Friday, March 14, 2014

Governor Altgeld Heads West -- March 14, 1902

John Altgeld Statue, Diversey Parkway between Sheridan and the Inner Driver (JWB, 2010)
“Great as well as trivial causes have had their martyrs.  What we need in this hour of national confusion is the memory of a man who never allowed himself to see the little things in life, but turned his attention at all times to the greater things.  As time recedes the world will finally agree that our friend saw life as we see it, in its greater and grander form.”

So spoke Jane Addams at the funeral of former Governor John P. Altgeld at private services held at his residence, 3225 Malden Avenue, on this day in 1902.  The body of the governor would lie in state at the main library building at Randolph and State on March 15 and would then be carried to its final resting place in Graceland Cemetery.

In the coverage of the services The Tribune reported that Clarence Darrow spoke “with an emotion that threatened to overcome him at times,” referring to his dead friend “as a soldier in the everlasting struggle of the human race for liberty and justice on the earth.”

“Today we pay our last sad homage to the most devoted lover, the most abject slave, the fondest, wildest dreamiest victim that ever gave his life to liberty’s immortal cause,” said Mr. Darrow.  “No purer patriot ever lived than the friend we lay at rest today.  His patriotism was not paraded in the public marts, nor bartered in the stall for gold; his patriotism was of that ideal mold that places the love of man above the love of self.”

The tragic story of the governor’s end is well known.  A memorial to him can be found at most college campuses in the state.  Each time I leave my front door I look across Diversey Parkway and think about the courage of a small man who somehow found the wherewithal to do the right thing, resisting the money of the big shots as he stood up for the little guys who had little or no voice in the system.  There’s a bigger picture of his last days here.


Tonight, though, this state might do well to remember a man who kept the solemn promise that a politician makes to the electorate . . . and in a real way gave his life in an effort to remain loyal to those ideals.

"The love of man above the love of self . . .'  (JWB, 2010)

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Chicago Riverwalk Proposal -- March 13, 1990

There might not be much to see along the river now, but it's coming.  And back in 1990 the idea
was so far-fetched, it was nearly laughable .  (JWB, 2013)
On this day, March 13, nearly a quarter-century ago The Chicago Tribune reported Mayor Richard M. Daley’s had endorsement of a new set of guidelines for development along the Chicago River, expanding a 1982 plan proposed by Mayor Jane Byrne.  In the 1990 proposal Mayor Daley said that the Chicago River should become the “centerpiece and not the edge of downtown development.”  He said further that he would ask the City Council to incorporate the guidelines into the zoning process.

Today as work begins on an extension of the riverwalk westward to Lake Street, it is hard to imagine that back in 1990 any vision of a stroll along the river seemed like a fairly far-fetched scheme, but Mayor Daley suggested that his vision was to allow folks a “continuous greenway along the water’s edge that would allow the public to stroll from Lake Michigan to the western fringes of downtown,” according to The Tribune.

Beth White, the executive director of Friends of the River in 1990, said of the plan, co-written by that group and the city’s Department of Planning, “What we’ve tried to produce is a ‘how-to’ book that lets developers know right form the start what the standards are.”

Although the language in the plan carefully avoided absolute mandates, there were a number of features that over time would be adopted and are taken for granted today. 


Developer John Buck was even farther out there as he spoke of the plan, saying, “Eventually we’d like to see a riverwalk from Chinatown to Lake Michigan.”  Once again, this was an unimaginable, almost laughable, plan in 1990 but with the parkland adjoining the river at Ping Tom Park growing northward, and the plan for the river’s south edge on the main branch headed westward, it’s not difficult to imagine that one day Mr. Buck’s vision will come true.

The plan for the proposed Riverwalk extension on the Main Branch can be found here.

Strolling along the river in Chinatown with the heart of the city just blocks away. (chicago.curbed.com)

Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Blizzard of 1967 -- January 26 & 27

Cermak Road at the end of the storm (Chicago Sun-Times file photo)
The weather forecast on January 25, 1967 read as follows:  CHICAGO AND VICINITY [Thursday thru Monday]:  Temperatures will average near normal; normal high, 33; normal low, 19; colder on week-end; precipitation will total about one-quarter inch in rain or snow the latter part of the week.  [Chicago Tribune, January 25, 1967]

The next day, January 26, a revised forecast of five or six inches of snow began to fall just before dawn.  I was a junior in high school, waiting at a bus stop in Highland Park, headed for a semester final exam.  I took a protractor out and measured the snow that had fallen by mid-morning, and the total, it was easy to see, was way past six inches.  And it just kept on falling.

By January 27 The Tribune’s headline reported “Midwest Reels Under Paralyzing Snow – Traffic Bogs down Among Giant Drifts – School Closings in Hundreds”. 

Everything ground to a halt.  The Chicago Board of Trade, the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, and the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago shut down.  Unable to staff stores adequately, Marshall Field & Co. and Carson Pirie Scott  & Co. shut their doors.  The Ford Motor company assembly plant at 12600 Torrence Avenue was shuttered with 8,000 workers unable to get to the job.

Servicemen at Glenview Naval Air Station and Great Lakes Naval Training center were told to stay in their homes and barracks.  The runway in Glenview was snowbound as well.

Pre-trial motions in the case of Richard Speck, accused of murdering eight nurses in the summer of 1966, were cancelled when a shortage of bailiffs made it impossible to escort Speck from the county jail to the courthouse. 

C.T.A. Buses waylaid on Laramie Avenue (Chicago Sun-Times file photo)
Funerals were cancelled, and Thomas J. Moriarity, executive director of the Funeral Directors Services Association, said, “It is strictly a matter of getting the processions to the cemeteries.  Some cemeteries have been able to get employees in and get internal roads open, but the outside roads are still blocked.”   [Chicago Tribune, January 28, 1967]

I began to shovel the family’s driveway first thing in the morning on January 27.  Drifts were, in some places, at chest level.  The wind was howling, and the work was slow.  It took two days before I reached the end of the driveway, which really didn’t matter because the city plow still hadn’t come down the street on which the house sat.

I was still shoveling when more than snow began hitting the metropolitan fan.  Forty-Seventh ward Alderman John J. Hoellen lambasted the city by its lack of preparation.  “Those city garbage trucks with plows attached to them are a waste of money,” he said.  “What good is it to clear the main entries if no one can get to them from the side streets.”

And the death toll began to creep up.  A 63-year-old man died on the Stone Street station of the Burlington line, waiting for a train.  A passenger on a C.T.A. bus stranded in drifts at Twenty-Fifth Street and Michigan Avenue died on the bus.  A man was found dead in his car, stalled on a ramp to the Stevenson Expressway at Mannheim Road.  Another man was found frozen to death 100 feet from his stalled car on the Tri-State in South Holland.

Harold W. Schumacher, a C.T.A. bus driver was found dead in the snow near his stranded bus at Harrison and Kostner.  Wilbur C. Vanderburg was found dead in the cab of his telephone company truck after hours of emergency work.  The chief of security at the Merchandise Mart, George Jankowski, died at his home after shoveling snow.  Dozens of others died of the same cause.  By January 30 the death toll in the Chicagoland area related to the snow had surpassed 60 persons.

Before it was over the 23 inches of snow that fell on that Thursday and Friday of 1967 left 50,000 abandoned cars on the area’s roads and 800 C.T.A. buses stuck on streets and expressways. Midway Airport had drifts that were ten-feet high on the runways, where during the storm winds were recorded at 53 miles-per-hour. 

It was the storm of a lifetime – at least until the overnight blizzard that shut down Lake Shore Drive in 2012 (but even though that was a nightmare for many, the havoc was nowhere near what happened over those 48 hours in 1967).

And about that driveway – after shoveling for two days, I finally got the thing opened up to the street, still unplowed, sometime around noon of January 28, two days after the storm first started. 

But as I put my shovel over my 16-year-old shoulder and headed back to the house, a road grader – not a plow – came north on Dato Avenue.  And as it neared our house, our neighbor to the south who had not been out of the house since the storm started, waded through the drifts of his driveway with a mug of coffee in one gloved hand and something I couldn’t see in the other.

The grader stopped, and my neighbor handed the operator the coffee and what I now realize was a donation to the city for services rendered.  The grader made a series of maneuvers and ended up backing up the neighbor’s driveway, where in less than three minutes it cleared the entire driveway down to the asphalt.  After another series of maneuvers, the operator continued north, past our house, depositing a levee of snow at the end of our driveway that would cost me another hour of work.


With over a year left in high school, I had been given a civics lesson far more practical than anything that I would ever learn in school.

Lake Shore Drive at storm's end (southportchicago.blogspot.com)

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal -- January 23, 1900

Chicago River at Rush Street, circa 1900 ((Chicagophotoshop.smugmug.com)
On January 2, 1900 water was allowed to flow into the brand new Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal for the first time.  The president of the Chicago Sanitary District, William Boldenweck, said at the ceremonies, “Water is now in the channel, and I do not see how anybody can stop us . . . it will not be longer than a few weeks before the people of Chicago will be enjoying the benefits from the canal, that has cost them about $33,000,000 . . . I predict that before the canal has been opened a month the improvement in the quality of water sent down the valley will be so marked that all opposition will be removed.”  [Chicago Tribune, January 3, 1900]

Initially, Mr. Bodenweck was right.  The Tribune reported the next day “The clear waters of Lake Michigan have invaded the Chicago River as far as Harrison street bridge in the South Branch.  At sunset last night the water had taken on a clearer tinge as far south as Twelfth street bridge . . . Even the South Fork of the South Branch, known as the Stock-Yards Branch, shared in the benefits of the opening of the drainage canal.” [Chicago Tribune, January 4, 1900]

And that’s the story as it has come to be told:  The citizens of Chicago in a bold and unbelievably expensive engineering enterprise reversed the river that flowed through their city by digging a canal of unprecedented scope, completing the whole thing in eight short years.  And everything worked marvelously.

Not quite.

Almost immediately there was trouble, and by this time in 1900 the first hints of the trouble that was to come began to darken the euphoria over the new canal, a canal that was to make the city one of the most hygienic places on the planet.

In fact, on this date, January 23, the river fell three feet at Bridgeport, making it impossible to operate the pumps that kept the water in the original Illinois and Michigan canal flowing.  Mills in Lockport that depended on this flow of water through the dams in that city were forced to shut down and it was said “a crisis in its [the I & M canal] affairs had been reached, and the use of the upper end of it, at least as a navigable water course, was at an end.” [Chicago Tribune, January 24, 1900] The cause of the fall in water level was directly attributable to the opening of the Lockport dam on the new Sanitary and Ship Canal.

Chicago Commissioner of Public Works McGann said, “We did not expect such a happening as this . . . “  A trustee of the Chicago Sanitary District said, “This development argues no failure in our plans . . .”

Ominously, there was a swift current that had begun to flow in the main stem of the river, which was attributed to the wind.  But the city’s Chief Engineer noted that 220,000 cubic feet of water a minute were flowing away from the lake and toward the dam at Lockport, which was also handling 80,000 cubic feet of water from the Desplaines River.

It was a delicate balancing act, and it would take years and many more millions of dollars for it all to work as it was intended.  January 23, 1900 brought the first hint that all might not be well. 

By March 2 of 1900 a party of insurance executives and tug line managers made a trip up the Chicago River and their report must have been shocking.  One of the men, George L. McCurdy, observed, “Something must be done at once if Chicago’s water commerce is to be preserved.  With a current I do not see how traffic of big boats can be carried on at all.  The boats will be driven away from Chicago . . . It is not possible for an insurance company to discriminate against a port, but the vessel owners themselves will solve the difficulty by keeping their boats away.”


As if to underscore Mr. McCurdy’s remarks that same day the schooner Armenia grounded itself on the roof of the Washington Street tunnel, lying just beneath the muck of the river bottom, a bottom was much too close to a ship’s keel when a wind out of the west blew lake water away from the mouth of the river.