It was a cold Sunday morning in Chicago in February 2003—I was driving over to the paper, and had a week’s worth or columns to plan—when I stopped in front of the E2 nightclub. Outside there was a police blockade because 21 young people had been killed, but the cops knew me and waved me through.
On the sidewalk awkwardly alone, his hands jammed into the pockets of a navy-blue dress coat, was a soon-to-be well known Chicago Democrat:
Barack Obama.
The E2 was a black bougie hangout where 21 young people were crushed to death in a dark stairway that had been locked in violation of building codes. There had been a court order to close off the upper area but there was revenue to be had. So, it was kept open.
They had held fundraisers for Obama. The owners were Chicago Way friends of his, as was the oily bagman, Tony Rezko.
And I got a brief look into the cold emptiness of his soul.
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