I went looking for the history of “The Hawk” today, that reverent curse Chicagoans have given the winter wind, because damn if it didn’t bite me on way into the office. I found what I was looking for in the reporting of Ted Cox.
Along with a more in-depth derivation of the phrase, Cox cites this 1967 TV performance of “Dead End Street” by Chicago’s own Lou Rawls, who describes it like this:
“I was born in a city they call the Windy City. Now they call it the Windy City because of The Hawk. And The Hawk, that’s the wind. Oh and it’s mean in the wintertime…Cuz in Chicago the hawk not only socks it to you, he socks it through you, like a giant razor blade blowing down the street on some of these windy days.”
And most of the time I feel like Rawls does about Chicago in the wintertime. Four (five?) months out of the year a slumping, depressed-shaped me daydreams about sunshine and nighttime porch hangs. But I stick around because deep down I love this city. It’s beautiful, even in the wintertime.
We made this film because we love Chicago, and we wanted to start 2017 on hopeful note. And because flying drones is really fucking fun.
Happy New Year, everyone.