Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Chicago Water Tower Dedication -- March 25, 1867

The Chicago Water Tower (JWB, 2013)
Ask anyone who has visited Chicago to name his or her five most memorable sights and Chicago’s Water Tower (the fancy stand pipe and not the indoor mall) is sure to be among them.

It was on this day, March 25, way back in 1867 that the complex that made up the little city’s “Water Works” was dedicated and a cornerstone laid at Chicago and what is now Michigan Avenue (Back in those days it was Pine Street).

“Early in the morning the city was all alive,” The Tribune reported at the time.  “No formal proclamation had stopped the people from their labors, to watch the ceremonies which would attend the ushering in of the new water era, but the citizens generally recognized the importance of the occasion and turned out in great numbers to witness the proceedings and participate in them.”  [Chicago Tribune, March 26, 1867]

Despite a brief snowfall in the early morning, the day was “all that could have been desired at this period of the year” and “the ground was not hard, but the mud was only shallow, and it was not painful or unpleasant to walk through it.”  The mood was festive with “Everybody . . . in good humor at the idea that good water was here at last.”

Chicago Water Works (1886), Pine Street separating the two structures
(wikipedia image)
This was a very big deal, marking the culmination of the plan of Ellis S. Chesebrough to make the city a healthier place through the improvement of its sewage and water distribution systems.  In June of 1862 the Chicago Common Council adopted the city engineer’s plan for bringing uncontaminated lake water to the city through a “crib” located two-and-a-half miles offshore.  The first brick was laid at the crib on December 22, 1865. By that date workmen had already constructed a tunnel from the shore that was 4,825 feet long.  Less than a year later, on December 6, 1866 a section of tunnel leading from the crib was linked to the section leading from the shore. 

In a little over two years of work, most of it done with picks and shovels, a project that saved the city was completed.  It was an amazing, almost reckless, plan undertaken by a city that had no other options.  The fact that it worked so well was the highest testimonial to the expertise of Ellis Cheseborough.

The Chicago Water Works from Chicago Avenue, 1896 (Google image)
The Water Works at Chicago and Pine served to house all of the massive pumping equipment as well as the stand pipe necessary to keep the system pressurized.  Built on the site of the former old works, the style was “castellated Gothic, with heavy bottlemented corners, executed with solid rock-faced ashlar stone and cut-stone trimmings, all the details being of a massive and permanent character.”  [Andreas, Alfred Theodore.  History of Chicago from 1857 to the Fire of 1871.  Chicago, 1885. p.67]

The water tower, itself, was 154 feet tall, topped with a cupola with windows surrounding it.  In its interior a six-ton stand pipe was placed at its base.  From that a three-foot iron stand pipe rose to a height of 138 feet.  W. W. Boyington, the architect of the complex, designed a building that was “looked upon as thoroughly fire-proof,” [Andreas] which was borne out when the tower was one of the few structures left standing in the city after the disastrous fire of 1871.

On the day of the dedication a police contingent led the parade, starting out from the Court House on Dearborn Street at 9:00 in the morning, and as it moved north it was joined by various other elements coming from different directions.  The Tribune described the scene . . .

The Fire Department formed on Washington street, east of La Salle.  Before the marshaling and arranging of the constituent parts of the great procession, unutterable excitement prevailed.  Bands came marching from different quarters; Marshals galloped hotly to and fro; Masons with their plain white aprons or their gorgeous trappings hurried singly to the rendezvous; fire engines and hose carts rolled forward covered with sturdy firemen in their great hats and blue uniforms, and drawn by their powerful horses, looking s if they wanted to break into a run to the fire which must have called them out; men, women and children crowded the sidewalks in a state of excited admiration, making pedestrianism almost impossible; whole ominbuses, carriages, trucks and drays, on business met most vexatious delays and obstructions at every rod, and were often forced to work long detours in order to pass the living mass. 

At 11:00 the procession started slowly up Dearborn Street to Lake, headed west to La Salle, south to Washington, and then up Clark Street.  By 11:30 the band could be heard approaching the water tower.  At just about that time an accident occurred. 

According to The Tribune, “In their eagerness to gain an advantageous seat near the platform, a number of men clambered to the roof of a very frail wooden shed used for dressing the stones.  Suddenly the structure gave way beneath them, and about twenty luckless individuals were precipitated into the rubbish beneath.”  No one was seriously injured, but In the midst of the chaos, almost exactly at noon, the head of the procession arrived on the grounds of the dedication ceremony.

After preliminary remarks the cornerstone was raised up and the Reverend O. H. Tiffany led the crowd in a prayer which he ended with these words:

"And now we praise thee oh God, for thy great bounty unto us – we thank thee that thou hast stored our land with plenty, that our fields teem with fertility, and that our waters are glad with health.  We bless thee for the skill of our artisans and of our workmen and we thank thee that this day we are brought together to lay the foundation stone of this structure.  We earnestly pray that our best expectations may be realized, and that by it blessing may ever flow, from this great lake to all the homes of this great city.  We pray, also for Thy blessing upon all those who have been or are engaged in this great undertaking – do Thou protect, and preserve them from evil . . ."

The Chicago Water Works, 1943, now on Michigan Avenue
(churckmanchiagonostalgia.files,wordpress.com)
Virtually the entire dedication was a Masonic production, complete with the consecration of the cornerstone with “vessels delivered in form to the Grand Master . . . poured upon the stone”.  These “vessels” carried a scattering of corn and a flask of wine as emblems of plenty along with oil as an emblem of peace.

The Most Worshipful Grand Master Gorin then intoned, “May the all bounteous author of Nature bless the inhabitants of this place with all the necessaries, conveniences and comforts of life; assist in the erection and completion of this building; protect the workmen against every accident, and even preserve this structure from decay; and grant to us all, in needed supply, the corn of nourishment, the wine of refreshment and the oil of joy.”

At this point the stone was “thrice stricken with the mallet” and the Masonic ceremony concluded.

Then Mayor J. B. Rice got up to end the ceremony with a few remarks which went on and on and on.

Midway through his remarks he hit his stride . . .

. . . but the people were not satisfied with delay.  They could stand on the shore in the centre of the city and look upon the clear sparkling, pure water of yonder mighty lake, the coveted treasure so near – and they cried with one voice, who is the man who can give us this water for our use; the cry was heard; the man was there who, with the modesty that is ever the companion of genius, said he thought a tunnel might be built far under the bed of the lake – two miles in length – and there where the water was thirty-five feet in depth, pure and cool in all seasons, the supply could be obtained . . . It was novel, untried; the expense hardly to be estimated, and failure imminent; but the man of science was not to be moved from his position. 

Ellis Sylvester Chesebrough would not be moved from his position.  The clear sparkling, pure water of yonder mighty lake is still the lifeblood of a great city.  And the water tower still stands, a technological marvel of its time and an enduring symbol of a city that is willing to play the odds if there is the slightest chance for a big payoff.

The Chicago Water Works, 1974, with Water Tower Place
rising to the left (chuckmanchicagonostalgia.files.wordpress.com)



Monday, March 24, 2014

But Maybe the River's Time Finally Has Come . . .

Riverwalk extension as proposed (Sasaki Associates + Ross Barney Architects)
Five days ago the City of Chicago held a pre-bid conference for organizations and partnerships interested in assisting with the planning and operation of concessions along the new riverwalk, a project that begins this spring and will extend the scenic walkway from State Street to Lake Street, allowing a continuous promenade along the south side of the river from Lake Michigan to the junction of the main stem with the north and south branches.

I wonder how many people today remember what the reaction was back on June 13, 1970 when Mayor Richard J. Daley said, “I hope we will live to see the day when there will be fishing in the river. Maybe even a bicycle path along the bank.”

It was laughter, mockery and disbelief. 

I’ve been riding a bicycle along the river for years now.  And in the past couple of years I’ve seen folks with poles standing on the banks or casting from a small boat in the still pools of the stream.  I’m not sure I would join them at their dinner table quite yet.

The news of the riverwalk extension puts me in mind of another spate of news concerning the river, this one back almost a quarter-century ago on this date, March 24, 1990.  Two weeks earlier the city with the cooperation of the Friends of the Chicago River had released a set ofguidelines for development along the river.  It took two weeks for The Chicago Tribune to digest the information and react to it.

But on this day in 1990 the paper came out in favor for the plan, writing an especially complimentary review of the proposed first stage of the riverwalk.  Today it’s hard to imagine an opening line such as this one, “Mayor Daley is trying to do something such legendary Chicagoans as his father and Daniel Burnham were unable to accomplish.  He wants to transform the banks of the Chicago River into an attraction as glorious as the city’s lakefront.”  [Chicago Tribune, March 24, 1990]

The son of the man who saw fish and bicycles seemed to have hit a winner.

The paper went on, “The guidelines and the many ideas for parks, plazas, walkways, arcades, marinas, cafes and shops contained in the accompanying report are more than welcome.  The lakefront of Chicago is stunning.  It has also been of inestimable value in generating economic growth; as Daniel Burnham said at the turn of the century when he was promoting his lakefront plans, ‘Beauty has always paid better than any other commodity.’”

That’s a line that bears repeating, right?  I might be using that one on one of my river tours this summer.  Beauty has always paid better than any other commodity.

Optimistically, the editorial concluded, “But maybe the river’s time finally has come . . . What is needed now is the will to proceed under guidelines that mean what they say.  City officials are drafting an ordinance that would require minimum setbacks and a review of all development under the guidelines.  All they are waiting for is a positive reaction to the riverfront plan.”

Well, it’s taken 25 years.

Though the mills of God grind slowly;
Yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience he stands waiting,
With exactness grinds he all.


The Tribune had one last suggestion, and it might be a good idea to carry into the new plans for the river:  "Name an esplanade or a café or maybe a gondola for the Medusa Challenger, the giant cement carrier that for years literally stopped traffic, whether on the water or the streets above, when it lumbered up the river.”

Medusas Casts Her Spell (podlikenchicago.files.wordpress2013/11)

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Stevens Hotel vs. Art Institute of Chicago -- March 23, 1931

The Art Institute of Chicago, looking toward the northwest from the lakefront
sometime between 1910 and 1913 
Good news for the Art Institute of Chicago on this date, March 23, in 1931 as the Illinois Appellate Court reversed an earlier decision of Circuit Court Judge William V. Brothers and cleared the way for the museum to build a $5,000,000 addition.

This was yet another chapter in the ongoing legal battle between those who saw Grant Park as a great natural resource that would provide a place of quiet at the foot of a noisy, brawling city and those who were equally committed to making the park a showpiece for the city’s cultural wonders.

It was the Stevens Hotel, curiously enough, that brought the original suit, claiming that “as an owner of property abutting on Michigan Avenue opposite Grant Park it had a right to insist that the land east of the boulevard be preserved for park purposes only.”  [Chicago Tribune, March 24, 1931]  The hotel’s attorneys argued that “light, air, and unobstructed view of the lake were included in the original price of its land when it was bought January 17, 1925.”

At the risk of oversimplifying a debate that is getting closer and closer to being two centuries old, the Canal Commission, attempting to raise funds to create a canal that would connect Chicago to the Des Plaines River sold certain plots of land near the canal to raise money for the enterprise.  Land along the lakefront was clearly marked on the original plat Public Ground – Common to Remain Forever Open, Clear and Free of Any Buildings, or Other Obstruction Whatever.

Of course, there was no Grant Park in 1836; in fact, the great majority of the land that now constitutes Grant Park lay below the waters of Lake Michigan.  In fact, it was this geographical fact the courts cited on June 28, 1892 when a ruling was handed down, allowing the original building to be constructed, stipulating that the building “shall not have a frontage of over four hundred feet on Michigan Avenue.”  [http://www.neweastside.org/1931.html]

That interpretation over the following two decades was amended for various reasons and through various court cases (that would take another three-dozen or so pages to present) so that the natural parkland along the lakefront was less and less threatened.

In 1896, for example, the Illinois Supreme Court ruled that the Illinois Central railroad could not erect a building in the park area, even though it actually owned tracks on the site.  On February 3, 1892, in a suit brought by A. Montgomery Ward, the city was prohibited from building an armory in the park.  Almost exactly four years later in a similar suit brought by the same man, construction of what is now the Field Museum of Natural History was prohibited in the park.  There is a legitimate reason why Mr. Ward is today known as "The Savior of the Lakefront."

But the thing was . . . the Art Institute had been there for 40 years and had grown considerably in that time.  Therefore, although this once again oversimplifies the case, the court found . . .

The several ordinances, contracts, agreements and decisions of the courts, as hereinbefore recited, seem to us in every provision to contemplate the possession of a portion of Grant Park by the Art Institute permanently for the purposes for which it was created and with a view to its future expansion and development as the city in which it is situated should expand and develop. It seems to be a necessary inference from all the evidence recited that this was the intention of the respective parties at the time the owners upon Michigan Avenue executed their written consents to the location and construction of the original building. Not only does that intention appear from the language of the documents, but it is corroborated by the contemporaneous and continued construction which seems to have been put upon these waivers during the years in which no objection has been made to the continuous development of the Art Institute as an institution. We hold such to be the reasonable construction. The easement of complainant and other property holders is not destroyed, but they have, as the Daggett case shows and the Ward case holds, given their consent to the erection of the original building and to such enlargements as may become necessary by reason of the growth and expansion of the community in which the institution is located. [http://www.neweastside.org/1931.html]


Guess what happened after 1931?  A whole bunch of bad stuff – a national depression, a world war, a prolonged recovery, and a bunch of would-be donors trying to get back on their feet again.  So although the case was decided in 1931, it wasn’t until 1958 that the Ferguson Building, designed by Holabird, Root & Burgee, was finished.

And to make that happen the Art Institute had to go to court again in 1953 to free up cash from the Ferguson Fund, which had been established a half-century earlier for the creation of public art throughout the city.  But that's another story for another time.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Rooftop Helicopter Service -- March 20, 1946

What a Wonderful World This Would Be (www.paleofuture.com)
With the United States aircraft carrier Shangri La outbound from Norfolk, Virginia with a load of equipment “more fantastic than any she carried in her war time strikes against Japan,” [Chicago Tribune, March 20, 1946] headed toward the Bikini atoll in preparation of the atomic bomb test, Chicago, too, prepared to meet the future.

On this date in, March 20, 1946 Chicago business leaders discussed construction of special landing decks on top of downtown buildings, a plan that would lead to helicopter shuttle service between downtown and the Chicago airport at Sixty-Third Street and Cicero Avenue.

Eight years earlier an “autogiro” had landed on top of the main post office building, pointing its nose toward the future. Earlier in 1946 the Hilton hotel chain, the owner of the Stevens Hotel and the Palmer House, announced that they were prepared to institute helicopter service from one of its California affiliates, the Long Beach Hilton.  According to The Tribune, “Hilton officials said that at Long Beach a helicopter will be able to settle to a landing on the roof, 17 stories up.  After unloading, the pilot will fly the ‘windmill’ plane away and the passengers will have a short walk to the elevator.”  [Chicago Tribune, March 21, 1946]

Hotel chains were getting ready.  At the Stevens, now The Hilton, on South Michigan Avenue, the fact that most air lines were already occupying offices downtown within a block or two of the hotel, made the prospect of helicopter transportation between the hotel and the airport very attractive.

At the Sherman House on Randolph Street officials said “they would spread some planks on the roof at the first sign of a helicopter hovering overhead.”  Even The Drake Hotel way up there on the north end of Michigan Avenue was described as “being hospitably inclined.”

The hoteliers were joined by the merchants.  Randall Cooper, executive secretary of the State Street Council, said that stores had thought of using helicopters for longer than the hotels had.

“We have known for years that Chicago’s world famous shopping street is the number one attraction for women visitors who have only an hour or two in the city,” he said.  “When an out of town woman has a wait between trains, she makes a beeline for State Street . . . It would be an exciting experience for people bound over at the airport for two or three hours to be flown quickly into the heart of the shopping district.  It is something we have definitely in mind.”

According to The Tribune on that optimistic day in March of 1946, “Hotel and store roofs easily could be adapted to helicopter landings by placing a platform above existing roof structures.”  [Chicago Tribune, March 23, 1946]

Looking out at all of those empty roofs close to 70 years later, one has to conclude that it apparently wasn’t all that easy. Or that plunking a bar a dozen or more stories up was a far more lucrative proposition.