Wherever there are piles of food waste, there are people contemplating what to do with the garbage.

One option is to eat it. And a number of diners scavenging from this buffet consider themselves conservationists and activists.

"People have been eating trash for longer than anybody's ever thought about it," said Jimmy, a Chicago resident who didn't want to reveal his last name. Jimmy is a Freegan, a member of a growing movement that encourages foraging for edible food in the refuse of grocery stores and restaurants. While many people eat from trash because they are needy, Jimmy said he does it to protest the excesses of capitalism.

"People bring politics and whatnot into it. Other people start paying attention," Jimmy said.

And people are paying attention. As reducing our carbon footprint has come into vogue, people are thinking seriously about ways to reduce or reuse food waste. Oprah showcased freegans on her show and celebrity chefs such as Chicago's Rick Bayless of Frontera Grill are turning food waste from their restaurants into fuel and compost.

About 20 to 30 percent of the edible portions of the fruits, vegetables, dairy and grains--and 30 to 40 percent of meats--that reach consumers is wasted either in cooking or simply in going uneaten, according to data provided by the United States Department of Agriculture's Economic Research Service.

About 7 to 12 percent of food is lost on the way from retailers to consumers, according to the same source.

That leaves a lot of leftovers for those who don't mind eating food others didn't want.

While "freeganism" may seem like simply a way to capitalize on society's excess, it is more than just about finding free food, Jimmy said.

"Economics is definitely a motivating factor for some people, but for the majority of freegans I know, it's about politics."

Freegans take issue with the American tendency to view everything not only as a commodity, but a disposable commodity, Jimmy said. To combat what they see as the wanton evils of capitalism, many freegans reclaim waste and put it to good use.

The same holds true for at least two Chicago restaurants that have found ways to reduce food waste to nearly zero by turning it into compost or even fuel.

Frontera Grill, and its sister restaurant Topolobampo, at 445 N. Clark St., are headed by star chef Rick Bayless, and specialize in high-end Mexican cuisine. While the restaurants may be known for attention to culinary detail, their staffs also exert the same amount of care with food waste.

With the help of the Resource Center, a non-profit environmental organization, the restaurants compost any waste that is biodegradable, said Bryan Enyart, Chef de Cuisine of Topolobampo. That includes paper and cardboard as well as food.

In a few months, that list will include the restaurants' used vegetable oil, which Enyart hopes to convert into biodiesel to run the farm machinery and trucks at one of the Illinois farms that supplies the restaurants with produce.

Altogether, the restaurants compost over two tons of organic materials every week. When the biodiesel project starts, Enyart hopes to recycle 735 pounds of vegetable oil per week.

But most food retailers are not that diligent with their waste, so Jimmy said finding food is relatively easy. With five or six years as a freegan under his belt, he said he could account for 100 percent of his food needs by "dumpstering," if he tried hard enough.

Stanley Peters, owner of Stanley's Fruits and Vegetables at 1558 N Elston Ave., is one step ahead of Jimmy. Rather than entice people to scrounge around in his trash, Peters regularly gives away food that he cannot sell.

"If an apple falls to the floor, you can't resell it, it's bruised," Peters said. And when a tangerine falls, it usually splits. The solution: give them away to those in need.

Peters didn't want to estimate how much food he gave away because, he said, "I don't want to sit back and cry." But he is emphatic that people should not eat straight out of his trash bins.

Frances Guichard, director of the Food Protection Program at the Chicago Department of Public Health, agreed with the assessment that trash bins are not the best place to search for food.

"Once you put it into the garbage, it's what we'd call garbage, and it's food that has been put into an environment that's not protected," Guichard said.

The primary risk of eating food that has been sitting in the trash is food-borne illness, Guichard said. Once food sits in what she called the "temperature danger zone" of about 40 to 140 degrees, it is prone to the types of microbial growths that tend to cause illness and disease.

To drive the point home, health inspection officers who find compromised food during restaurant inspections throw the food away and then pour bleach on top of it.

"We don't want people to become ill, so we denature the product," Guichard said.

Jimmy said it was easy to tell the good food in the trash from the food that will make you sick.

"You learn how to pick food after a while. You learn from other people, if something is in the least bit questionable, err on the side of putting it back in the trash rather than hurting yourself," Jimmy said.

There is no law that specifically prohibits people from sifting through garbage for food, said Tim Hadac, a spokesman for the Chicago Department of Public Health.

"The law doesn't prevent any individual from doing something crazy like that," Hadac said. He added that people could eat dirt if they wanted to and the law would be powerless to stop them.

On the other hand, grocery stores and other organizations that donate food to charities are protected from liability by the Bill Emerson Good Samaritan Food Donation Act, passed by President Clinton in 1996. The act encourages food donation by protecting donors if the food later causes harm to someone who eats it.

Jimmy, though, doesn't have to rely on handouts. He simply visits the alley behind his favorite restaurants. "If you're in the mood for pizza, you go to a pizza place. If you're in the mood for doughnuts, you go to a doughnut place," he said.

The Greater Chicago Food Depository parcels out food to over 600 food pantries, soup kitchens and shelters and about 50 percent is food that would otherwise be tossed out, said Bob Dolgan, director of communications.

This reclaimed food can come from grocery stores, donations from individuals or food drives. A primary source is donations from large food companies such as Kraft or Sara Lee.

The food may be out of season, discontinued or the victim of a packaging misprint.

At Care for Real, a Chicago food pantry on the Northwest Side, the number of people served escalated greatly in the past year. In February, the pantry served food to 1,361 clients, up from 525 clients in January 2007, and 1,248 in January of this year. Care for Real is feeding the hungry with donations from the Greater Chicago Food Depositry, Dominick's, Whole Foods and the small bakery down the street, to name a few

Nearby, Good News Community Kitchen adds Panera Bread and Starbucks to the list. A good portion of these food pantry donations also comes from religious and civic organizations.

ACT I, SCENE I

EXTERIOR: Paseo Boricua - Daytime

Division Street in Chicago's Humboldt Park neighborhood, the symbolic center of the city's Puerto Rican community, marked on either end by giant sculptures of the Puerto Rican flag.

Known as "Paseo Boricua," or in English: "Gateway to Puerto Rico."

INTERIOR: Lily's Records - Daytime

LILY MARTINEZ stands inside her store, Lily's Records, where CDs with music by Puerto Rican artists line the walls from floor to ceiling, and "Jibaro" musical kits, maracas, tambourines and other instruments wait for hands to shake them into song.

Her husband, TITO MEDINA, is nearby. He has the look of a gentle giant, and is quick to flash a generous smile at visitors entering the store. The two met 13 years ago at a little stone table that is built into the sidewalk in front of the store.

MARTINEZ

Everybody's waiting for that movie.

(She is referring to the movie "Humboldt Park," being filmed in the area.)

Sometimes they call me over and over, asking about it.

MEDINA

(Proudly)

They filmed the outside of the store as we turned on the "open" sign in the morning. And they bought music and instruments. And Alfred Molina [one of the actors] spent some time with me to work on his character's Puerto Rican accent.

There's a lot of difference. Mexicans, they talk in a singing way. Puerto Ricans talk faster.

Such is the scene of excitement surrounding the filming of the movie over the last few weeks.

Unlike the buzz that is usually astir when film crews and trailers with stars on their doors pop up in an area, though, the Humboldt hubbub has little to do with celebrity craze. It is instead a matter of cultural pride, and the hope that a neighborhood long portrayed as gang-ridden and dangerous will finally get to show off its assets.

Enrique Salgado, director of the Division Street Business Development Association, said, "For the first time, we have cameras here and they're not here because somebody got shot."

Just as the film could bring positive attention to the neighborhood, Salgado said, it could also rehabilitate the image of Puerto Ricans that is usually found in films.

"It's the first time that you will see a Puerto Rican in a positive description in a major motion picture," Salgado said, noting that usually they are typecast as gangsters, or as loud and obnoxious characters.

It's rare to see any Latinos in positive film roles, said Hector Villagrana, chief of staff for Ald. Billy Ocasio, who has helped facilitate the filming in his ward, the 26th.

"They're usually boxers, housekeepers or drug dealers," Villagrana said. "Here you've got business owners and people who've gone on to higher education and come back to the neighborhood."

ACT II, SCENE I

EXTERIOR: A Puerto Rican Bodega - Twilight

SECURITY GUARDS gesture impatiently at cars, trying to speed the flow of traffic intermittently stalled by curious drivers' gaping.

Their furious hands have the hard feat of competing with the unusual sight of giant lights and screens outside a bodega on Chicago Avenue.

Sometimes they must also tell passersby in the line of the camera to move along.

Gesticulating to emphasize the point, they YELL: "You can't stand there!"

Inside, a scene in the story of the make-believe Puerto Rican family that owns the make-believe bodega is being filmed, again and again. Molina plays the father.

John Leguizamo and Freddy Rodriguez, who is Puerto Rican and grew up nearby, star as the sons.

"Freddy Rodriguez - I went to grammar school with the guy," Salgado said.

One of the film's producers, Robert Teitel, is also of Puerto Rican descent and from Chicago.

"It shows that we do have famous people that have come out of Humboldt Park," Salgado said. "There have been people who have come out and who have come back."

In the film, which is being directed by Alfredo de Villa, three siblings return to their home in Humboldt Park to celebrate the holidays with their parents. One of them, Rodriguez's character, has just come back wounded from Iraq.

The focus on a Puerto Rican family has stoked the film's warm reception in the actual Humboldt Park community.

"Humboldt Park has a really, really high instance of single mothers, so I think it's showing a slightly different aspect of the community," Villagrana said.

It's an aspect that won the filmmakers the support of Jose Lopez, director of the Puerto Rican Cultural Center.

"We're not in a position to necessarily say how they write it," Lopez said. "I think, however, whenever you do things in a community there are generic things to incorporate that are important about that community."

Tight-knit families are central to the strength of Puerto Rican culture, Salgado said.

"In America family is deteriorating, family values are deteriorating," he said. "When you're talking about [the creation of] Paseo Boricua, a lot of what's behind that is this family culture."

ACT III, SCENE I

EXTERIOR: The Field House in Humboldt Park - Twilight

As the set crew replenishes the fake melting snow on the steps leading into Humboldt Park's Field House, more than 100 extras prepare to simulate a traditional Puerto Rican "parranda," yet another time.

ERNIE MALIK (publicist for the film)

It was a little tricky. The crew had filmed the same location a few days before, but when they arrived Sunday, much of the natural snow had left the set.

MEDINA

Parrandas usually take place around Christmas.

For a parranda, a group of musicians travel from house to house, serenading the occupants with Puerto Rican music. At each stop, the listeners join the journey, forming an ever-larger chorus.

MALIK

It's a lot like Christmas caroling.

MEDINA

The last house is where the party is at.

On Sunday the last house was the Chicago Park District's Field House. Because the movie is set at Christmastime, the field house is done up with holiday decorations inside and out.

"It's not like we are a character," Salgado said. "We are the story."

It will be the first time many people in America are given a glimpse of how Puerto Rican communities in the United States have kept their traditions alive, Salgado said.

"It will be our 'Barbershop.' It will be our 'Soul Food,'" he said, referring to two other movies made by the film's producers, Robert Teitel and George Tillman Jr. "Now this place that was no place is now a place on the map," he said.

Community members are hoping the film will generate interest in the neighborhood that goes beyond the theater screen by bringing visitors and business to the area, Villagrana said.

"Certainly there is evidence that shows that film projects that showcase a city or a state boost tourism," said Rich Moskal, director of the city's film office.

As an example, he pointed to the movie "The Last of the Mohicans." After that came out, he said, there was a jump in tourism to the Adirondack Mountains, where it was set.

Malik also is hopeful.

"It's a unique film in that it references a neighborhood that hasn't been portrayed on the screen ever before," Malik said. "These are homegrown filmmakers who have a lot of pride in the city."

And they have tapped into a fiercely proud Chicago community.

"There is no other place that has two monuments to the Puerto Rican flag," Salgado said. "No other place that has made such an effort."

MEDILL NEWS SERVICE

Andrea Rogers spent the beginning of this cold Chicago winter without any heat in her three-bedroom apartment.

Her building, at 5839 W. Washington Blvd., has changed management multiple times, and for the last two and a half years management has been "pretty bad" according to Rogers.

Work orders she's submitted are still pending two years later and up until Dec. 7 nine apartments in the 12-unit building, including hers, didn't have heat.

The problem may be symptomatic of growing landlord abuses. According to Shannon Weiss at the Center for Renters' Rights in Chicago, landlord misconduct, including unfair evictions, "has gotten so much worse in the last eight years."

According to Malik Wornum with the Metropolitan Tenants Organization, which provides free advice to tenants regarding their rights, a tenant in the building called him about the heating problem. Wornum was able to arrange a meeting and brief the tenants on their rights.

Once organized, the group found out that the three units that were getting heat were re-routing the gas from other people's cooking gas. The heat was finally turned on after the tenants organized with the help of the Lawyer's Committee for Better Housing, which partners with the Metropolitan Tenants Organization.

Wornum said that often tenants won't stand up for their rights because they fear eviction or other retaliation from their landlords, even though such acts are illegal. Organizing groups of tenants within a building helps as well.

"Last year we identified 71 buildings [with landlord violations] and we organized 45 of them," Warner said. "Organizing is always a successful tool because there's strength in numbers."

Legal representation also helps management to take complains more seriously. "If you call them you will get an answering service or their operator which can only take a message, and they won't return your calls," said Rogers.

The firm identified as managing the buildingcould not immediately be reached for comment. In fact, the management connection was disconnected, as was the line for the general information contact on the company's website.

Rogers said even though the heat is on she still has several pressing plumbing issues including "a big bubble in the ceiling [that looks] its about to fall in and it's molding." Although she said her landlord said he would fix it in September, but no progress has been made.

Are landlords just blatantly disregarding their responsibilities? "Tt's even more complicated now than it used to be because of the economy. They're not going to care [as much] right now; there's enough on their plates, that's the big problem" Weiss said.

Why doesn't Rogers move in the face of such unfair treatment? "I can't just up and leave and move," she said. Rogers's rent is subsidized under Section 8 by the Chicago Trust Fund. Her contact at the trust fund advises her to move, but Rogers doesn't want to. "I like my apartment, the area and everything," she said.

Unfortunately for Rogers, the teamwork that helped the tenants get the building's heat turned on hasn't helped get the plumbing fixed. "It's like they [management] don't care anymore," she said.

Angel Concepcion left his life as a gang member behind and began working as an outreach worker in Ceasefire
Jannette Jauregui/Medill

MEDILL NEWS SERVICE

There was a time when Angel Concepcion lived his life day to day.

Not because of the everyday stresses of life, but because he had no choice. He never knew if he was going to live to see tomorrow.

At 9 years old, Concepcion, now 32, was already involved in gang activity in his neighborhood, Humboldt Park. By 10, he had been initiated as an official member of an area gang.

"I've seen things that nobody should see," he said. "It's easy to have it become a part of your life. It consumes you."

But Concepcion's life changed one night in May 1995.

He was arguing with his girlfriend, Sandy, when the two decided to call it a night. He walked away angry as she walked away in the opposite direction toward her house. Moments later, Concepcion heard gunshots and immediately went to see who had been hit. Sandy was lying on the ground bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. She died on the scene.

"I knew at that moment that things had to change," Concepcion said. He had lost more than his girlfriend. He lost the mother of his 6-month-old son.

At 19, Concepcion had already experienced the toll his life as a gang member would take on those he loved.

"I was told that the people who shot Sandy were after me," he said. "But then I heard other things, and it didn't make sense for them to be after me. But I guess it didn't matter, because Sandy still got caught in the middle of it all."

The process of changing his life took two years.

"I needed to take care of my responsibilities like a man," he said. "I needed to take care of my son and get my life straightened out."

He left the gang and moved to Michigan, where he got a job and focused on staying away from the streets.

"I was respected [by fellow gang members] when I left," Concepcion said. "They understood what I needed to do, and they let me do it without any problems."

But within two years of the move to Michigan, Concepcion returned to Humboldt Park and started a new chapter in his life.

This time he was going to stop the violence he once helped create.

In August 2005, Concepcion was approached by a friend who told him about an open position with CeaseFire, a Chicago violence prevention program that targets gang violence. He applied and was hired as an outreach worker - in Humboldt Park.

"Being an outreach worker was a way for me to be back but not get caught up in the streets the way I had been before," Concepcion said. "And I knew it was time to reach out to the guys on the streets now. I needed them to know that I had made it out OK, so they could, too."

But Concepcion said he has rarely intervened in conflicts that involve his former gang members. Not because they all got out, but because many of them are dead or in jail - a reality he says he knows could have been his.

In 2006, Concepcion and the team of nine outreach workers that serve the Logan Square and Humboldt Park neighborhoods saw a surge of success in their role with CeaseFire. In fact, according to CeaseFire representatives, the outreach team had helped Humboldt Park see a 38 percent decrease in shootings during that time.

A small victory for a city that had been ravaged by gunfire.

But in late July, Concepcion's life changed once again.

CeaseFire received notice that its funding was being cut out of the state budget, leaving 26 sites statewide with no money to operate. Concepcion was among the first to be laid off.

"There wasn't anything I could do," he said. "I tried to find another job, but there aren't too many people who want to hire a guy with a criminal record and a past in a gang."

And in addition to the challenges associated with having a criminal record, many have questioned the effectiveness of CeaseFire and the outreach workers.

It is an argument, however, that some Chicago police officers say is invalid.

"There aren't many people out there who can relate to these people on the street the way the outreach workers can," said Roger Williams, a Chicago police officer in the Shakespeare District on the Northwest Side. "The guys on the streets don't want to talk to the police, but they will talk to the outreach workers."

In October, the Logan Square and Humboldt Park site received private funding from the Pritzker Pucker Foundation, and Concepcion was hired back, but only as a consultant.

"We didn't have enough money to pay the outreach workers their full salaries," said Maggie Pagan, CeaseFire coordinator for Logan Square and Humbolt Park. "We were glad that our workers had something that helped them get through the holidays, but it still wasn't enough to pay the bills."

In late December the funding from the Pritzker Pucker Foundation ran out. Concepcion was again out of a job, with little left to support his wife and eight children.

And on top of all of that, four homicides were reported in the Logan Square and Humboldt Park neighborhoods in the first week of January.

Concepcion and his fellow outreach workers didn't want to stand back and watch their neighborhoods fall apart, so they began to volunteer their time to check in on the clients they had when they were active outreach workers.

"They need consistency and they need to know that we are there," Concepcion said. "Regardless of working for CeaseFire, I will always check in."

But on Jan. 16, the stress of being out of work and behind on bills took its toll. Concepcion was admitted to the hospital with dangerously high blood pressure.

He was released two days later.

"My first stop was the CeaseFire office," he said. "I had to go check in and see if there was anything I could do."

One week later, Concepcion and his fellow outreach workers received good news. They were told that Sen. Iris Martinez (D-Chicago) had secured $500,000 from the state budget to fund the Logan Square and Humboldt Park CeaseFire site for one year.

"It really means a lot to me to have another chance," Concepcion said. "It is more than me needing the money. The community needs the money."

Though the Logan Square and Humboldt Park site is still waiting for a check, there is newfound hope for all involved with the program. And for Concepcion, it is an opportunity to do the work he feels is his calling.

"Every day there are shootings and killings, and for what? Just a bunch of colors and cars and property we don't own," he said. "But if I can distract their thoughts of retaliation, than I have saved a life. And that is what it is all about."

MEDILL NEWS SERVICE

Who would have thought buying illegal drugs—legally—would be as easy as crossing state lines?

The plant salvia divinorum was banned in Illinois effective Jan. 1, but it is still legal and available in 43 other states; including neighboring Indiana and Wisconsin.

The herbal substance is part of the mint family and when smoked, it is said to have hallucinogenic effects. The psychedelic feeling reportedly lasts for only a brief period of time, ranging anywhere from 10 to 15 minutes.

Illinois Rep. Dennis M. Reboletti (R-Addison), who helped introduce the bill to outlaw salvia, said its abuse was becoming a problem throughout the state.

“We weren’t going to wait for the Congress to take any action,” Reboletti said.

Salvia has been classified as a Schedule I controlled substance in Illinois and in six other states. Heroin and LSD also fall under this same classification. And possession of salvia is considered a Class 4 felony, which is punishable with one to three years in prison.

Reboletti said he learned of the effects of salvia when a parent in DuPage County told him his son bought it at a gas station and behaved erratically.

Reboletti said he was told the drug led the teen-ager into a severe depression. The teen’s relationship with the drug prompted Reboletti and other lawmakers to make salvia illegal.

“When you begin to see it [salvia abuse] on a more repeat basis, you begin to take notice,” he said. “Salvia began to present itself as a legal way to get high.”

But this sentiment is not shared by everyone.

John Coakley, owner of Guess Hookah in Wicker Park, said he thinks outlawing salvia will only make it more desirable.

Coakley questions the addictive nature of salvia and said though it was popular when it was legal, those who bought it were usually first time users.

“It’s not like we sold it to people on a regular basis,” Coakley said. “I don’t think I ever sold it to the same person more than a third time, and that would be rare.”

Coakley said the law is unfair because it is not enforced in every state.

“Everybody thinks it [the ban] is ridiculous, especially since you can walk across the border in Indiana and Wisconsin and buy it,” he said.

The legal inconsistency, however, does not worry Reboletti. He said he thinks a federal law will eventually be created banning salvia in every state. Salvia divinorum is currently on the federal Drug Enforcement Agency's watch list.

“I think the federal government…as [salvia] becomes more prevalent…will have to take notice,” Reboletti said.