INTERVIEW: Dmitry Samarov Part I
By Kim Bellware in Arts & Entertainment on Oct 7, 2011 4:00PM
Samarov at a book reading for "Hack: Stories From a Chicago Cab" at Myopic Books (Photo courtesy of David Schalliol)
For many Chicagoans, most of what they've seen of Dmitry Samarov is from the back seat of his Scion cab, or what they've gleaned from his observations of the city via his paintings and pencil drawings. Now that University of Chicago Press has released Samarov's first book, Hack: Stories From a Chicago Cab, the artist, writer and cab driver is showing up everywhere, from the pages of The Trib to Bob Edward's Talk of the Nation to an art show at Saki Records with musician Chris Brokaw (see the info for tonight's opening reception of "Music and Baseball" at the end of the interview).
Samarov's sudden ubiquity is logical and well-deserved, but more than a little ironic considering the Moscow-born Chicagoan wants little to do with recognition. During the nearly two hours of question lobbing that Samarov patiently endured, we had a glimpse at Samarov's unique perception of our city and it's people. Humble and with a sharp sense of humor, Samarov was most animated when talking about anything other than himself.
We poked around for his thoughts on cabbing, art, baseball, writing and the peculiarity of being in the spotlight.
CHICAGOIST: I’ve read in several interviews that you’re at a place where you don’t really want to drive a cab anymore.
DMITRY SAMAROV: I started at out at that point!
C: Once you finished school, why did you turn to cab driving? That doesn’t seem like the most likely option or low-hanging fruit with regard to jobs.
DS: I had an art school education, so I don’t know if I’d call that a college education (laughs). An art school education means you’re pretty much unemployable. I knew that I wouldn’t graduate and make millions. So it was just one shit job after another.
Most of the graduates of SAIC work in the administrative office and they don’t make art anymore. And it’s sad. But you leave and no one cares about your precious little talent. For most people, the last time they do art is when they finish grad school.
I knew I wouldn’t make money doing art. I needed a job, I needed to pay for an apartment so I looked in the want ads saying “drivers wanted” so I followed it and it turned out to be cab driving. And when I haven’t done that I’ve worked in restaurants, waited tables, pretty much everything in the service industry.
I wanted to have a job where I could keep the art making as part of my work until I could leave the job completely. I’ve been working on that going on twenty years now.
C: I’m curious about the “Taxicab Confession” idea and wonder if it runs the gamut of customers who just want to sit in silence to the ones who just spill their guts about anything?
DS: Most of them are silent cab rides! But then you get some of them who unload their whole night—“worst day of my life”—or—“best day of my life!”—and they just feel the need to share. They probably figure they’ll never see me again, but a lot of times they're not even talking to me; everyone has a cell phone now so they’ll have a conversation and I can hear it. I overheard one of the chapters in the book: it’s a soldier whose about to be re-deployed back to Iraq, and the whole ride he’s talking to somebody. I tried to reproduce it as well as I could, but…it was pretty intense stuff.
C: The cab is kind of like a pre-Twitter world: in a way, you get to peek into everyone’s brains for a bit.
DS: I use Twitter—I used it for note taking. If it sticks in my head then I’ll write more about it.
C: You’re probably the mode of transit for the people who just went through the bad transitions or experiences: they broke up with their girlfriend and are leaving the place they used to live.
DS: Oh yeah. Or women who have been beat up and are who are fleeing the home. All sorts of stuff. With situations like that I don’t intervene physically but I’ll talk to them if they want to talk. I don’t start a conversation. I figure, they’re paying for the ride and are entitled to the silence or whatever kind of cab ride they want.
C: What other bad situations have you seen?
DS: I’m out late so I see a lot of stuff. People stay out longer than they should because they keep hoping. They keep hoping their night’s going to get better. Then you drive them and they’re crying in the cab the whole ride home.
C: Have you ever had to leave someone where you’re pretty sure they aren’t sure where they are?
DS: A couple of times, though I always try to get them safely to the door. It might not be their door because they no longer know where their door is. A few times I’ve taken people back to where I picked them up because they didn’t know where they lived or where they were supposed to go. People just get hammered. And drugs. Lots of drugs.
C: I’m sure there are some pretty nasty stories that have resulted from riders being in that, uh, state.
DS: Cleaning up vomit, that’s always gross. Usually people can at least tell me to stop or pull over before they go, but you know. You do the best you can. Spray it, clean it, open the windows and hope the next people don’t notice. I had one girl who asked me to go through the drive-through of a McDonald’s, got a strawberry milkshake, took a couple of sips. Then it ended up all over the backseat a few minutes later. There’s a few times where I’ve just kicked people out for…being dicks. I don’t even want them to pay. It’s like “get the fuck out. We’re done.”
C: You mentioned in the Talk of the Nation podcast that someone had asked about who were the worst customers and you said can’t judge by their appearance…
DS: Oh, money-wise, yeah. Like, the business guys that go to the airport will regularly tip 10 percent or less, then some grubby kid who just got off work at a restaurant will tip like, 50 percent. They understand the service industry. Those are the best tippers usually.
C: For the record, what do you deem an acceptable amount for good karma?
DS: I go the same way you go in a restaurant. I start at twenty. When I eat out, the waitress pretty much has to spit in my food to keep me from tipping her twenty [percent]. That’s where it starts. I remember that shocking my folks. I’ve worked in restaurants and bars and in the service industry nearing thirty years now and just had to teach them how to tip. They didn’t understand.
C: I don’t know what it is with older generations. Most of the people I know that are the worst tippers are older family members.
DS: Yeah, it’ll surprise you. I’ll have people where there’ll be great conversation and friendly and everything is nice—get tipped fifty cents. Mostly people already have it in their heads and will tip what they’re going to tip unless you really fuck things up or really—I don’t know, rescue their baby from a burning fire—to change it.
C: Can you talk some about how you see the city? Literally and otherwise?
DS: I go all over. That’s one of the nice things about the job, is that you get to see the whole city. I don’t understand how people with office jobs do, the same four walls. I’d get a rope and you’d find me hanging from the rafters after a few weeks. I’ve never had an office job, so I need the change of scenery. I’ve been in Chicago almost half my life. It’s as close to home as I’ve had.
C: Chicago is a pretty accessible city despite limitations of public transit and biking for going absolutely everywhere. It surprises me how many people who live here have huge swaths of their city that they’ve never seen.
DS: Yeah, people stick to their zones. They go to work and then to the strip of restaurants or places that they like. People make their own little town out of a huge city. But I’m privileged to see all parts of the city, and I wouldn’t be able to if I didn’t have this job.
I drive on Lake Shore a few times a day. I catch myself looking up at the skyline and I forget living here what a stunning looking city it can be.
C: Do you have some favorite gems in the city? Areas that are great but don’t really get enough love?
DS: I like the old neighborhoods. The ones that don’t have a Jamba Juice. The ones with the old businesses and the places that don’t look like every other place. There are those little strips all over the city. Go to Mount Greenwood or Pullman or Mayfair…there are all these cool places that you never hear about. All you see in Chicago is The Bean. There are also some horrible neighborhoods all over the place. On the South Side, West Side, even on the North Side.
C: Having that whole view of Chicago has that influenced any feelings on the divisions in our city in terms of, say, fairness or equality?
DS: Here’s the thing: I’m not an idea guy. The big concepts, the big ideas don’t occupy me much. I zero in on things. Most of the things I paint, I paint cityscapes. I’ll look at that, and I won’t think about what it means, or fairness or something. I’m probably not a good person to draw a big conclusion. You’ll see every kind of disparity on Chicago. People picking cigarette butts out of the gutter, or millionaires. That’s city life. That’s the way we live. All I’m doing is watching it and trying to report back.
Check back for Part II of our interview with Dmitry Samarov on Monday.
The opening reception for "Music and Baseball" is tonight at Saki Records, 3716 W Fullerton, 6 p.m. - 9 p.m., with musical guest Chris Brokaw, free