Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Chicago Greyhound Terminal Opens -- March 19, 1953

The Greyhound Bus Terminal, Clark and Randolph -- 1953-1990
(www.chuckmanchicaonostalgia.files.wordpress.com)
I didn’t know much about the real Chicago back in the 60’s and early 70’s.  Not only was I a suburban kid, but I was a r-e-c-e-n-t suburban kid, having spent most of my young life banging about the world as the son of a career officer in the U. S. Army.

One thing I did get to know fairly well was the old Greyhound bus station on Randolph Street, located on the lot where the Chicago Title and Trust building stands today.  I got off the bus from Dekalb there when I took it in from Northern Illinois University on my way to Union Station to pick up the gal of my dreams – my wife today – who took the Burlington Zephyr in from Macomb.

In fact, I spent the morning of our wedding at the Greyhound station in January of 1972 where I was dispatched to pick up my cousin on her way in from Rochester, New York to attend the wedding.

It’s gone now – the bus station, not the cousin – but I remember with fondness the escalators leading down from street level, the busy shops, and the crowded waiting room filled with folks headed to places all over the country.  It was quite a place on an impressive piece of real estate, with the City-County Building, the brand new Civic Center and the First United Methodist Church of Chicago within view to the south.

The lot on which the Skidmore, Owings & Merrill design was sited had quite a history of its own.  It was at this location that nine Chicagoans met above the hardware store owned by Jabez Botsford on May 31, 1850 to found a university that would “serve the northwest.”  [Chicago Tribune, December 26, 1951]  On that May day at the corner of Clark and Randolph Northwestern University began its life.

A decade later the site held Colonel John H. Wood’s Museum, which held as its greatest attraction a 96-foot prehistoric fossil called a zeuglodon, unearthed somewhere in Alabama in 1848.  You could see the zeuglodon for 25 cents, a reasonable price, it seems to me, to have the privilege of viewing a zeuglodon.  [Chicago Tribune, July 8, 1951]  The museum drew 10,000 visitors in its first six weeks of operation.  Of course.

That kind of crowd led to the conversion of some sections of the building into a 1,500 person theater, which opened in 1864.  The play Divorce was scheduled for the night of October 8, 1871 but the show never went on.  By the next morning Mr. Wood’s museum and theater complex was a pile of ash.

www.patsabin.com
The theater was rebuilt and went through a dozen names over the years, the last of which was The Apollo, the lobby of which ran through the Ashland block, a 16-story skyscraper designed by Burnham and Root and finished in 1892, a building that Joseph Korom in The American Skyscraper 1850-1940:  A Celebration of Height has called, “an absolutely delightful early skyscraper . . . a robust structure, a building that reveled in its own height and plasticity.”  [Korom, Joseph.  The American Skyscraper 1850-1940:  A Celebration of Height. P. 177]

Down the Ashland block came in 1949, replaced by what Mr. Korom calls an “architecturally mediocre bus station.”  The original plans were far more ambitious, and had they been carried out we might very well be looking at the project today with the same admiration and awe that we view the Inland Steel Building a couple of blocks to the southeast.  Initial renderings for what would have been the first tall building in the Loop since World War II (finished five years before Inland Steel and two years before the Prudential Building) a 20-story office tower above the bus station that has that sleek mid-century modern feel for which the architects, Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, would become known.

Rendering of what might have been
Chicago Tribune, February 19, 1949
Although the Greyhound folks had acquired the property in 1941, the war and post-war material restrictions held the project up for nearly a decade.  Construction began in 1949 and was not without its challenges. 

One challenge was to keep the 300 or more buses (500 during busy holiday travel periods) that were planned for the terminal away from the busiest streets in Chicago.  In order for that to happen a 225-foot private tunnel had to be constructed, connecting the bus terminal’s loading area with the lower level of Wacker Drive.

Then at the beginning of June in 1950 the excavation caused the west wall of a four-story building at 63 West Lake Street to sag dangerously.  With a giant crack opening up in the brickwork next to the sidewalk and more cracks rising up the side of the building, the city ordered the building demolished because of its danger to the  Lake Street elevated line as well as the nearby Harris and Selwyn Theaters.  The owners of S. Stein & Co., an office furniture concern, were not allowed into the structure and in the five-hour demolition process “furniture tumbled down with the walls amid a shower of plaster and brick dust.”  [Chicago Tribune, June 5, 1950]

On March 19 – 61 years ago today – the terminal opened in ceremonies attended by “several thousand” Chicagoans and Mayor Kennelly, the president and executive vice-president of the Greyhound corporation and the chairman of the Illinois commerce commission, George Perrine.


The first bus to enter the terminal came from St. Louis and arrived at 2:40 a.m. on March 20, 1953.  Three hours later at 5:15 a.m. the first departing bus left for Des Moines and Omaha.  In 1990 the station was demolished and the operations were buried under the Eisenhower Expressway on Harrison Street, a place remote enough so that no one in the Loop would have to deal with the sight of bus folks waiting for their rides.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Church and State

The spire of the First Methodist Church of Chicago casts a shadow
on the house that Daley built, and Picasso takes a God-smack as well (JWB, 2007)

Monday, March 17, 2014

Corsets at the Sherman House -- March 17, 1903

Google Image
Here’s one for the “Those Days Are Gone Forever, Thankfully” files.

“If the shoe doesn’t fit, must we change the foot,” Gloria Steinem once asked.
Back on this date, March 17, in 1903 a whole day in Chicago was devoted, not to the foot, but to the torso as a “field day for corsets and petticoats” was held at the dressmakers’ convention at the Sherman House.

In the hotel’s lecture hall, “cluttered with heaps of lingerie,” Mme. S. Howland Pine of New York told "what she knew about corsets and other things which come both before and after the stays.”  All men, obviously, were barred from the proceedings.

From The Tribune’s reporting of that momentous day . . .

"'Don’t treat a corset like an old coat that you can throw on in an instant and rush for a call,' said Mme. Pine, picking up a pair of stays and exhibiting their complexity of construction to the audience.  'A corset is a serious thing; the thing of art that makes of your figure a work of art.  Treat the wearing of it with great consideration.'”

The paper described the tone of Mme. Pine as “emphatic.”  She continued.

“Now don’t jerk yourself into your corset as if you were a bag of meal.  And another thing, don’t think that the kangaroo walk affected by women since the introduction of the straight front is necessary. If you wear a straight front never stand with your heels together; always stand with one foot slightly advanced.  You have a grater purchase that way and are always right balanced and posed.”

A skeptical member of the audience, an “irreverent woman,” asked if such a rigid stance would prevent one from getting off a street car.

“I fear nothing,” came the reply.  “But the presence of a watchful and gallant conductor can ever effectually guard women from that bane.  But the fact is that the straight front has done more to develop the female figure than all the athletics and golf in which woman has indulged.  You hear a girl tell you that she built up that form of hers on the golf links, but don’t you believe it.  Ten to one she began wearing a straight front before she knew a putter from a bunker.”

I will be the first to admit that I am ill equipped to comment on the intricacies of the feminine universe.  I’ve been around folks of the feminine persuasion for six decades and still am baffled and outgunned.

I do know this, though . . . if I had to get up on election day and stand while someone put a knee in my back in order to lace up my corset laces so tightly that I could barely breathe and then somehow mince myself over to the window to watch all the men folk go out and vote in a contest from which I was barred, I think I might at some point be ready for a revolution, too.


As soon as I could get my breath.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Stevens Hotel Cornerstone -- March 16, 1926

The Stevens Hotel. Chicago -- begun March 16, 1926 (Google images)
On this date, March 16, back in 1926 the cornerstone for the largest hotel the world had ever seen was placed as the vision of James W. Stevens began to rise across from Grant Park on Michigan Avenue.

“J.W.” Stevens came to Chicago from Colchester, Illinois in 1886 and made a handsome sum in the insurance business.  In 1909 he opened the La Salle Hotel at the corner of La Salle and Madison, which Ernest, his youngest son operated.  It was Earnest, not the elder son, Raymond, who backed his father’s dream of building the biggest hotel in the world, a monumental palace that was projected to cost $28 million dollars, eight million bucks more than the New York City’s Chrysler Building cost at approximately the same time.

When the proposal was made in 1925 The Chicago Tribune editorialized,

The enterprise, we believe, will be of great value in maintaining and improving Chicago’s position as the country’s greatest convention center.  Not only will it provide comfortable and convenient living quarters for many of the thousands of visitors brought here every month for conventions of various kinds but it will tend to attract more conventions and more visitors by its special provisions of adequate assembly rooms and dining rooms.  Hotel accommodations are essential to a convention city; the more the better.  Convention delegates bring money, stimulate trade, and carry the fame of Chicago to all parts of the country.  Everything which can be done here to make their visits pleasant and profitable to them will be pleasant and profitable to the city. Superior hotel accommodations are an essential means to an end.

The editorial from which that passage comes was buried in a copper box in the cornerstone ceremony.

The hotel opened in 1927 and, despite initial success, began to hemorrhage capital, losing a million dollars in 1928 and another half-million in 1929.  Two years later a Cook County grand jury indicted father and sons, charging that they had illegally taken assets from the Illinois Life Insurance Company to keep the whole thing afloat.  [Lane, Charles.  “Heartbreak Hotel.”  www.chicagomag.com]

That same year old JW died of a stroke, and the eldest son, Raymond, shot himself to death in the library of his Highland Park mansion. Although initially convicted of embezzlement and sentenced to one to ten years in prison in 1933, Ernest, JW’s youngest son won an appeal a year later.  But he had lost everything, The La Salle Hotel, Illinois Life, and the magnificent Stevens, which went into receivership.

Today, of course it is the Hilton Hotel and Towers, holding only a little over half of its original 3,000 rooms. 

Back on March 16 of 1926, though, the future was as large as a man could expand his vision to imagine it.  There on that morning between Seventh and Eighth Streets,  J. W. Stevens, along with his sons, Raymond, who reluctantly endorsed the idea and ultimately died for it, and Ernest, who encouraged the plan and lost everything in its demise, stood together, joined by the architects John A. Holabird and Martin Roche.

chuckmanchiagonostalgia.files.wordpress.com
A year later the amazing Stevens Hotel opened, complete with a library stocked with the latest fiction, bowling alleys, a playroom for children and even a private room for pets of the guests.  "No longer will the society woman with a pair of wolfhounds or trained leopards be turned away because she insists on bringing her pets with her,” The Tribune reported.  “They will be cared for in luxury by trained attendants.”

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Spring Thaw -- Chicago in the Early 1900's

Stuck Cart, early 1900's (Chicago Daily News Photo Archie)
Ah . . . the thaw comes to the Big City, and the river turns green!  

I know, I know, it’s going to make some folks a little hot under the collar for a guy who has spent all those below-zero days a-tanning down here in southern Florida to be writing about the welcome changing of the weather (if, indeed, that does occur).

But you can be a student of history under a palm tree just as well as you can wrapped up in long johns and fleece, and my research assures me that back in the early 1900’s this time of year was even messier than it is today.

Here’s what The Tribune had to say around this time of year back in 1900 . . . “Pools of water and slush, ankle deep, dotted the down-town streets and sidewalks yesterday.  Commissioner McGann said that the condition of the streets was the worst in the history of the city . . .” [Chicago Tribune, March 10, 1900]

The specifics were as follows: 

The entire extent of the down-town portion sof Van Buren and Lake streets and Wabash avenue were covered with half-liquid slush which was plashed on pedestrians by every passing wagon.  The crowded sidewalks forced many people to step into pools deeper than the height of rubber shoes.  In La Salle street, north of Randolph, two alley sidewalk intersections were flooded with water several inches deep.  Along Lake street the water inundated the sidewalks in many places.

Goose Island Street, early 1900's (chicagopast.com)
A year later the same thing occurred as The Tribune reported, “Chicago is wading these days—men are paddling down-town through the slush and mud, going about their business with wet feet, and then trudging home again over streets that are thick with slime and dotted with puddles.”  [Chicago Tribune, March 15, 1901]

The article went on to report that

Freed of much of the snow by the recent thaw, but not of the mud or the slush, streets in all parts of the city are almost impassable.  With the slush on an even level the ruts are concealed, and at the crossing the pedestrian runs the risk of sinking to his ankles—in some places to his knees—in the filth that fills the holes.

Not fun.

Imagine being one of the poor souls among the 10,000 folks who lived along Western Avenue between Thirty-Ninth and Fifty-Fifth streets that year.  The entire area was without sewers and open ditches provided the only drainage.   They overflowed, covering the neighborhoods in six to twelve inches of water.  Water in the basement of the Shields School at Rockwell and Fifty-Fifth streets was so high that it put out the fire in the school’s furnace.
Michigan Avenue at Randolph Street, 1893 (chicagopast.com)

The following day The Tribune printed the final insult in the whole mess in an article entitled Dirtiest of All Cities.  [Chicago Tribune, March 16, 1901]  The paper printed this slam . . .

People returning to the city after a trip to cities of this country, or, indeed any other, are surprised to find to what a low point municipal uncleanliness has fallen.  Many Chicago people have visited Havana this winter and there, although the city formerly was held the synonym of uncleanliness, they find the streets 
looking—by comparison to Chicago—like well swept floors.

The whole mess continued for years and years.  In fact, in 1903 The Tribune dispensed with the straight reporting entirely and published a whole page of poems about the condition of the streets written by “versifiers” whose stanzas might have been “lame and halt, but it may have been the poets were trying to carry the idea of rough streets by using irregular feet.”  [Chicago Tribune, March 10, 1903]

One such gem was entitled Halsted Street . . .

Halsted Street

Would you see the worst?
  Go take a view
Southward from Ar-
  cher avenue,
Where the street cars run
  Through miles of slush,
A measley, blackened
  Horrible mush;
A thoroughfare
  Where people trudge
Through nasty, sticky
  Bottomless sludge;
Where the wagons bump,
  Ker-chuock!  Ker-chock!
O’er the frazzled and worn
  Old cedar block!
A dirty, pasty,
  Slobbery mass,
A six-mile stretch
  Of foul morass;
A smear on the face
  Of the town of Lake
Is Halsted “street”—
  It takes the cake!


“Slobbery mass” and “foul morass” . . . nice rhyming.