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Articles about our conversation salons
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Strangers
gather around some chewy ideas By
Kathaleen Roberts A lava lamp glows on the kitchen table., as its
molten contents dance a waltz of fusion and freedom. Behind a cascade of bamboo beads, 32 people sit or
slump on futons and cushions slipcovered in tie-dye and India prints. A
reader plucks slips of paper from the “cauldron of quotes,” a black
bucket spilling over with verbiage ranging from Nelson Mandela’s
inaugural speech to personal poetry. The conversation veers, dips and
bounces from death to hypocrisy to music. It’s Gertrude Stein meets Dorothy Parker in Elgin. Almost three years ago, Kathy Hamill and Robin Slater
were starved for intelligent conversation. They came across an article in
the Utne Reader–sort of the hip intellectual’s version of the Readers
Digest–that urged people to set up neighborhood conversation salons all
over the country. So they launched their own monthly version with the help
of some “just friends” ads in the personals. A throwback to Stein’s turn-of-the-century Paris
meetings with artists and intellectuals, the group has grown, mutated and
thrived since it first tackled the question: “What, if anything,
desirable can be salvaged from the ‘60s?” More recent meetings have incorporated a band,
drumming and a dance circle. Topics may vary from religion to money to the
ideal job. Attendance is limited to 20 to 25 participants. Participants
have driven in from as far away as Wisconsin and the trendier
neighborhoods of Chicago. Profs, laborers
and vintage hippies Their occupations range from college professors to
manual laborers, with the gender breakdown about evenly split. Most are
between the ages of 40 and 50. Teachers and engineers abound. An attorney who defends indigent clients for the
state, Hamill, 48, and her boyfriend Slater, 57, a Sears computer
specialist, describe themselves as “vintage hippies.” Both wanted to
talk about more than Chicago sports and the latest Survivor
episode. They had tried various discussion groups, but couldn’t find
what they wanted. “A lot of intellectual sparring was going on, but
there was no friendliness,” Hamill said. “We also found groups that
were very touchy-feely.” Hamill is careful to weed out the lonely hearts and
the patronizing. Slater takes the role of benign cop, calling for a time
out if the subject matter soars too far out into the ozone. Despite the
presence of a Mensa member or two, the group carries no air of
intellectual snobbery. Laughter is frequent and wit is welcome. Put-downs
are rare. Saving lives One recent Saturday, Hamill asked members to bring a
provocative reading to kindle the discussion. The first slip of paper
challenged the group to spend the final years of their lives doing
something meaningful. Schaumburg high school teacher Anita North said a
recent series of Columbine-inspired disaster drills made her realize she
was willing to take a bullet for a student. “There’s something really appealing about making your death a work of art,” Hamill concurred. At times, the conversation turned almost
confessional. “My biggest nonsexual fantasy is to save
someone’s life,” said Rogers Park resident Rick Malkowski., who works
for the Social Security Administration. “But how would you plan it?” A quote about the uncertainty of life inspired tales
of individual risk-taking. Elgin resident Kandi Kline quit a cushy editor’s
job at Playboy to work in a Scottish stable. “I had run out of ways to describe blondes looking
languidly out of windows in black underwear,” she explained. Today she works as an insurance writer for horse
owners. The first time she attended the salon, the group
discussed the potency of an individual vote. “But this was particularly intriguing,” she said.
“Even though a lively debate can result from it, people can come to
consensus.” Bartok, not bar
talk Vintage building renovator Matteo Billitteri, 46, of
Humboldt Park, says he wanted to meet more interesting people. “I’m not into bars,” he said. “I’m not a
big drinker. I’ve lost contact with a lot of friends. They’ve gotten
married or moved. I thought it was time to start meeting new people that
aren’t afraid to explore new ideas, that can talk about something more
than sports, more than just bar talk or superficial conversation and
people that are engaged in their lives–people who know themselves;
people who are seekers or who are more spiritually inclined.” North, 37, was looking for adult conversation when
she began attending 2 ½ years ago. “I came because I was craving intellectual
stimulation,” she said. “I spend all my time with teen-agers. I wanted
to be around people who talk about politics, philosophy, controversial
issues.” Executive recruiter Dan Nordquist dove to Elgin from
Chicago’s northwest side. But first he quizzed Hamill about the
salon’s purpose over the phone to make sure it wasn’t a support group
or some kind of New Age cult. “I can get political correctness from the TV
set,” he said. “I said, ‘It’s not one of those things where people
are sitting around talking about pyramid power?’” “It’s a good mix of men and women,” he said
afterward. “I thought it would be a good way for people to get to know
one another without having to sum themselves up in four sentences.” The group has spawned friendships and partnerships.
Hamill and Slater have gone out to dinner and to the theater with
participants. “I never envisioned it would get as big as it
did,” she said. “I never envisioned it would last this long.” |
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