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In 1980, when the Iranian Hostage Crisis was running for 444 days under Jimmy Carter's inept rule, I had to do my annual Naval Reserve training duty. On 1 April 1980 there was a sign posted on the training office that said, “no more travel or per diem money until further notice”. {Reason: the six carrier battle groups in the area were burning the NR budget at the rate of $1 million per day. Ergo, no travel (mileage) or per diem for meals and quarters.]

Since our training was done in Norfolk, VA and I lived in IL, I wasn't about to pay my way down and back plus live in a motel off base on my nickel for two weeks. I canceled the orders and got new orders to the NavResCen, Chicago (Randolph Street on the Lake). As luck would have it, a friend of mine arranged so I could camp out in his office at 106th Street and commute to work (going home on the weekend).

It was a very easy daily commute up the Outer Drive to the NavResCen. The thing that struck me: you could absolutely tell where one ethnic neighborhood ended and another began.

My buddy's office was in a working class Slovak neighborhood tending Hispanic. They had little crime because the Blacks were scared to death of the Hispanics. The Hispanics loathed Blacks as shiftless and worthless parasites. As long as the Blacks kept their crime and violence in their neighborhoods, everything was cool. Cross the street into “our” neighborhood meant you'd better get your business done and get out. No funny stuff our you'd be in very SERIOUS trouble — as in not getting out alive.