Coagulate your talents.”
That’s what’s written next to the smoothie prices and coffee selections on the menu board, one of the first things you notice when you walk in the door. Then you notice the enormous three-headed dragon puppet dangling on the wall, all grinning, glittering gold and red and purple. Chairs of every shape and size – wicker lawn chairs, sections of church pews, mod molded plywood stools, overstuffed parlor chairs – cluster around glass-topped tables. You can’t quite tell how many rooms there are, because they seem to ramble into one another, their walls covered in paintings and blue plaster molding. Here there’s a chandelier, there a trampoline is stuck to the wall. In this room there are about 10 little mobiles hanging from lightbulbs right at eye-level – in that room there are microphones and speakers – everywhere is color and light.
You wander around trying to make sense of the layout when the guy behind the counter introduces himself and tells you not to bother trying to figure it out because it won’t be this way next week. It probably won’t be this way tomorrow, in fact; it’s changed every day, and would you like a spoonful of ice cream? He was just going to get one for himself.
Welcome to the Chase Cafe, located at 7301 N. Sheridan Rd. To the people who live and work here, it’s much more than a coffee shop – it’s a performance space, a studio, an art gallery, an Internet cafe and a home, and there are plans to make it a greenhouse, a radio station, a publishing house and a grocery. A large, indeterminate number of the people who work there aren’t on the payroll, and those who sometimes get room and board instead of a paycheck.
“This isn’t just a coffee shop gig selling coffee over the counter,” says Phil, 22, owner but not leader. The kind of guy you can’t describe without using the word “intense,” Phil is the one who offered the ice cream earlier. Now he sits restlessly, occasionally jabbing and gesturing with his spoon for emphasis. Phil says he’d had the basic idea for the cafe for years but never had the chance to make it happen until he moved into the apartments upstairs.
“This space had been empty for years, and this new owner wanted me here,” he says. “He knew I’d clean it up, you know what I mean? He gave me the freedom to write the lease myself and secure that this place is gonna grow.
“The way it’s happened has just been magical,” he continues, waving the spoon. “Everything I said I wanted just walked in through the door. I’m a huge believer in magic.” Almost all the furniture – all those couches and coffee tables and chairs – is donated; local artists helped remodel and paint, and one day a man named showed up set up a sound system.
“It’s nonstructured management,” explains Uriel, 23, volunteer/employee/resident. An ebullient kid with bright brown eyes and a red pharaoh-style beard, Uriel does construction and plumbing work for the cafe when he’s not “serving people, busing tables and flirting.
“Phil just wants you to do for yourself,” he says as he sprawls on a huge plush couch. “We’re trying to make this place into a viable, living organism for people who want to hang out and performers who want to do their thing. And the whole place changes every day.”
While he says this, a girl hangs a string of blue and white Christmas ornaments over a chair in the corner and people play Ping-Pong in another room. Someone knocks pots and pans around in the little kitchen while two men work out lyrics and backbeats in “The Ballroom,” where the stage and nascent recording studio are. Out back on the patio, a woman talks to her friend, who is idly gliding back and forth on an old piece of exercise equipment.
As a living, breathing community, the cafe hosts both regular and special events. According to its flier, every Monday and Tuesday are open mic nights; every Wednesday there are aikido lessons; every Thursday, tango lessons and every Sunday Tai Chi and milk and cookies. Recently they had a didgeridoo circle as part of “Trance Healing Dance” night, and this Friday they’re throwing a masked “ball” for a CD release.
“And we’re going to have Tantra lessons again in June on Sundays,” says Uriel, “but right now the lady who runs them is on vacation.”
“Anyone who walks in the door has a creative outlet and resources to do what they want,” says Sarah, 23, another employee/resident/volunteer. “It’s not about money – I mean, we have to pay rent and eat, but we don’t need money to, like, drive a Mercedes.”
“I’m not at all picky about who gets involved,” affirms Phil. “I never write anything down, and I don’t read resumes. I don’t tell people what to do.” The spoon quivers as he thinks. “To me, running a business is a joke. Money is a joke. I’m doing it this way to make a point – to show the world it can be done.”
As Phil talks, Uriel works steadily, moving books from his room upstairs and installing them in a large bookshelf by the front door. He says he wants people who come in to be able to learn something during their time at the cafe. Of course, he didn’t ask the owner if making a little library is allowed, he just did it.
“The whole point of this place is to do!” he says by way of explanation.
Sarah says her work at the cafe is better for her than most conventional jobs. “You know, at the end of the day, we can say, ‘Damn, I did this and helped a person do that. It’s fulfilling. The people that work here actually care.” nyou
