In the early 1980s, the massive breaking dance craze spread from New York City and hit the streets of Chicago with a vengeance.
When he was only 7 years old, Eric “Wicked” Delgado was infected with the excitement, and he showed off moves he learned from his brothers and neighbors on the West Side.
“I remember it so clearly,” says Delgado, who formed the Phaze II breaking crew in 1982 with his brothers Javier, Carlos and Jose. “Walking to neighborhoods and just setting the linoleum down and battling other crews and then rolling up and walking back home.”
Other times, the Delgados would see crews in their neighborhood and scream “Battle!” — igniting a competition in their garage.
Delgado says his brothers "would just throw me out in the middle of the battle at the end like our secret weapon. And I would do back spins, head spins, windmills. All the stuff that grownups were doing, I was already doing at that age.”
Delgado, now 49, is still dancing. The debut of breaking at the Olympics this summer has brought fresh attention to the now-global hip-hop art form. But Phaze II and other Chicago crews have been keeping the culture alive through many ups and downs in popularity.
Despite some controversy at the recent summer Olympics in Paris, including a contestant’s widely panned performance that went viral, many felt the competition was beneficial to the scene.
Among them is C.J. “Blak Atak” Williams, a longtime Chicago breaker and teacher, who says many people are still unaware that the dance scene is active.
“No matter where I go, there's still people, like, ‘Whoa, you guys still do that?’ ” says Williams, 41, of Humboldt Park, who is a member of the Brickheadz. “So, for it to be in the Olympics, I think it helped reach a lot of potential new spectators. It created more of a buzz to show the world that this is a highly respected dance form.”
While the Delgado boys were building their crew on the West Side in the early days, Darrell “Artistic” Roberts was learning the dance in Rosemoor on the South Side. Like many, he was mesmerized by seeing the art form move from the streets of Black and Latino communities to movies like “Breakin’” and “Beat Street” in 1984.
“It's one thing to see it on the street,” says Roberts, now 54, who founded the Chicago Hip Hop Heritage Museum with Kingdom Rock and Brian Gorman in 2021. “But then to see it on television and then on the big screen, it was just, like, OK, wow, this thing is catching like a fire in the forest.”
Roberts and his friends formed the Egyptian Breakers crew and battled around the neighborhood and downtown on Michigan Avenue and Rush Street.
“A crowd would form immediately,” he says. “It was about power and finesse. The more smooth you could look and the more combinations that you could do, the greater you were. If you had 10 moves in your pocket versus somebody that only had six, then you would be able to outdo the other person you were dancing against.”
After a decline in the late 1980s, breaking gained interest again in the early 1990s among crews like the Brickheadz and the Chicago Tribe. But things didn't always go smoothly, according to Brickheaz co-founder Luis Ángel Ortiz Jr., aka "Angel Brick."
“Unfortunately, we would get into fights with gang members because they didn't want breaking at the parties,” says Ortiz Jr., 49, of Logan Square. “They wanted to watch the girls dance. … [But] the girls were watching us dance. So we were getting the attention.”
The Brickheadz, Phaze II and other Chicago crews battled out of state and competed in Europe.
Chicago also became the site of respected competitions thanks to groups like the Chicago Tribe, which was founded by Kid Spryte, now known as DJ Spryte. For years, the group and b-boy Check-It hosted "City Vs City," featuring top dancers from around the United States at the North Suburban YMCA in Northbrook, the Countryside Banquets & Conference Center and the Cicero Stadium. The crew also took "City Vs City" to other states and Europe.
It was a staple competition in the global breaking scene, according to Chicago Tribe member Konee Rok, 45, of Jefferson Park, who is also a filmmaker.
For dancers like Ortiz Jr., breaking provides a sense of camaraderie — especially in a segregated city like Chicago.
“In the cypher [battle zone], it's just everybody together from all different races, different backgrounds,” he says. “All you're doing is just paying attention to their movements. The way it brings people together is what I loved about it the most. If I didn't get into that, I wouldn't be as cultured as I am.”
For Alissa "Syren" Constable, one of few Chicago b-girls in the 1990s and early 2000s, breaking provided an opportunity to explore one's artistry.
“It was really great to be in that environment with people who were really passionate about finding themselves and getting in touch with their creativity,” says Constable, of Phaze II, who splits her time between Morgan Park and Washington, D.C. “The scene was just vibrant.”
Today, there are more women breakers and kids learning the craft in Chicago. Still-active crews like Phaze II, Brickheadz and the Chicago Tribe now have fourth-generation members. And many of the veterans are teaching.
Among the younger crowd, three siblings known as Phaze II/Pamon Kids are making a name for themselves and training for the Youth Olympics in Dakar.
Grammy-winning Chicago rapper Che “Rhymefest” Smith, who recently performed at the Chicago Tribe 30th Anniversary Jam, says he was impressed by the breaking scene.
“People come from New York to Chicago to get better-versed in breaking,” he says. “I was surprised to see new, younger people under the same monikers I grew up with, like Chicago Tribe and the Brickheadz. It's generational now.”
Rhymefest encourages Chicago breakers to celebrate their rich history.
"It's up to the breaking community to start putting their own heroes on Wheaties boxes, touring them around, making sure they're on everybody's social media, so we know who the breaking champions of our culture are," he says. "It's really up to us now. The breaking culture is strong. It's still kind of underground, but it's up to the community to make itself mainstream.”
