Sunday, January 12, 2014

Hearsing Around on Michigan Avenue -- January 12, 1903

Wild Ride -- Woe . . . Woe . . . Woe (Chicago Daily News Archives)
It’s all glitter and lights on Michigan Avenue these days with the great wall of skyscrapers facing off against the green spaces of Grant Park and Millennium Park and, beyond that, the lake.  It’s hard to imagine a time when the road was filled with horse manure, the sky was clouded with coal smoke, and horses and new-fangled automobiles staged an ongoing game of chicken.

But that’s the way it was back on this date, January 12, in 1903 when Thomas McInerney, who had just driven a hearse with the remains of Mrs. William O’Brien to the old Central Station at Michigan Avenue and Roosevelt Road for transportation to the cemetery, found his team frightened by a steam engine on the nearby elevated track.

The horses took off, headed north on Michigan Avenue at Sixteenth Street, pursued by another carriage, driven by James Murphy, and a mounted park policeman.  The wild chase lasted nearly three-quarters of a mile when McInerney’s horses swerved, crashing against the iron support of an electric light at twenty-Second Street.  Mr. McInerney was “painfully injured” and the hearse, valued at $3,500, was demolished. 


It appears that the wild dash involving Mr. McInerney’s horse-driven hearse, Mr. Murhpy, and the police officer ended in a dead heat.

Friday, January 10, 2014

Chicago Bridges -- January 10, 1901

It made sense for the early settlers of Chicago to nestle right down next to the lake, alongside the river.  Back in the early 1800’s any commerce that might come to the area – and the certainty of that prospect was far from bright – would come by way of those two resources.

Sometimes, though, a blessing can also be a curse.  Living within the barriers of a river on the north and west and a lake on the east was fine as long as there were only a few thousand folks trying to get along in the circumscribed space.  But by 1850 there were 30,000 people in the rapidly growing metropolis on the prairie; by the time of the Great Fire in 1871 there were 270,000.

Space was, to say the least, at a premium and when the fire wiped the slate clean, commercial business stayed in what is today the Loop with some residential property to the south, and industry and residential property, for the most part, was located across the river.

Washington St. Bridge propped on supports, 1906 (Chicago Daily News Archive)
The easy way to connect the two obviously was by building bridges.  The complicating factor was that the bridges could not be permanently engineered; there had to be a way to accommodate the ships that moved up and down the river.  By the end of the nineteenth century the biggest lake freighters measured well over 400 feet in length, and somehow the bridges had to be built in order to allow these huge ships to deliver the grain and lumber and raw materials that had put Chicago on the map in the first place.

The solution was the swing bridge, which sat on a turntable in the center of the channel and which could be rotated from a position where the bridge lined up with the streets on either side of the river to a position where the bridge swung 90 degrees where it would lie parallel to the banks of the river, allowing ships to pass on either side.

This arrangement solved the problem, but barely.  Ships were smacking into the bridges all the time, splintering railings, crumbling foundations, at times knocking the entire bridge out of alignment.  By the early part of the 1900’s the whole situation was intolerable. 

In fact, on January 10, 1901 The Chicago Tribune ran an article on the city’s bridges under the headline Sees a Menace in Nine Bridges:  City Engineer Refuses to Retain Responsibility for Fragile Structures.

Four bridges, the ones on West Division Street, North Avenue, Archer Avenue, and Twenty-Second Street were in such bad shape that the city engineer recommended closing them completely.  Five more bridges, at Wells Street, Washington Street, Harrison Street, Twelfth Street, and Eighteenth Street were less dangerous but still so shaky that the city engineers refused to be responsible for them.

Wells St. Bridge, looking north, with Chicago & Northwestern terminal in the background
(Chicago Daily News photo archive)
Goose Island was the section of the city most affected by the situation.  According to coverage in The Tribune, “The engineers had hardly raised the scow which formed Division street bridge over the canal when the bridge over the river was found to be almost past service.  An attempt was made . . . to patch it up and save it.  If the bridge be closed it is expected that insurance rates will be increased; as the fire risk will advance.”


Clearly, in a city that numbered over two million human beings, something was going to have to be done.

Thursday, January 9, 2014

Dwight Perkins and the City Beautiful: January 9, 1901

On this date, January 9, back in 1901 a great architect, a man who is often overlooked, even discredited, stood before a meeting of the Chicago Women’s club and made bold statements about what could be done to make Chicago a more beautiful place. 

The man was Dwight H. Perkins, and one day someone should write a book about a guy who richly deserves much more credit that he has ever been given.  Take a trip to the corner of Milwaukee and Addison one day and spend a half-hour walking around Carl Schurz High School, a place that to this ex-teacher is the most beautiful high school in the city, if not the country.

Or head down to the zoo and have an ice cream cone at the CafĂ© Brauer.  And move from there to the lion house, another Perkins design.  I just can’t say enough about this guy who, battling the political muckety-mucks at every turn, designed 40 schools in the city and was one of the most influential voices in the establishment of one of the area’s great resources, the Cook Country Forest Preserve system.

Carl Schurz High School (JWB Photo)
Café Brauer (JWB Photo)
Anyway, back in 1901 Mr. Perkins stood before his audience and expressed his hope that the new century would bring about a transformation of his city so complete that “the sun will shine in parts of the city which have not seen the full light of day since the fire.”  [Chicago Tribune, January 10, 2014]

He talked of his dream to turn the industrial backbone of Chicago, Halsted Street, into a boulevard, of making the derelict Goose Island into a park, and of turning the brown channel of waste that was the Chicago River into a “marble-lined stream of blue water.”

“When our ideas of municipal art begin to reach after these ‘waste places’,” he said, “and we find that they can be made to bloom the city beautiful will appear.  Our boulevards are good.  I believe now we should carry them through the parts of the city that are most neglected.  The parks are beautiful, but they must be carried into the wards where they are most needed.”

This speech came exactly eight years to the day before the great Chicago Plan of 1909 was unveiled at a banquet of the Commercial Club at the Congress Hotel.  Just another way in which history swept this visionary aside and found figures with more colorful stories to take his place.

As an aside, after Mr. Perkins made his remarks the rules of the club were suspended so that a plan could be formulated to take action for a defense of a small park at the junction of State and Rush Streets and Bellevue Place, under attack at the time by residents of the neighborhood.


Today that little park – exactly the kind of small park Dwight Perkins envisioned all over the city – is Mariano Park, named for a long-time reporter and editor for the Chicago Sun Times.  In the park stands a structure, originally a bus pavilion, designed by a contemporary of Dwight Perkins, Birch Burdette Long.  In fact, in 1900 Perkins’s wife, Lucy Fitch Perkins, encouraged the Chicago Women’s Club to hold a competition for that bus pavilion, and it is Mr. Long’s winning entry, a structure with an unerringly direct connection to Perkins himself, that still stands in that little park.  [Van Zanten, David.  Sullivan’s Ornament:  The Meaning of Ornament for Louis Sullivan.  p. 79]

Mariano Park with pavilion (Chicago Park District Photo)

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

The Coal Famine of 1903

Young girl collecting coal at a Salvation Army post (Chicago Daily News photo archive)
For those in the country who are suffering through one of the most ugly bouts of cold weather in the past quarter-century, it may be easier to imagine the fear that prevailed in Chicago in the first months of 1903.  For a city heated in large part by anthracite or hard coal, a coal shortage in the middle of the winter was serious business.

And in the winter months of 1903 there was a severe coal shortage in Chicago.

It all began on May 12, 1902 when John Mitchell, who in 1898, at the age of 28, had become president of the United Mine Workers of America, pulled the miners in the anthracite fields of eastern Pennsylvania off the job.  Firemen, engineers, and pump men followed on June 2, and within two weeks 147,000 workers had left the mines.  Of these 30,000 abandoned the fields for good with 8,000 to 10,000 returning to Europe.  [Grossman, Jonathan. United States Department of Labor.  The Coal Strike of 1902 – Turning Point in U. S. Policy]

The strike finally endedon October 23, 1902 in a precedent-setting agreement, it being the first significant labor dispute in which the United States government intervened.  It was such a significant event that toward the end of his career Samuel Gompers wrote, “Several times I have been asked what in my opinion was the most important single incident in the labor movement in the United States and I have invariably replied: the strike of the anthracite miners in Pennsylvania ... from then on the miners became not merely human machines to produce coal but men and citizens ...” [Grossman, Jonathan]

All that is significant today, but back in late 1902 all that mattered was that no hard coal was being mined for nearly a half-year at the time when cities should have been building up stockpiles in preparation for the long winter.  Conditions deteriorated quickly once cold weather set in.

In Detroit on December 31 Mrs. W. T. Richardson, a boarding house keeper, entered the office of Stanley B. Smith & Co., a coal dealer, and pointed a revolver at the clerk on duty along with $7.50 and demanded a ton of coal after her son had failed to get the order earlier in the day.  According to the Chicago Tribune the clerk “gazed down the blue barrel of the weapon and promptly produced the order.” [Chicago Tribune, January 1, 1903]

In early January the combination of a shortage of coal and a local teamsters’ strike forced officials at the Lincoln Park zoo to reduce heat in the animal and plant houses to save precious fuel.  By January 4 less than a day’s supply remained.  “After that,” The Tribune reported, “it is either coal or chills for the elephant, lions and other captives from the tropics.”  [Chicago Tribune, January 4, 1903]  The next day park workers were put to work cutting down dead trees in the park and stacking up the wood next to the zoo’s power house in case it became necessary to move from coal to wood.

By January 6 the Western Steel Car and Foundry Company in Hegewisch shut down, throwing 3,700 men out of work, because there was not enough coal to keep the machinery running.

Men and women collecting coal at a city-sponsored distribution site
(Chicago Daily News photo archive)
On that same day Mrs. Margaret Perry and her three daughters died in a fire at the Hotel Somerset at Wabash and Twelfth Street. The Tribune began its coverage of the tragedy, “Had it not been for the high price and scarcity of fuel, Mrs. Margaret Perry and her three children, whose lives were sacrificed, would not have ben in the hotel, as they left their home at 2535 Indiana avenue some time ago because they thought it would be cheaper to board than to attempt to heat their own apartments during the winter.”

On January 8 the Salvation Army began offering coal to the poor of the city at the rate of five cents for a 20-pound basket.  The next day the situation in Toledo, Ohio had reached the point where a physician’s certificate authenticating the fact that there was illness in a home and that coal was necessary to safeguard the patient was required in order to buy a ton of coal.

As the middle of January approached the head of the Dunning Institution, home of the Cook County Insane Asylum, said that he would not be able to keep the buildings warm after 2 a. m. on January 12. 

Even though a coal relief fund established by Mayor Carter Harrison had reached $2,976, casualties began to mount.  Mrs. Esther Everett, 65, was found frozen to death in her bed at 3232 La Salle Street.  A six-month old baby died from exposure in an unheated home at 1341 Western Avenue.  An unidentified man, between 65 and 70, was killed by a Lake Shore train while he was picking up coal on the tracks at Wood Street.  [Chicago Tribune, January 11, 1903]

On January 10, 300 citizens of Arcola, Illinois stopped an Illinois Central train carrying 16 cars of coal to Chicago.  An offer was made to buy the coal, but officials refused to sell it.  At that point the mob, led by the pastor of the Presbyterian and Free Methodist churches, the presidents of both of the town’s banks, and a town policeman, confiscated the cars and the coal.

Children picking up coal from railroad tracks during the coal famine
(Chicago Daily News photo archive)
By January 19 things in Chicago had reached the point where the city council appropriated $25,000 to be used to distribute coal to the needy, asking the corporation counsel to investigate the legality of establishing a municipal coal yard.

Three days later 16-year-old William Stohmeyer went to the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad’s freight yard, carrying a sack to pick up coal that had fallen on the tracks.  Martin J. Ward, a railway employee, fired at the boy, wounding him mortally.  A crowd of 500 people soon gathered, and Ward ran to the yard office where he locked himself in the building.  Police dispersed the crowd and freed Ward, who was then booked on suspicion of murder.

On February 2 the Chicago began to sell coal from city yards in half-ton lots with orders being taken at the city’s pumping stations.  A disgruntled coal dealer observed, “Amateurish mistakes have confused the mayor’s coal committee in its administration of the municipal coalyards . . . Instead of using simple methods the authorities started the most complex tactics imaginable, and now they are surprised to find themselves in a muddle.”  [Chicago Tribune, February 2, 1903]  Less than two weeks later the city got out of the coal business.  “The contractors have refused to send us any more coal to sell,” a Central Park station engineer explained.  [Chicago Tribune, February 14, 1903]

Finally, a combination of warmer weather, an increasing supply, and more expeditious transportation ended the “coal famine” of 1903.

It would have been interesting if cable news had been around that year with its 24-hour news cycle.  MSNBC would have blared nonstop vitriol at the coal suppliers and the railroads for conspiring to curtail supply in order to jack up prices and maximize profits. 

Fox would have happily jabbed away at the government for meddlesome behavior that violated the natural laws of the marketplace, making a crisis out of a situation that would have ultimately resolved itself.  Probably there would have been some harsh words for the miners, too, many of them first generation Americans who labored long hours for little pay in one of the most dangerous jobs on the planet, but whose strike in 1902 caused the original shortage of coal.

Wherever the blame was placed, it did not hide the fact that real human beings suffered during that long winter of 1903.


Filling sacks with scavenged coal (Chicago Daily News photo archive)
In a February 3 editorial The Tribune observed philosophically that one day everyone would be short of coal because there would be no more left to mine.  “Then nature will step in,” the opinion piece observed,  “Nature is always ready for contingencies, and, supplemented by man’s ingenuity and skill, life probably will be as easy without coal or wood as it is with them, and certainly cleaner and healthier.  ‘Star eyed science’ will not ‘waft us home the message of despair.’ It will find agencies in the sun, in the sea, and in the winds; and in the earth and in the atmosphere it will find unending supplies of that marvelous electric fluid of whose properties as a power in nature we still know but little.”  [Chicago Tribune, February 3, 1903]