Friday, January 4, 2013

Police: Man, 58, shot in the back of the head in Back of the Yards on the back of the week, Friday


CHICAGO:  58-year-old man was shot in the head in the Back of the Yards neighborhood on the South Side this afternoon.
Circumstances around the 3:45 p.m. shooting were not clear yet but preliminary reports indicated that someone shot the man in the head in the 1000 block of West 47th Street, said police News Affairs Officer Daniel O’Brien.
He was taken to John H. Stroger Jr. Hospital of Cook County where his condition had stabilized, said O’Brien.

20 comments:

Anonymous said...

I was there 8 hours ago, and it wasn't warm enough for shirts!

Anonymous said...

Hoo Hoo look at picture all cops afraid to go find shooter all 33 stand around with finger up each other butts. shooter comes back to scene they got him good

Anonymous said...

I used to love the Back of The Yards Fest.

Aldo Raine said...

Too bad his condition had stabilized and he wasn't heading to DNS. The head is not a vital organ on these black motherfuckers.

Anonymous said...

Guess the victim's New Year got off with a big bang...in the back of his noggin.

Anonymous said...

Where's the chalkie- meter at?
does this make 5?

Anonymous said...

Does it hurt more getting shot in the back of the head or the front?

Anonymous said...

That picture is from last summer's outdoor rollcall next to Obama's house!

Jizzy

Anonymous said...

Where did all these p/o's come from? I can't find one if i call 911 up north?????? Kinda cold for ss/shirts? Can the Back of the Yards spare a couple of these guys?

Anonymous said...

Bogus picture..........not that many p/o's in Chicago.

Anonymous said...

cmon dude use current piks OR should i call u the Suntimes

Anonymous said...

Damn !! Thats a lotta polecesses!

Anonymous said...

A lot of cops in that photo...

Is there a 7-11 or Dunkin Doughnuts near by to where the image as taken?

jimmycrackcorn said...

Who remember's the old irish tune?
I think my grandmother had it on a 78 RPM.


Back of the Yards, Back of the Yards,

In Old Chicago town.

Where each fellow and gal

Is a regular pal,

And they'll never let you down.

Where an ace is an ace,

Any time, any place.

Now I give you my fondest regards.

Well, I feel mighty proud,

And I'm shoutin' out loud,

That I come from the Back of the Ya-a-a-a-ards!

Anonymous said...

Back of the Yards.
Original home of Saul Rodriguez and the Uriarte brothers.

jimmycrackcorn said...

For a hundred years, the Back of the Yards area on the south side of Chicago was home to the Union Stockyards, the legendary institution that put its stamp on the entire city. The neighborhood has been the home of successive waves of immigrants- Germans and Irish in the 19th century, various Slavic groups through the 1960s. and the Mexicans who have settled in the area since around 1970. For over a century, it was a neighborhood where new arrivals could come and find work and begin the process of becoming "American." It was a neighborhood proud of its churches and famous for its bars (at the turn of the century there were 500 taverns in the 16-block-square area, and in 1910 there were 46 bars on the stretch of Ashland Avenue between 42nd and 45th). It was a classic ethnic city neighborhood, where the people were clean and thrifty and not afraid of work;. where immigrant groups formed enclaves-in churches, bars, and social clubs -for protection and recreation.

But Back of the Yards was different, too. As far as I know, it's the only neighborhood in Chicago -- if not the world -that has its own song. Back in the 50s, at least, it was a song that everyone on the southwest side -from Back of the Yards, or Brighton Park, or Marquette Park-knew like they knew the national anthem. It was rarely sung before two or three in the morning, after most of the singers had made a night of drinking and carousing and fighting and fumbling at romance; but it was always sung with gusto, at great volume, and more or less in unison. It had the effect of bringing the crowd together, wherever they'd come from and however far from the Yards they were.

jimmycrackcorn said...


Which, of course, was ironic. Back of the Yards -the foursquare-mile area that runs from 39th Street on the north to 55th on the south; between Halsted on the east and Western on the west --was not a place to which Chicagoans flocked to live. It wasn't pretty; it wasn't trendy; it didn't have much to offer but two-flats, churches, a few parks, and those hundreds of taverns. It was, in fact, a place that many people shunned. The stockyards were there, in the northeast corner, and the yards were something you couldn't ignore. When they were working, the fumes would lie on parts of the city -depending on the wind direction -like a moldy blanket, the smells of blood, manure, and rotting flesh creating a palpable stench for miles around . Yet the Back of the Yards had a song, and late at night, in bars throughout the city, people would proclaim their pride in a neighborhood they'd never dream of living in. There was something almost mystical in the loyalty they'd profess, as though being from Back of the Yards was a badge of honor.

In some ways it was, of course. For over a century the meat-packing industry was the quintessential Chicago business, putting its mark on the city in more ways than one. Upton Sinclair made the stockyards a national scandal and a symbol of Chicago's character in his novel The Jungle, where he traced the misfortunes of Jurgis Rudkus, a Lithuanian immigrant, and showed the world the gory realities of working in the packinghouses and living at the mercy of exploitive employers and landowners. Carl Sandburg immortalized the city as "Hog Butcher to the World," an image that recurs in works about Chicago even though the meat-packing business has all but disappeared over the past 20 years. The yards, violent and bloody, became an apt metaphor for the home of Capone and Dillinger, as rendered in countless books and movies 30 or 40 years ago. The yards put their mark on the city's literature, reminding writers like Dreiser and Algren and Bellow of the unromantic realities of life in the "abbatoir by the lake." As one writer (I can't remember who, and I'd be obliged to anyone who could track the quote down) put it, the stockyards probably had a lot to do with the grimness of Chicago literature, with the naturalistic bent of much of its fiction. "You try to write romance with that stench in your nostrils," he said, or something like it. As well try to hum an opera at a boxing match.

In Chicago's formative years, in the mid-19th century, the stockyards and their neighboring industries were more than symbolic, of course. They were central to the city's economic life. In 1848, Chicago's livestock and packing business was a modest affair, with only about 30,000 animals processed that year. Cincinnati owned the title of "Porkopolis" then, its situation on the Ohio River and the dominance of river transport making it a convenient center for shipments east and west. The hog kill alone in Cincinnati in the 1850s was 350,000 annually, and it peaked at 600,000 in the winter of 18623. But river transport was doomed, made obsolete by the booming railroads, and the Civil War hastened Cincinnati's decline as a packing town because navigation of the Mississippi was interrupted for a time. But the war, and the city's extensive railroad connections, vaulted Chicago to the top as a meat processing center. In 1860, livestock shipments out of 'Chicago amounted to 250,000 animals. By 1863, that number had nearly quadrupled, to 925,000, and Chicago was to reign supreme in the packing world through the middle of the, 20th century.

In 1875, the Chicago Tribune estimated that nearly one-fifth of the Chicago population was dependent on the stockyards and packinghouses, and by 1880, livestock receipts in the city amounted to 8.8 million head, or three times the number that arrived in 1870. The city really was the hog butcher to the world.

Anonymous said...

Bazinga!!!!

Anonymous said...

Damn Momma, look at all them Police in yo kitchen!

Mr. SouthSide said...

"...I can't find one if I call 911 up north..."

Try Starbucks.