August 15, 1911 – As 50,000 watch the third day of the Aero Meet being held in Grant Park, two accidents take the lives of aviators and silence the crowds. Mike Badger of Pittsburgh, flying a Baldwin biplane, dies as he executes a low-level flyover of Grant Park, ending with a dramatic climb that tears his plane apart. The plane falls 50 feet and the wealthy daredevil dies at St. Luke’s Hospital. St. Croix Johnstone, flying a Moisant monoplane, dies as his plane falls into Lake Michigan a little after 6:00 p.m. about a mile off shore, opposite Twelfth Street. He is attempting to do a corkscrew maneuver when 800 feet above the lake the “spidery monoplane tipped a bit, shot downward with a sickening swoop, overturning just before it splashed In the water.” [Chicago Daily Tribune, August 16, 1911] Before he goes up hat day, Badger holds a wide-ranging interview with a Tribune reporter, saying, “That’s the nuttiest idea people have about aviators. They think they don’t mind death at all. Why, I set just as much store by my life as you do. I love life. They think we go out of our way to invite death. They say we don’t take ordinary precautions. I don’t consider that I take one chance in 10,000 with my life . . . You must be sure of your machine. I am sure of mine. You must be sure of your good muscle and your clear brain. I am sure of mine.”
August 15, 1893 – A mass-meeting of unemployed workers is held at 2:30 p.m. at the Columbus Statue in the Lake-Front Park, today’s Grant Park. The gathering, organized by the Allied Woodworkers’ Trades Council, is made up of delegates of various trades, among them cabinet makers, piano varnishers and finishers, upholsterers, carvers, box makers, and sash, door and blind makers. The call to the meeting suggests it will deal with the questions: (1) Why are we idle and how can we be furnished employment; (2) Is it men or conditions we have to deal with; and (3) Shall we warn the unemployed of other cities, towns and States to stay away from Chicago or shall we let them come? [Chicago Daily Tribune, August 15, 1893] The Depression to which the workers are responding could possibly have been the worst in the country’s history. Even as the great World’s Columbian Exposition was drawing millions to Chicago, the nation’s gold reserves fell steeply, touching off a financial panic that closed four thousand banks by the end of the year. Some fifty railroads failed in the crisis, a fact that hit Chicago, the railroad capital of the nation, particularly hard. Unemployment climbed to 20 percent, and Chicago police were stationed at railroad stations to keep the unemployed from coming into the city. It would not be until 1897 that things would begin to improve.
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August 15, 1873 – A letter to the editor of the Chicago Daily Tribune points out one of the many perils of living in the city – the difficulty of obtaining unadulterated milk. “I was engaged in the milk-business three years, and gave it up in disgust,” the writer begins, “inasmuch as I could not sell pure milk and compete with other milkmen.” [Chicago Daily Tribune, August 15, 1873]. The writer points out that fixed costs for milk dealers include not just the milk, but the “wear and tear of wagons, harness, and horses, the wages of men … the cost of ice, etc. etc.” Placing much of the blame on customers who refuse to pay what the product is worth, “Old Milkman” writes, “When a milkman finds his customers are not willing to pay a reasonable price for good milk, he naturally concludes he must make the milk to suit their price.” To accomplish this, a dealer may, for example, skim the milk, “… taking from two to four quarts of cream from every eight-gallon can.” To mask the missing cream the dealer adds a tablespoon of burnt sugar to each can and “restores the rich, creamy color to such an extent that the most experienced dairy-woman would be deceived.” The writer does offer a number of suggestions on how to change the situation, beginning with paying milk dealers a fair price and then appointing a milk inspector “whose duty it will be to inspect, at intervals, all the milk that enters the city.” Publishing the names of all dealers who adulterate their product as well as those who sell a “good product,” the writer believes “will soon find a complete revolution in the trade, and will also find that very few of the farmers are guilty of watering their milk.” Adulteration of milk was just one problem citizens faced; another more dangerous aspect of milk distribution can be found here in Connecting the Windy City.
August 15, 1860 – The Chicago Press and Tribune provides its annual review of the city’s fire department, introducing its inventory with a homage to “the gallant wearers of red shirts and fire hats, that on the occasion of a jingling of wild bells in an alarm of fire, used to start up from all corners and nooks, and come dashing up areas and round corners …” [Chicago Press and Tribune, August 14, 1860] The fire department took a leap forward in 1858 when it purchased the first steam-powered fire engine, dubbed the “Long John” after the nickname of the mayor, “Long John” Wentworth. In the two years that followed, “… hand machines have been sold to other cities, costly hose carts have sought the rural districts to be the wonder of the smaller communities, the steam machines with a few hand engines and hose carts located in different remote sections of the city …” constitute the fire department, manned by paid professionals. With just a few strokes of a bell, the paper reports, “… in less than two minutes steam engines with attendant hose carriages … all drawn by over thirty powerful horses are in the streets moving at a hard gallop toward the scene of conflagration.” A partial inventory of the department includes: (1) The Long John, drawn by four horses and housed on La Salle Street near Washington. The engine has a force of eleven men, including an engineer, a fireman, two drivers, five pipemen, and an engine house watchman. (2) The Enterprise, a Seneca Falls machine housed on State Street near Harrison, drawn by four horses with the same complement of personnel as the Long John. (3) The Atlantic, a Seneca Falls machine housed on Michigan Avenue near the river with four horses and a force of eleven. (4) The Island Queen, a third Seneca Falls machine, housed on West Lake Street with four horses and a crew of eleven. (5) The U. P. Harris, a Philadelphia machine, housed on Jackson Street near Clinton on the west side with four horses and eleven crew members. (6) The Little Giant, a moskeag machine, housed on Dearborn Street near Washington with two horses and eleven crew members. The Long John, with forty pounds of steam pressure, could produce four streams of water through 100 feet of hose horizontally 150 feet; with sixty pounds of steam pressure two streams of water could be thrown 160 feet horizontally. The machine weighed five tons and cost about $5,000. The Long John is shown in the above photo.
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