She was Chicago’s subterranean songstress. Maria Tampico played music on a subway platform of the CTA Blue Line, usually the Washington stop — a joyful interlude during millions of commutes.
She performed for more than four decades before calling it quits in 2023, according to Sydney Garza, whose mother Sherry Kimura was close with Ms. Tampico.
With a guitar slung over her shoulder and a violin affixed to the top of her guitar, she built Latin-infused rhythms layered with whistling and singing. Tap shoes provided percussion as she danced.
Ms. Tampico died May 14 at her Chicago apartment from natural causes. She was 76.
Dressed in a beret, sunglasses, slacks, buttoned-up shirt and a sport coat, she was a memorable and intriguing figure.
She caught the eye of Suree Towfighnia, a Columbia College Chicago grad student who made a short documentary about her in 2006.
“I missed my train because I was listening to her play,” said Towfighnia, who became friends with Ms. Tampico.
Ms. Tampico explained that she was the youngest of four siblings. Her father died a few weeks before she was born on Oct. 31, 1948.
Her widowed mother Estella Tampico had a passion for singing opera and worked as a crossing guard to support her family. She also taught her children how to play instruments and took them to Maxwell Street to perform, Towfighnia said.
“We went to Maxwell Street to make ends meet,” Ms. Tampico said in the documentary.
Speaking of her mother, Ms. Tampico said: “She told me how far music will take you if you let it … and she told me one day you might have to sing for your supper. And she was right.”
At first, Ms. Tampico brought just a guitar or a violin in the subway, but she said the sound was too lonely.
She began bringing multiple instruments with her, and it made her feel like her family was around her.
“I could feel the presence. I know they were there with me — and that’s when the music just started to radiate. It just started to roll and flow,” Ms. Tampico said in the documentary.
He parents came to the United States from Argentina, Towfighnia said. She grew up in public housing at the Jane Addams Homes along Taylor Street in Little Italy and, as adult, moved into an apartment nearby.
Her real name was Rosa Maria Salis, but she went by Maria Tampico, her mother’s maiden name. Before she began performing in the subway in the early 1980s, she worked as a teacher for children with developmental disabilities.
When her mother died in 1983 and she found herself caring for one of her older brothers, she leaned into performing as a way to earn more money and make her own hours.
“Being a woman alone in the subway, you can imagine it wasn’t always safe for her. She told stories of having to fight people off,” Towfighnia said.
Ms. Tampico originally dressed in more feminine outfits, but opted for a buttoned-up shirt and sport coat to counter unwanted attention.
“I quit dolling up because I was having too many guy problems — and girl problems. You know, people hitting on me,” she said in the documentary.
She would arrive on the platform before the morning rush and return for the evening rush. Always fearful of losing her spot if she went to the restroom, she’d occasionally pay another street performer to hold her spot while she was gone.
Ms. Tampico also occasionally played gigs at places like the Chicago Cultural Center. She also played piano and knew the blues, so she occasionally played at bars, including Kingston Mines, Garza said.
Garza said that because of her mother’s long friendship with Ms. Tampico, she became like family. In recent years, Garza would occasionally pick up Ms. Tampico to take her out for dinner and dancing.
“Most recently, we took her to Buddy Guy’s Legends, and we saw a lot of people who came in and knew Maria, all these older performers who stopped over to say hello, and she really enjoyed that,” Garza said.
“There should be a historical marker where she played,” said Kimura.
“She was a Chicago icon. People really loved her,” Towfighnia said.
A celebration of life is being planned.