King of the streets
Profile written for Journalism Methods course at Medill

November 22, 2006

Most days, Israel hangs out at the grocery store across from the Harold Ickes Homes on South State Street. On the sidewalk out front, there is always a group of people chatting with friends, drinking out of paper bags and keeping an eye out for ‘Casey’ and ‘Jojo,’ the two police officers who stop by regularly to break up the crowd.

The men dress in baggy jeans, sneakers, black jackets. A woman wearing a hooded sweatshirt tied under the curling hairs on her chin stands on the cold November sidewalk in grey and black plaid bedroom slippers. Deep bass lines throb from a car standing at the curb. New SUVs drive by often. A woman asks for spare change. A man announces loose squares for sale.

It’s a work day and noone seems to be working. But everyone is hustling.

“Chicago will make you hustle,” Israel says. “You can’t afford not to look forward and put away for the wintertime. Like squirrels, you hustle. You better know how to do something otherwise you’re going to die out here on the streets--and the older you get, the harder the hustle.”

It has been particularly hard for him lately.

For the past four years, he has been homeless, picking up odd jobs whenever he can. He sometimes stays with friends until he outwears the welcome. Then, he’s back out on the streets again. He sleeps in the el and the buses, or hangs out at the hospital, where he pretends to be waiting for someone.

They usually don’t bother him because Israel doesn’t look like he’s homeless.

His clothes are clean, his graying hair neatly trimmed. His manners are refined, genteel, even. He doesn’t just walk, he saunters. And his speech, though slurred by a stroke, is articulate and thoughtful.

Around the edges, though, the wear and tear is beginning to show: His eyes are watery behind swollen lids, his fingernails long and yellow. And his playful smile shows receding gums and gaps where teeth should be.

In a way, this is one of the hardest parts of being homeless for him. As a younger man, he took great pride in his appearance.

“I used to think I was the prettiest man that ever walked the earth,” he says laughing. “I had perfect teeth at that time. I could afford to have my teeth cleaned, have my nails done. I had a perm back then.”

Those were the days when he was working, had money and lived up to the name his father gave him: King Larry III.

Israel grew up on 42nd and Vincennes but the streets of Bronzeville were his domain. Unlike his older brother, who was reserved and studious, Israel spent most of his time outside, talking and hanging out with friends.

“If my mother said be there at 9:30, my brother would be there at 8:30,” he recalls. “I’d be there at 10:30.”

After graduating from high school, he spent four years living in Israel, where he built apartments for black Jews and learned Hebrew. When he returned home, his friends started calling him Israel and the name stuck.

Although he never finished college, his worldliness, streets smarts and outgoing personality helped him succeed at life.  He worked as a shoe salesman and distributed high-end wines for Zimmerman’s Liquors.  He started his own interior decorating business.

During a brief stint as cab driver, he gave Hugh Heffner a ride to work every morning.  Their friendship soon turned into a business relationship: Heffner let him use Playboy Towers to mount a regular modeling show, featuring clothing from Marshall Fields’ and models that Israel recruited from the streets.

When he wasn’t working, he was hustling, but no matter what he did, he did it with style. He dressed nicely, took good care of himself and went out to eat at nice restaurants.

“He always wanted the finest like a king would,” his son Jovan remembers. “If he wanted like a Benz or a Rolls Royce, he would find a way to go out there and get it.”

Israel says his pursuit of wealth never affected his values, though.

“I need money, but I don’t worship money. That’s a big difference.”

And whether it was giving someone a few dimes for bus fare or paying for a friend’s children to attend Catholic school, he shared whatever he had with those around him,  

“He’s tough but what makes him unique is that he doesn’t have the hard look,” his son says. “He’s the kindest person you’d ever want to meet.”

According to his family, he gave more of himself than just money.

“He was a great dad,” his son remembers, “He taught me the most precious thing you can give to a child is your time.”

He also shared his wisdom with all those in need.

“He was one of the rare breed,” his ex-wife Harriet Moore says.  “Anybody that had a problem, they would come to him. And he would just fix it. He just had marvelous wits about it. He would just come up with a solution.”

The one problem he hasn’t been able to solve, though, is his current situation.

In 2000 he served a term in prison for drug distribution; he went back in 2001 for forgery. When he got out, his wife and son had moved away. He found it hard to get a job with a criminal record.

“Sometimes I just feel like I’m lost,” he says. “I woke up one day and I’m lost.”

His hardship grew worse a couple of years ago, when he suffered his stroke. He was walking down the lanes in the Ickes Homes and dropped his glasses. It took him fifteen minutes to pick them up.

“What’s wrong with me?” he recalls thinking. “I can’t die like this, no insurance, no nothing. Tears started down my face and I was afraid. I’ve never been afraid in life but I was afraid. I didn’t want to die like that.”

Although doctors told him that he would never work again, he says he was denied social security because he was not sick enough.

And other options, he says, are either not feasible or unappealing.

“I tried to go to a shelter. It didn’t work,” he explains. “For one thing, it’s a different class of people. You suddenly wake up with bugs on you. It was just more depressing than anything.”

What he really wants is a way to help himself.

“I really need a job to help me maintain my lifestyle. It’s not a super lifestyle, It’s just keeping my clothes clean, my hygiene up to par. Minimum wages you can’t do that.”

In the meantime, his friends and family are helping him get by. Last weekend, he helped someone move, this week he is running errand for someone who bailed him out of jail.

At 53 he is still a young man, but death has on his mind a lot lately.

“There’s an old Jewish phrase,” he explains, reciting the expression in Hebrew. “There’s nothing new under the sun. In 100 years whatever you’re doing and whoever you are, it won’t be anything in 100 years. It won’t matter. It’s not like I’m Martin Luther King or Jesus Christ.”