Sherry Wood

…loud and clear and lionhearted.

“i will never get over it. i will move on. i’m taking you with me.”

I stood right where you stood
Right there where you were pushed
I looked at the flowers someone placed on the tracks
They have changed so much since Friday
But I think they were supposed to be lilac

The WANTED flyers flapped around as my train rolled in
I stepped back but kept my eyes on the stems
They were lying in a pool of water that was black
So its hard to tell
But I think they were supposed to be lilac

The only thing worse than tragedy
Is the heartless reaction to it
There went a mother’s son
There went a man in progression
Who knows what you would have been
Because you’re not coming back

Its hard to tell
But I think they were supposed to be lilac

I hope you know
I won’t forget
I don’t take it for granted
What from you was so ripped
Its not fair
Never got a chance to know you
And there was so much about yourself you didn’t get to
Hard to accept that you’re not coming back

Its hard to tell
But I think they were supposed to be lilac.

Lets just get it straight
There are things I miss
But mostly things I hate
I would never go back

There are things they don’t know
Things I can’t say
My eyes turn black
And I go cold
Because I have no choice
But to know

Said I miss the storms
Said I like the rain
But I wouldn’t choose to drown
Because of my name

I moved the hell away
I ran the hell away
From that dingy staircase
When the hand finally left my throat
But I will never be free
Because I have no choice
But to know

The South.

I go back and forth. Do I want to write a follow-up to “Suzanne Degnan,” and if I did, what purpose would it serve? I wanted to write a book that served her some type of justice, and gave her more than the gruesome murder she is known for. She was a child, I saw her, her spirit running around and I heard her laugh. That’s what I like to remember. When I read the news of William Heirens death last night I was very upset. To me, he was a sad old man at death that never got the chance to live his life when he was convicted of Suzanne’s murder at 17 years old. He reminds me so much of someone else I met when they were just 17…in that same apartment.
There are so many ways I could write a follow-up but I would feel a bit cheap. I just want Suzanne to rest in peace, the little darling, and I still feel so haunted by her, by everything that was taken from her. I still want this book to paint the world, to REALLY get out there, because it’s about a girl’s spirit, a girl’s tenacity, not a man and his dirty hands and psychotic mind. We will always, unfortunately, have one of those. This, to me, is a book that never ends, but I want the pain to. I just want her to be happy…

“all this death before breakfast.”

Because I lived in Chicago for a couple of years, I know how haunted that city is. There is something just not quite right about it – a place of well known serial killers, tragedies like The Great Chicago Fire, and a plethora of grisly unsolved murders.
Now two years is not very long, but for me it felt like a lifetime. Not a bad one, but one I obsess over on a daily basis (love, sex, ghosts, rock n roll).
Perhaps I lived there in a past life too. All I know is there is a connection that runs deeper than the couple of years in the late 90s I spent there.
I used to date a boy named Jack who referred to certain streets in the city as “Murder Man Alley” and “Death Alley.” It always spooked me how he’d say these things with a cheerful tone, and now I wonder how he knew so much when he was only seventeen. He always did seem like an old soul though…
I suppose one of the reasons Jack knew so much about Chicago was because he was homeless and spent a great deal of his time in the library reading. That was one of the things I liked about him, he always had this deep look of concentration in his dirty brown eyes, always somewhat distracted, probably by the knowledge he collected on a daily basis. I think now when I look up things about Chicago, he’s one of the ghosts I’m searching for.
The Iroquois disaster occurred in 1903. Of course this wasn’t the first devastating fire – there was the Great Chicago Fire that took down most of the city. Barely back on its feet, the city was about to experience another unfortunate incident.
The comedy, Mr. Bluebeard, drew quite a crowd. People wanted to laugh and since it was Christmas break, the theatre attracted a bigger crowd than anticipated. One of the actors that took the stage as people got seated was a man named Eddie Foy Sr. He had no idea he’d go from being an actor that night to a hero trying to keep everyone from panicking only to barely escape himself through a sewer before the flames got to him.
Prior to the catastrophe, lights dimmed and actors’ voices soared from the stage as the vaudeville play began. Laughs were drawn from strangers and Eddie felt proud.
A weird POP! was heard halfway through the performance, and sparks descended from an overhead light. Flames ran up the red velvet curtain and a few people in the audience moved around nervously while others assumed this was part of the play.
Eddie urged everyone to remain calm, that the theatre was fireproof. But this only informed everyone that this was not part of the play and lives were in danger.
Then the set started crashing down in giant scraps and the fire spread, along with panic. Chorus girls collapsed around him like falling statues. The remainder of the set crashed down in burning pieces. The red curtain was now an orange blaze and people were choking on smoke. Eddie watched the chaos as people knocked one another over trying to get out, but the doors were designed to swing inward, not outward, and wouldn’t open. People were being trampled and other people used the pile of bodies as a mountain to climb, determined to get out and save their own lives. They banged on the door, screaming for help until too much smoke invaded their lungs and they started choking.
Someone managed to get a rear set of double doors open and fled but at the same moment a ruthless Chicago gust created a fireball that shot back into the balconies still full of people.
Outside however the scene was pretty serene. No smoke was seen for almost fifteen minutes, and then alarms started to sound off. By the time the fire was put out, almost 600 were dead. Some didn’t die inside but instead fell 100 feet to the cobblestone in the alleyway out back after discovering the iron staircase to the fire escape was missing. Some may have jumped. This is the area referred to today as Death Alley because its where so many met their death.
What was once known as The Iroquois is now the Ford Center for the Performing Arts.
Death Alley is often desolate these days except for the occasional delivery truck or a pedestrian who doesn’t know any better. It’s one of the many places in Chicago that is congested with a dreadful energy. I know because I remember walking down Death Alley with Jack who seemed strangely at ease when he pointed out where we were.