`It was the windchill factor more than anything,” says Rick Caffey, explaining his exodus to the South. “During May through September, Chicago is the best city in the world.”
Yet Caffey, a born-and-bred Chicagoan, was not willing to contend with the rest of the calendar year. Five years ago he turned his back on Windy City winters, moving first to Memphis and then to his ultimate destination, Atlanta, where he is general manager of radio stations WALR and WJZF.
Although movement is not unusual in the radio ranks, Caffey is an anomaly in that geography was a driving factor–he wanted to live “where my car’s sun roof could be open 11 months a year.”
Caffey is not alone. The U.S. is one of the most mobile countries in the world, say demographic experts. Although changing ZIP codes may be nothing new, what is changing is the who, where and why of migration.
“The old expectations of place are beginning to erode,” says Irving Rein, a professor of speech and communications at Northwestern University and co-author of “Marketing Places: Attracting Investment, Industry and Tourism to Cities, States and Nations.”
“It used to be that people took the city and places where they lived for granted,” Rein explains. “If you came from Canton, Ohio, why would you leave? Unless it was to follow family or a job, people usually stayed put.”
Today there are new reasons for relocating. “As people look at their lifestyle more, they begin to question whether their city will fill some need,” says Rein. “People are now looking at place as opportunity, instead of destiny. It’s like going out to dinner–do you want to eat Chinese or Italian?”
As was the case for Caffey, weather played a role in luring Kim Nowicki from her native Chicago to Charlotte. “It was November and I was wearing shorts,” says Nowicki, 30, recalling a trip to Charlotte last fall to visit her parents, who had recently moved there from Chicago.
Her family’s move might have prompted the visit, but not her own migration, says Nowicki. She had been mulling over moving to a warmer region for some time. “Two winters ago I got frostbite in Chicago–just waiting for a bus,” she says.
Yet even more important than Charlotte’s temperate climate was a more leisurely lifestyle, she says. “The pace in Chicago was so fast, you didn’t get to enjoy where you were. You’re so busy thinking about tomorrow that you don’t enjoy today.”
So this spring Nowicki said goodbye to her longtime friends and traded in her job at an engineering and manufacturing firm in Chicago to become vice president of business enterprise at Charlotte’s Chamber of Commerce.
She deems Charlotte “a great combination of big city and small town. It’s great if you want a slower pace but don’t want to move too slowly.”
Traveling in the fast lanes took a toll in another way, says Nowicki. In Chicago, “I didn’t feel like I was making a difference in the community.” In Charlotte she already has become active in community organizations and says employers encourage such participation–even if it means time away from the job.
Demographers aren’t surprised by Nowicki’s migration. There is a “very strong flow” from Chicago to Charlotte, says David Birch, president of Cognetics, a corporate-demographic firm in Cambridge, Mass.
From 1980 to 1992, Illinois had a net loss of 600,000 people who moved to other states, says Birch, citing U.S. Commerce Department figures. This is the fourth worst in the country, with only New York, Michigan and Ohio suffering deeper losses, says Birch.
Goodbye city life
Although Nowicki and Caffey settled in other cities, some Chicago expatriates are heading for the country.
Three years ago Dean and Pat Van Clay quit their jobs in real estate and retail in Chicago to move to Wisconsin’s Door County, where they now run a bed and breakfast.
“There’s an energy to the city that can be negative and positive at the same time,” says Dean Van Clay, 43. Although the Van Clays cite Chicago’s nightlife as a plus, they weren’t really taking advantage of it. That made drawbacks like “congestion, fear of crime, black snow, not seeing the stars at night” harder to tolerate, he says.
Although they never experienced serious crime in Chicago, the threat was there, says Pat Van Clay, recalling the time police knocked on their door just as they were moving into a house on the North Side. A murder had just taken place in the house behind them, the police told them, then asked if they had seen anyone flee across the yard.
“In Door County, you don’t even have to lock your car,” says Pat Van Clay.
Couples like the Van Clays are perfect examples of the rural rebound, says Kenneth M. Johnson, a sociology professor at Loyola University Chicago. From 1990 to 1994, non-metropolitan counties gained 1.1 million people through migration, compared with a 1.4 million loss in the ’80s, according to Johnson. Where are they coming from? Largely from metro areas.
Certainly, retirees have contributed to the growth. Yet there are also younger migrants like the Van Clays. “Survey data tells us a lot of people who live in cities don’t want to,” Johnson says.
And with accelerating technology, they don’t have to.
Telecommunications is an “enabler,” says Johnson. “It makes it possible to either extend visits to rural areas or live there altogether.”
Technology has created alternative ways not only to get to the office, but to stay in touch with friends. “You’re not cutting quite as many ties as you used to,” Johnson says. “Migration isn’t as dicey a decision today. Distance isn’t irrelevant, but it’s not the enormous barrier it used to be.”
It’s a big move
Migration is probably the most difficult of all demographic phenomena to measure, Johnson says. The U.S. government doesn’t keep track of citizens the way other countries do. Some European governments require individuals to report every change of residence.
A lot of people may consider a long-distance move, but those who actually go through with it tend to have financial resources and more education, say demographers. “The people who stay usually don’t have education or confidence that they can take a leap,” says Birch.
Travel-savvy folks also are likely to uproot themselves, adds Birch. “People are likely to move if they have had experiences outside of the environment where they grew up.”
Even when expatriates have discovered Shangri-La, a little adjusting may be in order.
“It took us a while to slow down,” says Pat Van Clay. “We didn’t realize how wound up we were at first.”
The Van Clays also weren’t used to closer scrutiny. In a small town, everyone looks at you, says Dean Van Clay. “If you do something really stupid in a big city, no one knows about it; here, speeding tickets get published.”
Still, the lack of anonymity can be comforting, he says. “People look out for you.”
Some bonds remain unbroken
Even though they chose to leave, expatriates report occasional twinges of homesickness–felt most strongly in the stomach. When it comes to reminiscing, pizza seems to be at the top of every transplanted Chicagoan’s list.
Todd Himmel, now a staff writer for “The Home Court,” a new NBC sitcom, has been known to tote pizza from Uno’s or Aurelio’s on the plane to Los Angeles after visits back home. When in need of a quick fix, he dials Lou Malnati’s and orders pizza to go–via Federal Express. Himmel says California pizza is not even a reasonable facsimile when you’ve grown up on Chicago-style.
Visiting home can be simultaneously disorienting and uplifting, expatriates say. “Sometimes I’m not sure where I am,” says Himmel, referring to the ever-changing cityscape. “There are a million restaurants I don’t remember.”
Caffey says he appreciates Chicago more as a tourist than he did as a resident. “When you live there, you never stay in nice hotels, you never take a stroll down Michigan Avenue. You’re always racing.”
The dictionary defines an expatriate as someone who has withdrawn from his native land or allegiance to it. Yet Chicago expatriates tend to retain native pride.
There’s an “instant bond” between transplanted Chicagoans, especially sports enthusiasts, says Caffey, who was stopped in an Atlanta grocery store one day by a stranger who noticed his White Sox cap.
“It’s not a city where you hang your head when you tell people where you’re from,” says Caffey.
