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Gary, Indiana Pt.1: Gary City Hall
October 13th, 2026
Thin, slightly sagged caution tape stretches across the rails, blocking the gallant double staircase (which feels more than symbolic), while white LED light refracts like a digital kaleidoscope through cut ABS crystal, battling scarred scaffolding which stands at odds with its surroundings. Beige and black marble surround me, which feels off as the abraded red and green terrazzo floor shines dully beneath my feet. Having been guided to the third seat, I am anxiously waiting for a staff member to come and inform me about Gary’s history.
Since exiting the Greyhound bus some 8 mins ago, the town comes into picture: beige concrete sprawls before me, pushing up and outwards and radiating heat in all directions; a barren container 45 ft x 14 ft runs along my left, extinguished of its former cooling depths; this public fountain is stripped of details and comfort, a sundry torched by the midwestern sun. A small batch of city workers cuts grass at the corner, mixing the scent of grass clippings with sweat and diesel fumes.
Footsteps and voices echo around me as I continue to ponder in the atrium, I tap away at my phone attempting to calm my anxiety with attempts at writing prose. I feel like something big is coming today, yet I know it’s not happening here. My spirit is drawn to this place for some reason. I can’t tell what is in store for me, but I’m excited. Miraculously, I was brought to the “City Hall of Gary Indiana” in the midst of my aimless wondering. City Hall is beige/tan marble or concrete, tall and long like a row house; her side entrance has forbidden access, and I am directed to the main door by a flimsy sign, which forces me to go around the corner to the south side of the building. Unyielding to constraint, I check out the first-level entrance beneath the stairs, looking for another way in, but turn the corner after being denied a chance at easy access.
At the south entrance, I walk up large palatial steps and enter through the only unblocked door completely to the right and continue to move up into the heart of the building. Before me sits a weak, crooked, unattended metal detector, leaning against its self, its erected un-authoritatively beside a dingy folding table. I skip it, walking to the left around it, and speak to the two Black officers that are chatting away. Their skin pops in the navy suits, and the wealth of their salaries is evident in their postures and stress-free demeanor. They know the city and its movement to a degree and have an easy spot working in the A/C. I say hello and ask, "Who do I speak with to get more information about Gary?" My enthusiasm and interest became a threat and an easy meal to these measly cops, who clearly were looking for a booking, as they sent me through the detector and searched my bag while several other civilians followed my suit, avoiding the unattended un-authoritative metal detector. The standing “officer” tries to hold on to his clear abuse of power fueled by his egotistical search. They know I’m no threat, and they are disturbed by my genuine interest. The cop was probably thinking that I was high, or at least hoped so, as my smile seemed unnatural in this down trodden sun-baked edifice. We stare into each other's eyes; my disgust matches his indifference and callous contempt, which feels thinly veiled in the natural light enshrining us. He would be considered attractive, not for the position he holds; his brown skin is smooth and moisturized, inspire his advanced middle age no wrinkles are really in sight, perhaps his life has been mute of any real joys, no laugh lines or crows feet, as his hands peel my bag open looking for anything suspicious; his coils of grey mix with the full banquet of hair on his head; he questions me about a blue-topped container, and he assumes it's weed. I pull it out, and he asks what it is. He fails to read it, because the adrenaline is blocking his vision thinking that he reeled in a good one and I explain to him that they are electrolytes. I realize he is just another dumb nigga in a suit, but what can a faggot like me say.
After my brisk cavity search, I’m pointed over to the three staff members who share this long 16 ft desk with them. These public-facing employees look at me the same as the cops; they see my smile and enthusiasm as a bizarre alien sight as I ask, “Where can I find more information about the town? I’m excited to see it.” I’m sure they are grimacing and laughing to themselves as they wonder, "Why would anyone want to know that? Nobody, and nothing happens in Gary; this boy must be out of his mind."
They ask me to sit down, and my spirit tells me to sit in the third seat closest to the side door of the foot of the stairs. I figure that my ancestors, guides, angels, Orishas, spirit team, and spirit animals want me to see something, so I follow suit. Above this small gaggle of folding chairs is a massive chandelier that glows with brilliant white 4200K LEDs. It’s tacky and new, starkly pushing against the grandeur of what this building wants to collect, yet it matches the bright white EE bulbs that push out of ornate bronze sconces.
I’m torn as I look up at this massive performing titan, surrounded by protective scaffolding glittering with its manufactured light, blocks, and oil portraits of all previous mayors. One portrait stands out to me as he just catches the early afternoon light, yet something deeper ties him to my imagination, yet at the moment it’s currently unknown. Taking pictures covertly, I feel that I am still under investigation by this unwelcoming committee. From the left wing, a fit Black man appears, in his early thirties, sponged curls and fade he approaches the woman at the desk; his tight shirt and pants reveal the firmness of his body as he turns to me, as the women indulge in my direction, and his energy takes on disappointment and disgust as he looks at me. I only assume that my neon attire is too garish for him, but a part of me thinks that it must be my overt homosexuality that he is witnessing. After some time later the older woman comes over and apologizes, as the colleague that was meant to come and see me walked away, thinking that I would be closer to their door at the end of the left wing. From my reception, I’m not welcomed in Gary; I don’t belong in Gary as an outsider pushing my way into a community that longs to hold on, but seems more content with giving in to being reclaimed by the dunes and wilderness encroaching on the Northside of their “downtown”.
Voices of Black Midwestern men hum in the echo chamber of the left wing. We share this long 18 ft pew bench. Both men in their 70s-80s are holding onto their youth as their burdened swayed-back bodies get up and move into the business affairs room. I hear the more active talker compliment a woman’s outfit. His commitment to heterosexual behavior is apparent and expected. Turned outwards to the street, I see the sign that turned me away. Running my eyes up the wall, searching for anything else to look at, looking around and down, wondering if any settling cracks are in the floor. Tracing up the wall, adjoining the arched ceiling, hooked on painted cracks I am entranced by the settling body of the building wondering if its massive footage is too heavy for the silt beneath. Beige ceiling paint covers a beautiful deep shade of red, green or blue, wondering if the stately color could be seen if I just stare and look harder. My body feels uneasy as I wait. Finally the door opens, and I get some information. This colleague informs me that I should go to the website, Gary. Gov and find my information there or make a request form. I wonder and ask if they have any print media here, and he hurries to move on as he is losing time and patience talking to me. He lets me know that I can go upstairs after I inform the front desk. I walk up this side stair access and avoid talking to the front desk. They can see me easily on whatever cameras that they have, and I truly mean no harm, and I think they know that.
At the top of the stairs I run into the mayor again, standing before a blue carpet and slate colored walls behind a glass entrance. I introduce myself by first and last name, and he wonders if I am here for the revitalization, which is news to me, but makes sense seeing the guts of this historic building in various states of renovation. After a brief exchange where we both are politicking, cutting each other off, we move on and say goodbye. I take a lap around the top of the staircase as I hear two white maintenance workers compliment the chandelier. I guess it’s working. Lol
On my departure from the building, the women who ushered me in thanked me for coming and wished me well genuinely, which feels good but a little late. I exchange niceties, and the bald black cop wishes me the same, and I briskly thank him, not wanting to be rude, but I couldn’t care less about him, and I ponder the delusion of his competency and respect as I hit the sunbaked concrete. Where in my exit I see the black custodian that I passed on my elevation to the second floor taking a smoke break. Our eye contact breaks quickly as we acknowledge each other and part ways.