I love the “L.” I love its accessibility. I love the colorful station maps hanging above the seats, and I even love the bumpiness of a train car when it goes over an uneven track.

What I don’t like, though, is how it leaves people with a superficial view of Chicago.

It’s easy to get lost in the speed of the train while you’re looking out the window as the neighborhoods roar by, forgetting the outside world exists until you reach your stop. In doing so, people fail to see that each stop is more than just a blur on their ride downtown; they are their own microcommunities, teeming with life and history.

When I decided to take on a journey to truly explore the city of Chicago, I wanted to start by slowing things down, and I found no better way to do that than by starting on the slowest train of them all: the Brown Line.

Founded in its current form in 1949, the Brown Line, then known as the Ravenswood Line, transformed barren farmland on Chicago’s northwest side into bustling urban neighborhoods. The line was new and flashy, serving many of Chicago’s up-and-coming northwest neighborhoods.

That was until the 1960s, when train systems like the “L” were pushed aside and the city began investing heavily in new automobile infrastructure. Chicago then began pouring millions into the Dan Ryan and Kennedy Expressways, which were thought to modernize the city and “serve people better.” This meant that for the already small and overlooked Ravenswood Line, ridership tanked in the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s. 

That was until the late 1980s and early 1990s, when areas like Albany Park and Irving Park became lively “ports of entry” for many Korean, Filipino and Colombian immigrants coming to Chicago.

Suddenly, the newly renamed Brown Line saw an influx of ridership, creating economic prosperity for the line while simultaneously connecting immigrant communities rich in distinct cultures.

Come 2009, the city’s efforts to reimagine the system came to fruition as the Brown Line Capacity Expansion Project modernized 18 stations and increased train service to an eight-car capacity. Now, as the line continues to flourish, so too do the rich cultural areas around it.

For me, what makes the Brown Line special is the way it weaves through neighborhoods, telling Chicago’s story of reinvention. As I rode, I saw townhomes and corner bakeries, schoolyards and family-run restaurants, all overflowing with life. Many houses had flags of different countries — some Colombian, others Irish, all proudly displayed for commuters to see.

I began at the Kimball stop in Albany Park, an area historically known as Koreatown, and immediately, I was struck by the neighborhood’s strong cultural influence.

Interspersed between strip malls and grocery stores, Korean signage and storefronts stand proud on Lawrence Avenue, colloquially known among residents as Seoul Drive.

And though signs of the old Koreatown have faded, the roots of what was once a bustling hub for Korean culture are still present.

Further down the line at Irving Park, the neighborhood’s history revealed itself in subtler ways. Walking away from the station, I passed Colombian restaurants and markets proudly advertising their heritage through food. For example, Pizza y Pan Pa’ Ya had the country’s flag hanging on the walls above patrons’ seats.

It was truly beautiful to see how a neighborhood so rich in culture didn’t announce its history loudly, and instead preserved it quietly, through cuisine.

The atmosphere shifted entirely at the Western stop. Lincoln Square felt vibrant and unique. It didn’t feel like it relied on a culture to provide an identity. Independent shops lined Lincoln Avenue: I passed record stores, small bookshops and the landmark Davis Theater.

This is what the Brown Line gets right. It doesn’t just move people through neighborhoods; it gives them reasons to stay.

Lincoln Square is the successful product of a community holding on long enough for investment to finally follow; a neighborhood that once depended on the line now grows alongside it.

This is why the Brown Line is an urbanist’s dream.

The line supports Chicago’s flashy downtown by being a reliable transit option, serving as the backbone upholding these northwest neighborhoods’ cultural identities. After all, the neighborhoods along the Brown Line grew because people could live near where they worked, shop near where they lived and exist without total dependence on cars.

And yet, the Brown Line remains underrepresented in conversations about Chicago transit.

It lacks the spectacle of the Loop, the length of the Red Line or the commuter appeal of the Blue Line’s connection to O’Hare. It is rarely at the center of discussions about city growth, despite demonstrating how transit-centered infrastructure can revive communities decades after construction.

Perhaps that’s because the Brown Line doesn’t announce its success loudly, but trust me, you can see it if you look past the blue tint of the windows.

George Koutrouvelis is a Medill freshman and author of “Through the Blue Tint.” He can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.