Woodlawn sits hard against the southern edge of Hyde Park, boxed in by Jackson Park to the east, the tracks to the west, and the creeping ambitions of universities and politicians above. In the 1950s, it’s a battleground between Black hope and white flight, between rising tenements and the slow rot of disinvestment. You can walk one block and hear gospel spilling from a church choir, turn a corner and find a burnt-out storefront still smoldering from last week’s “dispute.”   But this ain’t just about redlining and razor wire. Something’s wrong under the soil in Woodlawn. Always has been. The closer you get to the park, the less your shadow behaves. Locals talk about the “Green Line shimmer”—a soft glow that appears when the El rattles past at night. And behind the boarded windows of shuttered mansions, some folks keep altars that predate Christ.  

Neighborhoods

East Woodlawn (The Lattice)

This area butts up against Jackson Park and once held Hyde Park overflow—the upwardly mobile, the politically connected. Now it’s dotted with vacant buildings, faded glory, and strange watchfulness. Some blocks feel like they're watching you back. Locals call it “The Lattice,” as in a weave of streets and spirits. Churches thrive here, but so do quiet old men in linen who light candles no one sees.  

Emerald Row

Named for its once-leafy boulevards, now just weed-choked lots and scattered life. Here’s where the real neighborhood struggle happens—activists trying to keep developers out, youth gangs battling over corners, the church kitchens running hot. But under the surface, things don’t rot the way they’re supposed to. There are roots here that never die, and basements no one wants to go into twice.  

Notes

  Jackson Park is bleeding—dead birds fall out of the sky near the lagoon, and no one knows why.   An old trolley tunnel runs under the mosque on 63rd—it wasn’t built by the city.   Veil flare-ups near the Green Line tracks cause radios to spit out voices from 1912.   A charismatic preacher named "Prophet Nash" has a following that walks barefoot through glass and never bleeds.   The Outfit tried to muscle into Emerald Row in ’51. Three of their men were found sewn shut.   There’s a woman in East Woodlawn who speaks only in reversed speech and draws maps that don’t match any streets.   Local kids play “Veil-tag” by drawing sigils on their faces and sprinting down alleys—some never come back.   University agents in suits have started showing up on side streets—always at dusk, always gone by dark.  

Woodlawn burns slow. It prays loud. And it hides more than any neighborhood should be allowed to.

 

Wealth
Security & Safety
Criminal Influence
Occult Influence

 

Black	85%
White (incl. Hyde Park fringe residents)	8%
Jewish</td]	4%
Other</td]	3%

 

South Side

Southwest Side