodate, so the committee decided to work with the three hospitals closest to the Field, to treat the injured. Body bags, coffins, and a mobile mortuary truck, left over from the pandemic, would be placed at the site. Emergency services would be contacted as needed.
Once logistics and details were settled, the committee was most concerned about the announcement. It had to be clear and non-biased for both participants and those who chose not to partake. Over the past few years, aside from sporting events and concerts, there had been few occasions for which both sides of the city might properly gather. They only wanted each person to have one weapon and whatever protective gear made them feel safe. No armored vehicles allowed, but handicapped access had to be available.
As details were finalized and the press release prepared, Jenkins’s first thought was there should be a closed-circuit event with only city drones recording, but the mayor’s wife off handedly suggested a pay per view option to help diminish the city’s debt after Covid and improve its credit status. Allison James, a willowy blonde had spent years in finance on Wall Street before returning to the Midwest to care for her ailing parents. She and the mayor met at a neighborhood crime stopper meeting when the mayor was a police spokesperson. They have been together eleven years.
His honor’s look of horror was dismissed with a shrug, “You want a second term, or don’t you?”
The next day, a Pay per View option was added.
“You want to let people see justice being implemented. Nonviolent, vulnerable people of this city deserve to have some satisfaction,” Allison said.
The announcement and subsequent publicity were scrutinized for clear, simple, easily translatable wording. No one had ever openly advertised or campaigned like this.
An April 2nd announcement (“They’d think we were kidding if we go on the first.”) for a three-day Labor Day Weekend event. The months allowed for shopping, discussions, ‘are you going?’, what would it take for you to go?” It gave time to the wobblers to decide to go and then change their minds a few times.
The religious and socially conscious citizen’s protests were easily drowned out in the growing excitement. Mayors in other cities, large and small, watched and waited anxiously to see the outcomes; some had already secretly begun planning their own events – confident they could identify a clever idea when they heard one.
ANNOUNCEMENT
For one time only, during the Labor Day weekend, the City of Chicago will sanction a combat event at Soldier Field.
Mayor Jenkins and The City of Chicago invite you to attend the Labor Day event in Soldier Field. RSVP strongly recommended.
Based on the choice of weapon, participants must be ready to enter the field at:
Day One
8 – knives, hatchets, axes and machetes
9- 22s, 32s,380s
10- 9mm,40 s&w
11- 45 automatic
12 – 38 specials
1- 357 magnum
2 – 44 mags
3- Ghost guns
Day Two
8-10 a.m. Antique and Hand-crafted Rifles
11-1 Shotguns
2-4 Machine guns
5-7 p.m. Sub machine guns.
Day Three
8 a.m.-10 a.m. – Privately built automatic weapons
10:30 – 12 – AR 15 and related automatic weapons
All entry fees: One-time fee of $500. Nonrefundable. Be specific about what time you will participate.
Once you are in the Field, you are free to go or stay when your prescribed time is up; but no one may enter before the weapon of choice is announced.
Pay per view ticket: $150.00
The announcement was placed in all local newspapers and church and community newsletters.
The six-a.m. announcement was easy to miss because who reads the city’s daily papers anymore? But as Jenkins and his wife lay in bed, TV on, phones and tablets tuned in to watch the announcement spread across Twitter (X) and all social media, they heard the press and his constituents crowd around outside their home as the mayor prepared to leave for City Hall.
“It will be carnage, we can’t have that,” the Cardinal said from the portico of his mansion on North Avenue at the lake. And while his statement made the evening news, no one responded to his words.
City Hall was buzzing. The ticket sales were brisk. Again, the Mayor questioned himself and the idea, but there were so many decisions to be made, he didn’t have time to linger in ambivalence.
“We’ll have to have drawing – a lottery of sorts – everyone will need a number to get in and only those ending in odd numbers will be admitted.”
“Who, in their right mind, is going to work the door?”
But that question was answered as quickly as asked.
The Protectors of Good volunteered for door duty. This citizen’s rights group had formed over the summer of protests and was chaired by Lou Smothers who had lost his home to a firebomb hurled to break up a crowd. He had become vigilant, without becoming a vigilante in the fight for average citizens to live in peace. A retired CTA bus driver, Smothers had remained active in voting rights issues and was still fighting for rights and freedoms in the city of his birth.
Within twenty-four hours, the city was overwhelmed with applications. The launch, all agreed at City Hall, went well. Of course, rumors about the event had hit the streets weeks before, but here was the concrete evidence and the rules clearly laid out for all to see.
As soon as entry to the Field had been assigned, they were resold on Craigslist, in the want ads, and on Facebook.
About this, the mayor shrugged. “We didn’t make that illegal. If someone decides not to tempt fate, isn’t that for the best? I’m starting to wish all the tickets were available online, and no one was buying.”
But that wasn’t the case. The tickets were being sold for thousands, over face value.
The entire city blew up with the news. “Why wait?” some wondered. People from all walks of life found they had an investment in the event. Racists, victims, and perpetrators of crime alike, started planning for a piece of the action. Husbands and wives began keeping receipts and secrets from one another when they learned how deeply they disagreed. The woman raped in college had her rage released by her sense she could get the justice the courts never provided. Men, whose PTSD had only been medically damped down but never assuaged, knew they needed to be part of this, even if it cost them their marriage, their family, or their lives.
Men and women who felt competent in their chosen form of self-defense took the event as an opportunity to test their skill and expertise. Miserable husbands and wives were together already counting the money they’d save in attorney fees.
It was easy to see this as a giant televised turf war, but as the days became months, what could have been easily missed, was the sheer numbers of people with axes needing a grind. The gangs and outlaws were the largest element to be sure, but those quietly and not so quietly seething on the day to day, quickly saw this as a way to express their distaste for city mask mandates, red light cameras, parking tickets, and rules or standards they found inhibiting and felt were a price too high to pay. Those convinced only certain sections of the city would participate were sadly mistaken. Failed and failing marriages and friendships, old corporate beefs, neighbors who had lived like the Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s now had a place to legally air their grievances.
At a press conference about a new urban park, Labor Day came up and Mayor Jenkins, standing over a shovel at the ground breaking, joked about the number of invites he himself had received to the event and while he said sarcastically, he was flattered, he respectfully declined and would continue to decline all invitations unless he received an invite from his wife.
While many citizens worked to get their enemies to attend, others prepared their wills, created financial trusts, and suddenly committed to additional family time; yet others who were going, did nothing. A fraction of the attendees saw the weekend as spontaneous as a drive-by. Some made plans for family dinners after; others feared jinxing the results by making plans beyond the date of the weekend event.
The horror hit the mayor in small doses – he was never overwhelmed, just stunned dry throated, dizzy, shocked. My God, we’re going to do this, he’d think, then keep moving. He still had a city to run. Many at City Hall clung to the belief that because it was unprecedented, it wouldn’t happen.
Of course, the media went crazy interviewing gang bangers in darkened rooms to hide their identity. Night after night, the city soaked up ignorant men and women spouting opinions about the upcoming event.
“The guys are thrilled and can’t wait to go – it’s like West Side Story, Squid and Hunger Games all in one.”
“This is a new kind of freedom; a way to give our instincts free rein for once.”
One banger got philosophical. “It’s going to be definitely different. Half of what I do is spontaneous. I don’t plan the shit – you can’t. Just need to take advantage of the moment.”
Another guaranteed attendee said,” I’m meticulous and once I know where a cat’s going to be, I lay for him until I get him. Mayor nice to set this little get together up for us. Feeling guilt free and aren’t going to be no consequences.”
An eager participant who called himself an average gun owner said, “Once you get grown ain’t nobody can tell you nothing’. Nothing anyone’s ever said to me made me change my mind. This is a business meeting for me. I’m going to take care of my business, then book.”
No one was more surprised than the mayor when a month before the event, in his weekly meeting with the COP, they discovered that shootings and violent crime stats were down. They’d had the lowest quarter in a decade. “You can run on that, Mayor,” And for the first time in months, his assistant smiled.
Where are they? Jenkins wondered. Are they saving up for their no-fault day in court? Gun ranges and shooting parlors were booking clients at an all-time high and those with access to forests and vacant land set up impromptu target practice. Only one death and a few minor injuries from those sites were reported. People were using ammunition to improve marksmanship, not to pepper the dark streets on weekend nights.
A week before, media outlets wanted to know how quickly they could get the names of the deceased, but the mayor wouldn’t commit.
“We don’t need to know their names, because like all victims and perpetrators, we only remember them for a day or two before there’s someone new to mention and comment on. Then when the perps trial comes up, we need to reacquaint ourselves with the incident and the biographies of those involved.”
But the COP had the final say, “These people will want credit for their success and a mention and notice for their failure. They’ll have to be identified somehow and then returned to their next of kin.”
The mayor agreed and the two major newspapers were eager to run lists of survivors and notices for the dead and injured.
Only on the Thursday night before the weekend was to begin, Joseph Jenkins’s feet got cold. He said to his wife, “Aren’t we just sanctioning violence here? Those from disinvested and disenfranchised areas will be left only with their wits and weapons of choice. How are we making things better? We’re breaking the law. I’m arranging illegal actions.”
But his wife talked him down, knowing it was too late to stop what had been set in motion. “The city is suffering. Tourism rates are the lowest they’ve been in years. We can’t get people downtown to shop or stay in hotels anymore. They’re afraid. If we can curb some of these fears and make it clear how and why we’re doing what we’re doing, I think you’re going to glean a lot of support.”
As the mayor lay awake, he found small comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only one in the city staring at a bedroom ceiling.
THE THREE-DAY EVENT
Day One
Yet when morning came, the mayor arose with a happily surprising amount of energy and confidence in his decision and hoped the event would occur as smoothly as possible.
His wife’s parting words to him as he left for City Hall, “You don’t have to judge them or be judged – you’ve created the safest place possible for those to act out their baser instincts. Some will take advantage of it, and some won’t.”
The mayor sat in his office alone watching the closed circuit of the Field, the opening fireworks, and two brief speeches by the deputy mayor and Chief of Police. Given what was about to happen, the crowd was remarkably orderly. The lines proceeded, and there was an almost meditative feel to the individuals there – each with a job to do, each going over their special plan – each clutching to their dream of how this day should proceed.
On phone calls from Ezekiel Adams and the assistant mayor, Jenkins confirmed what he saw on the closed-circuit feed.
It was mostly heavy-set white guys whose agility was hampered. The vast majority stayed and fought until injury prevented them from proceeding. The knife fights were by far the most brutal, but these were people who wanted to be there, were eager for contact and weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. They had a point of pride attached to their skills and capability.
For Jenkins, it was interesting to see violence with the element of randomness entirely removed. It was brutal, awful, but also beautiful in the purity of its intent – in the shared but twisted purity of these people’s visions. He was reminded of gladiators.
Only as he lay in bed that night beside his sleeping wife, did he let himself realize he had been longing for even more fatalities.
Day Two
Joseph Jenkins woke up and fell apart, pacing and sobbing to his wife. The mayor’s stomach roiled and gurgled, he wasn’t prepared to watch the live feed, but his wife was. “I won’t sugar coat it – I’ll tell you what I’m seeing without upsetting you.”
“I pity the people who had to go in and clean up – the hospitals treating the wounded, the coroners, the morticians. I can’t watch another day of this carnage. We don’t even have numbers from yesterday yet.” Only with that thought did the mayor realize he was both part of the cause and the solution, and that the two could no longer be separated.
“I just want this all to be over with,” the mayor said.
“What all?” his wife asked.
“I don’t want people to use deadly weapons, even though we’ve allowed it.” But having said that, the mayor realized he was wishing on a star, and felt as childish as he thought people at the Field were thinking they could solve their problems with physical violence against others.
At the Field, at first people were just popping each other left and right, it was a bloodbath for about an hour. No one could tell if the people knew each other or not; but then it got quiet and some contestants left, while others were clearly hiding, seeking surprise encounters.
As the firepower got bigger during the day, people’s determination for destruction grew. Random shooting became more frequent and while the marksmanship didn’t improve, the severity of the injuries did. Between day one and day two, it was the difference between an autopsy and a decimation.
The mayor allowed only the following press release:
Day two was brutal. The gun fire, injuries and deaths far outnumbered the committee’s predictions, but those charged with transporting the injured and dead did an outstanding job. Clean-up will take all night, but the city will be ready for the final day.
Day Three
Mayor Jenkins awoke feeling nothing but determined only to complete what the city had begun. He went to his office, but never turned on the closed-circuit video feed. Before two o’clock, his COP caught him in the middle of mindless paperwork, which he slid into the top drawer of his desk as he entered.
“That was quick,” the mayor said as Ezekiel Adams entered, sat across from him and rubbed his face with his hands.
“We finished early – before noon. Clean-up will be a bear, but we collected more guns from cold dead hands than we did in the first two days combined. Maybe we just do automatic weapons next year?”
“Next year?”
But he continued as if he didn’t hear the question.
“Next year will be better. “We’ll be able to tweak some of the issues.”
The mayor felt sick to his stomach at the COP’s words and knew, he had started something, it would be difficult to stop.
The next day, the city’s children went back to school, workers commuted to their jobs, college students resumed their studies. At City Hall, the mayor walked the halls to his office with his head held high as he took a deep breath. It was over, the reports would be written, the results yet to be determined. It would be up to others to judge his success or failure. There were people smiling at him and those who clearly avoided eye contact. Once in his office, he yelled out to his assistant. He had made an attempt. He had already done so much more than other leaders.
“Get Hanrahan at the Tribune on the phone. I want to hear what he’s got in mind for fighting white collar crime.”
