Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The McConnell House at 546 Hawthorne


I strolled down one of the most serene streets in Chicago the other day – Hawthorne Place in East Lakeview.  In the days before Lake Shore Drive the street ended at the lake, and as you walk past the wooded, over-sized lots, you can imagine what it must have been like to escape the city for the country lifestyle of Lake View township back at the end of the nineteenth century.

546 Hawthorne Place (JWB, 2011)
Right across from the Chicago City Day School on the far east end of Hawthorne stands the John McConnell house at 546 West Hawthorne.  For a tour of the McConnell house, courtesy of Open House Chicago, click here.

For me the interesting thing about these beautiful homes is the story of the folks who lived in them.  And Mr. McConnell’s story is a particularly interesting one, a story that actually begins with his father’s attempt to sink roots in the muck of early Chicago.

The east side of the John McConnell house
(JWB, 2011)
John McConnell was born on December 8, 1847 to an Irish father, Edward, and a Scottish mother, Charlotte (McGlashan).  Edward left Ireland in 1821, sailing to Montreal where he spent the winter, moving on to Rochester, New York where he worked as a clerk in a lumberyard.  Finally, in 1830 Edward left New York “with several equally inclined partners in an open Macinaw boat with Chicago as their destination.” [Curey, Josiah Seymour.  Chicago, Its History and Its Builders, A Century of Marvelous Growth, Volume 4.  The S. J. Clarke Publishing Company, Chicago:  1912.]

The boat was wrecked off Long Point on Lake Erie, and Edward and his partners walked back to Buffalo, where he spent the winter, sailing for Chicago once again in the spring of 1831.  When he got to the swamp that was Chicago, virtually all of its residents were suffering with fever.  Old Man McConnell, high-tailed it to Springfield, where he started a wholesale grocery business and made the acquaintance of a country lawyer, Abraham Lincoln, who represented him in several land cases.

Edward enlisted to fight in the Black Hawk wars and got to the field “just about the time peace was declared.” [Curry]  Finally, in late 1837 he invested everything he had in Chicago land, losing most of it in the panic of 1838.  Timing apparently wasn’t one of Edward’s strengths.

He hung in there, though, marrying in 1848 and building the first brick house in the city at the corner of Clark and Madison.  He also bought farm property at 22nd Street and Halsted.  Buying and selling land gave him a comfortable lifestyle, and he and Charlotte raised four sons. 

John McConnell's lakeside place in the country (JWB, 2011)
John, the third son, grew up on the Halsted property and attended the original University of Chicago.  He tried his hand at picture-framing until 1884 when he began buying and subdividing property in the township of Lake View.  It must have been a lucrative business; from 1870 to 1887 the township grew from 2,000 to 45,000 and became a part of Chicago in 1889.

John was elected as a Lake View supervisor and president of the Board of Trustees the same year he began dealing in real estate within the township.  Just a guess – the position probably didn’t hurt the business.  When Lake View township became a part of Chicago, John became a city alderman.

In 1885 Mr. McConnell built his home at 546 Hawthorne Place, just steps away from Lake Michigan.  He was a member of the Chicago Real Estate Board, the Chicago Athletic Association, the Chicago Yacht Club and the Edgewater Golf Club. [Curry]  In short, he was doin’ alright.

Take away the cars and Hawthorne Place looks much like it must have
looked back in 1885 when John McConnell built his home (JWB, 2011)
And that’s another Chicago story from the middle of the nineteenth century.  The son of an Irishman who came to the country with nothing ends up in the big brick house on the lake. 

The house is still there, and it is just as impressive as it must have been back there in 1885 . . . if you ignore the traffic whizzing by on Lake Shore Drive.

Monday, April 11, 2011

A Busy Day on Dearborn and Randolph


V. O Hammon's A Busy Day on Dearborn and Randolph

A great look at Chicago in the first decade of the twentieth century can be found in a V. O Hammon postcard entitled A Busy Day on Dearborn and Randolph Streets Chicago. 

The scene depicted is chaotic with horse-drawn beer wagons, ice wagons, and general produce of all sorts competing with a long string of trolley cars moving into the intersection and down Dearborn Street.  Dozens of people wait at all four corners, looking for a chance to cross the impossibly busy street without being maimed.

An interesting detail can be found on the most prominent building in the photo.  The Cunard Line has offices on the ground floor, and a real estate firm, Koester and Zander, has its name on the floor above.

That’s the point where little details like these lead toward surprising discoveries.   Cunard’s Mauritania and Lusitania had only been in trans-Atlantic service for five years when this postcard was mailed.  The Lusitania would sail for three more years before being torpedoed off Ireland by a German U-boat.

More interesting to me, though, is the real estate office of Koester and Zander, located then at 69 Dearborn Street. 

Henry George Zander was born in Rendsburg, Schlewign-Hostein, Germany in 1869.  He began his education in Germany but finished in Chicago, graduating in 1886 from North Division High School, what is now Lincoln Park High School.  He trained as a civil engineer before obtaining his law degree from John Marshall Law School.  He formed the partnership with G. F. Koester, and Koester and Zander got about the business of running a general real estate and loan business.

George Frederick Koester was born in Chicago in 1862, so he was younger than Zander by seven years.  He was educated in the public schools and attended the brand new West Division High School until 1878.  Since the new high school only housed freshmen and sophomores, it is likely that Koster’s formative education ended at the end of the tenth grade.

After he left school he worked for the German Book and News Co., the Western Union Telegraph Co., the National Livestock Journal, and then for the grocery company of Scherer, Shirk & Co.  Somewhere around 1891 he began dealing in real estate and hooked up with Zander in 1892.

Their biographies give little explanation for how the two met or what sustained their relationship.  They seem to have had little in common.  Zander lived in Irving Park; Koester in Ravenswood.  Zander belonged to the Irving Park Country Club and the Irving Golf Club while Koester played his golf at the Ravenswood Golf Club. Both men were 32ยบ Masons, which might explain the connection.

In any event, their partnership led to the development of an entire section of Chicago when in 1912 the firm purchased 212 acres in Jefferson Township -- what is now the Sauganash neighborhood.  It's a secluded community roughly bounded by Devon Avenue on  the north, Bryn Mawr on the south, Cicero on the west and the old Chicago and North Western tracks on the east.

On writer observed that the neighborhood "makes you swear you've suddenly taken a wrong turn and ended up in Winnetka."  [www.gapersblock.com]

Koester and Zander began street improvements in the area in 1919 and construction on the first eight homes on Kostner Avenue between Peterson and Rogers Avenue began in 1923.  One hundred homes were occupied by 1928 with another hundred completed by 1930.  [www.sauganash.org]

The community was named after the Potawatomi Indian chief, who was actually born part Mohawk, the son of an Irishman who was serving as a British Army captain in Canada and a Mohawk woman.  Taking his father’s name, Billy Caldwell moved between the world of the white man and the natives, never quite making a place in either population.

Caldwell settled in Chicago around 1803 working with the Kinzie family in their fur trade while helping to  smooth relations between the British, the United States and various native tribes. 

His services were so useful that the United States government rewarded him with the first frame house to be built in the city.  It was located approximately where Holy Name Cathedral stands today.  Along with this Caldwell received 1,600 acres of land along the Chicago River where the present day Sauganash neighborhood is located.

In 1829 Caldwell was made a Potawatomi Chief and given the name Sauganash, or “Englsihman” in the native tongue.  His appointment was beneficial to the government . . . he understood the language and had been helpful in making treaties and settling disputes for some time.  The natives also saw this as a good move, assuming that his leadership would be beneficial to them in negotiations with the government.

In 1835 the federal government forced the Potawatomi to give up five million acres of land and move east of the Mississippi River.  Chief Sauganash accepted the government’s terms for the tribe.  On September 26, 1835 a treaty was signed under the “Treaty Elm,” after which the Chief, his family and 3,000 Potawatomi headed for Council Bluffs, Iowa. 

Sauganash died there on September 28, 1841.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

A Walk in the Fog


Fog on the Inner Drive (JWB, 2011)

Up here 31 floors above Diversey Harbor we haven’t seen the ground for three days.  Damp air, the cold lake, and warming breezes from the west have wrapped us in a fog that just won’t let go.

Yesterday I went for a walkabout, heading west on Diversey to Seminary, then north to Belmont, east to Broadway, north on Broadway to Hawthorne, then back to the Inner Drive and home.  Saw some great places on the way . . . the Brewster on Diversey, Dwight Perkins’s Agassiz Elementary School, the Nettelhorst School on Broadway, and the stately manses on Hawthorne.

As I walked west the fog lifted, and the sun began to shine.  Less than a mile from the lake, it was a completely different day.  Back on Hawthorne, two blocks from the lake, after a couple of hours of walking and taking pictures along the way, it was exactly the same day that I had left.

Which is a good lesson, I suppose.  When you’re tired of the way things are going, get out and walk around for a bit.  It’s nuts to let things drive you crazy when sanity is a short walk away.

The photo above is one of the last pictures I took on yesterday’s walk as I neared home on the lakefront trail between the Diversey driving range and the tunnel under Lake Shore Drive. 

Like a windless snowstorm, the fog softens the world, dampens the noise, and changes the physical reality of our lives.  And because it is temporary, it makes us appreciate the return of the sun that much more.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

An October Kind of City

An October City in Anish Kapoor's Cloudgate (JWB, 2007)

“Chicago is an October kind of city even in the spring,” wrote Nelson Algren.

I’ve written his one before, a favorite quote from the author who looked at Chicago with a loving eye, wise to the pleasures of the city’s passionate embrace and the sting of its nasty temper.

This week finally brings the weather we associate with a Midwestern spring – showers, wildly variable temperatures, daffodils soldiering on in green rows in front of condominium buildings and in street planters.

So I dredge up this old photo, taken several Octobers ago to illustrate Algren’s thesis.

Mr. Algren had his own meaning for what he wrote, but the picture of Anish Kapoor’s Cloudgate serves as a visual metaphor for what I think he meant.

There is the shimmering BUOYANCY of the thing.  There are one hundred ten tons of steel framework and highly polished stainless steel sitting there, but it seems to float in its space almost as if it were hovering.

And that’s not far from our collective mind this time of year.  We’re experiencing the buoyant feeling that comes from just having made it through another ponderous winter, emerging into a world that e. e. cummings called “mud-luscious” and “puddle-wonderful.”

The buoyancy, though, comes at a cost – the very human awareness that nothing is permanent and that spring will pass, as will summer, and it will be once again time to face the challenge of heavy-handed winter.

There is also the orientation of Kapoor’s sculpture.  I read somewhere that seventy-five percent of the piece’s surface reflects the sky.  Chicago is a town that has always reached for the sky, never more so than in the springtime when the heavens begin to brighten and spill over with a warmth that coaxes the trees back into leaf and the landscapers into action.

The mood is tempered by the solemn city, also reflected in Cloudgate’s shining surface.  It’s the open joy of about to happen pitted against the stolid acceptance of it can’t last forever.  

April and October, forever after.

As one season passes into the next, so hundreds of thousands of people pass Cloudgate every year seek out their reflections in its surface

But the city always intrudes, its skewed towers dwarfing the individual’s effort to find a form in the steel.  Over, under, around and through . . . it’s inescapable – this great stone beast of a city that crawled out of the great lake, sunk down in the ooze and mutated in a flash to become a giant of industry and commerce.

So we try to find a form, a reflection in this great season of rebirth, when all things are bright, unrealized, and ultimately possible.  Even as the distant October forms of what Emily Spinsterson called “the hour of lead” stand tall in a distant and distorted way.

Monday, April 4, 2011

The Case of the Mysterious Wine Merchant


If there is one thing that is more fascinating to me than the architecture of Chicago, it is the story that lies behind each building. Every structure, no matter how grand or mean, was designed, built and inhabited by real people, each of whom has a life story that fades over time.

We can’t know the whole story, of course, but occasionally we get small glimpses that humanize the ghosts of the past and make them come alive again.

629 W. Fullerton (JWB, 2010)
Take one small example – the Ernest Ammon house at 629 West Fullerton Avenue, an attractive Queen Anne residence of limestone and red granite, finished in 1889.  The AIA Guide to Chicago considers it important enough to list although there is no description of the property, just the architect, address, Mr. Ammon’s name and the date the home was completed, 1889.

The architectural firm of Fromann and Jebsen designed 629 West Fullerton.  Emil Henry Fromann, who lived to be 90-years-old and died in 1950, was the son of a German immigrant, architect George N. Fromann.  The elder Fromann moved to Chicago from Peoria in 1871, drawn by the massive reconstruction that followed the Chicago fire of that year. Little is known about Ernst Jebsen, the other partner in the firm. [www.scribd.com]

Schuba's at Belmont & Southport
(Photo courtesy of Forgotten Chicago.com)

We don’t hear much at all these days about Fromann and Jebsen, but it must have been a firm that was busy and well-off.  From 1877 to 1906 the firm designed 27 buildings for Edward Uihlein and the Schlitz Brewing Company, many of these buildings “tied houses,” taverns that carried the Schlitz name and sold the company’s beer.  Schuba’s at the corner of Belmont and Southport, finished in 1903, is one such Fromann and Jebsen tied house.

The firm took on a variety of other commissions throughout the city.  And the designs were wildly diverse, ranging from Tudor to Gothic Revival and Empire styles to the Arts and Crafts and Prairie styles of the early 20th century.

Humboldt Park Receptory and Stables
(Photo Courtesy of Wikipedia.com)
Without a doubt the most lasting and conspicuous commission of Fromann and Jebsen was the 1895 Humboldt Park Receptory and Stables.  The structure, which originally housed stables, a reception area and a comfort station, is a feast for aesthetic eyeballs, a riotous combination of turrets and gables complete with a wagon wheel and horse’s head at the peak of the half-timbered reception wing’s roofline.

Fromann and Jebsen . . . one aspect of the story of 629 West Fullerton. 

But you keep looking . . . the AIA Guide to Chicago lists the original owner – this Ernest Ammon guy, obviously a gentleman well off enough to hire an architect of some repute to design a home for him out in Lakeview Township. (Chicago annexed the township in 1889, the same year that the home was completed . . . so the lot must have been purchased before the annexation when Lakeview was a sleepy town out in the country).

JWB, 2010
Unlike many Chicago residents of the late nineteenth century, Ernest hasn’t left a whole lot of information for us over a century later. 

And then, unexpectedly, way back in the Google pages, a reference – a case that came before the Supreme Court of the United States in April of 1892.  It seems that our Mr. Ammon had sued one Aut Miller, “a citizen and resident of Wisconsin,” seeking $5,287 for “1,125 gallons of sherry wine and 1,100 gallons of port wine” that Mr. Miller had entered into a contract to purchase and for which Miller had not rendered payment.

The lower courts found in favor of Ammon and awarded him the money.  But Mr. Miller balked and the Supreme Court ended up with the sherry and port dumped in its docket.

It seems that our guy Ammon had neglected to purchase a license, required under Chicago law, the law stating, “No person, firm, or corporation shall sell or offer for sale any spirituous or vinous liquors in quantities of one gallon or more at a time, within the city of Chicago, without having first obtained a license therefor from the city of Chicago.” [United States Supreme Court Reports, Volume 36]

JWB, 2010
So Mr. Ammon had skipped the 250 bucks for the license and . . . wouldn’t you know it, a contract that is entered into in violation of the law cannot be enforced.  So Ammon was out the $5,287, not to mention close to 2,500 gallons of wine.

Wisconsin wins again.

It is stories like these that make the walk through architectural history so fascinating. 

Saturday, April 2, 2011

The Century Building at 202 South State Street

JWB, 2010
Walking west on Adams this morning while giving a tour to a group of great kids from Oak Lawn High School, I passed 202 South State Street once again.  I look at this building dozens of times each year, either walking up Adams with a tour group or waiting for the bus at the corner of State and Adams.

It’s not a pretty sight to see a magnificent old building in such an advanced stage of deterioration.

Things are so bad for 202 and the building just to the south that Preservation Chicago has named 202 and 220 South State to its 2011 “Chicago 7,” the list of most endangered buildings in the city.  Regarding the two towers, Preservaton Chicago stated, “Commanding an imposing presence on the 200 block of South State Street, two historic terra cotta buildings, located at 202 and 220 South State Street respectively, could be lost to future redevelopment by the Federal Government. The irreparable damage that demolition of these historic buildings will have on South State Street cannot be underestimated.”

One would think that the building’s owner could be forced to do something about the condition of the structures.  And that would probably be the case were it not for the fact that the owner is the federal government, which seized 202 and 220 after the 2001 terrorist attacks under the law of eminent domain.  The idea was to create a plan that would act as a buffer to protect the Federal Center just to the west.

JWB, 2010
But nothing has been done and according to the General Services Administration, “Upper floors are currently in a mostly deteriorated state and largely gutted. Almost all previously-existing partition walls and light fixtures have been removed. Remaining historic material includes paneled mahogany closet doors in the southwest corner of each floor, decorative wooden moulding above each elevator bank, radiators on several floors, a few remaining light fixtures, decorative ceiling beams, and fire escape doors. Many of the mechanical systems have been removed or are non-operational.”

Finished in 1915, 202 South State was one of the last commercial buildings to go up in the heyday of State Street development. It was designed by the firm of Holabird and Roche and its white terra cotta exterior exhibits a fascinating combination of the organization of Chicago School buildings, the ornamentation of beaux arts buildings, and the emphatic verticality of Art Deco buildings just over the horizon.

Stabilized and cleaned up it could be just as magnificent as Burnham and Atwood’s Reliance Building just down the street at the corner of State and Washington.

Buck & Rayner, a drug firm that pre-dated the Chicago fire, commissioned the Twentieth Century Building, a name that was changed to the Century Building in 1917 when the Century Trust and Savings Bank signed a 20-year lease for the second story.  It was a “shops” building with a variety of merchants and service providers located throughout its 16 stories. Buck and Rayner boasted of a cafeteria that had a “100,000 dollar ventilating plant” and was “68 degrees cool in the summertime.”

In 1949 Home Federal Savings purchased the Century and in the early 1950’s ordered extensive changes, especially in the lower portion of the building and its lobby.

The original design is clear enough, though, if you look carefully and ignore the ticky-tacky veneer applied on the first two stories to keep the elements out.

JWB, 2010
First of all, as you look at the Century’s State Street frontage, you can’t miss its soaring verticality, that emphasis aided by its extreme narrowness – only 42 and-a-half feet.  According to Preservation Chicago, “Emphasis of verticality is achieved with strong, deep verticals with understated recessed spandrels.”

That vertical emphasis, of course, would become one of the principle features of the Art Deco buildings that would begin to be built a half-dozen years after the Century’s completion.

As the GSA’s assessment of the Century’s significance pointed out, “the distinct vertical expression of the exterior elevations of this building and others by the firm [Holabird and Roche], notably the North American Building, portend the transition from the Chicago School buildings of the late 19th Century to the Art Deco of the 1920s. This change is prominently exhibited in the Tribune Competition of 1922, in which the first three places were won by architects who accented the vertical in their designs.”

The Century is also notable for its ornamentation, a system of decoration that sets it apart from its contemporaries.  Holabird and Roche came up with terra cotta details that can be classified as Neo-Manueline, a recreation of the artistic style that developed during the reign of Manuel I of Portugal in the early part of the sixteenth century.

JWB, 2010
Preservation Chicago’s discussion of the style asserts, “The proliferation of complex ornament around building openings, such as windows and doors, features shields with dragons, botanical motifs and pinnacles, and contributes to the diversity of the architectural environment within the Chicago Loop.”

But, of course, none of it matters if the building continues to fall into itself.  Even in 2000 the city quickly abandoned a plan to participate in the re-purposing of the building into residences. The cost of repairing the exterior terra cotta was prohibitive at that time, and things have only gotten worse in the next decade.

In 2003 the GSA contracted with four big-name city architects – Ralph Johnson, Tomas Beeby, Joe Valerio and landscape architect Peter Lindsay Schaudt – to propose possibilities for the government’s newly seized property on the east and north sides of the Federal Center. [www.lynnbecker.com]  The project yielded six distinct plans, contained in a slick GSA report which blogster Mike Doyle (Chicago Carless) scanned and which you can find here

Only two of the six proposals favor keeping the State Street buildings, according to the 2006 report.  What a tragedy it would be to lose these historic structures to what Preservation Chicago calls “a lifeless void that will suck the energy out of one of downtown’s most vibrant intersections.”

But, I suppose in a certain way tearing them down would be the equivalent of a mercy killing.  202 South State is – was – a magnificent example of Holabird and Roche’s design prowess when the firm was at the top of its game.  To stand at the bus stop across the street and watch the building continue to deteriorate from month to month is almost too much to bear.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Photo of the Week: Go Cubs


JWB, 2011
I am a Chicago Cubs fan.

I didn’t realize how stark those half-dozen words would appear until I typed them.  I have spent my life moving between exultation and bitterness, sometimes in the same day, sometimes in my Leon Durham or Steve Bartman memories in the space of a few seconds.

I rode high with Ron Santo’s heel clicks in 1969 and fell to the ground with Don Young’s missed catch that same summer, symbols of the aura of great men and goats that surrounds my men in blue.

And now Ron Santo is gone, another one of the tens of thousands of fans who were born, lived their lives and then died, never once seeing the team they love defend the honor of Chicago in the baseball championship of the world.

In 1984, up two games to none in a five-games series against the San Diego Padres, the Cubs let the national league west champion back into the series, losing 7-1 in Game 3 and allowing a Steve Garvey homerun in the bottom of the ninth to tie the series.  Then, leading 3-2 in the seventh of Game 5, with the eventual Cy Young winner, Rick Sutcliffe, on the mound . . . The Error.

Cubs lose, 6-3.

They installed lights at Wrigley in 1989.  The Cubs went on to win 93 games and the Eastern Division championship.  They won the first two games at home against the Giants, held leads in each of the next three games, managing to lose all three.   

Just before the season started in 1998, Harry Caray died.  He would have loved the new flame-throwing rookie, Kerry Wood, a name Harry could have actually pronounced.  The Cubs finish 90-73 and win a one-game wild card game against the Giants at Wrigley.

Too much work.  The team scores four runs in the series against Atlanta and spends the next two years in the cellar.

Five years later, 2003, and the magic is back.  Five out of six from St. Louis in September when it actually mattered.  Dominant ball against the upstart Marlins.  Five outs away from the World Serious. 

Great men and goats.  Exhilaration and bitterness.

Which is a lot of words to get to the Picture of the Week.

Cruising along the Fort Lauderdale intracoastal waterway yesterday on the Carrie B with my wife and eldest daughter, one particular feature at one of the many lavish waterfront estates caught my eye.

With the glare of the water and the bright blue sky, I couldn’t trust myself until I got home and downloaded the pictures, but I thought I had seen a Cubs flag beneath the stars and stripes up on the beautiful home’s flagpole. 

I was right, some fabulously wealthy Cubs fan, was proudly proclaiming loyalty as the team gets ready to defend the honor of Chicago in a new season. 

But look more closely.  The flag is flying upside down.

In another month or so, I’ll be on the deck of a Chicago Architecture Foundation tour boat, narrating the glories of the Chicago River.  I will speak nonstop for an hour-and-a-half, describing between 70 and 80 buildings during that time.

Every one of those great buildings, except one, has been built since the Cubs last won the World Series.  In some places structures have been designed, built, torn down and new buildings erected during that time.  In a few cases the cycle has occurred several times.

A century is a long time.   The flag is flying upside down.

Go Cubs.