January 5, 1910 -- Basing its action on an Illinois legislative act of 1903 that gave park boards the right to condemn easements as a matter of public necessity, the South Park Board decides to file a petition to condemn the easement of A. Montgomery Ward and permit the erection of the $8,000,000 Field Museum at the foot of Congress Street along with the Crear Library. This would be the last battle in the long fight between Ward and the city. Grant Park would survive unsullied; Ward would be dead less than three years later. The photo below shows the land over which the battle was being waged at the time.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
January 5, 1910-- Montgomery Ward: The Last Battle Begins
January 5, 1910 -- Basing its action on an Illinois legislative act of 1903 that gave park boards the right to condemn easements as a matter of public necessity, the South Park Board decides to file a petition to condemn the easement of A. Montgomery Ward and permit the erection of the $8,000,000 Field Museum at the foot of Congress Street along with the Crear Library. This would be the last battle in the long fight between Ward and the city. Grant Park would survive unsullied; Ward would be dead less than three years later. The photo below shows the land over which the battle was being waged at the time.
Monday, January 4, 2016
January 4, 1913 -- Change Is Coming
January 4, 1913 -- Two big events that would have major consequences in the way Chicago moved through the twentieth century. First, U. S. Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson approves the double-deck bridge on Michigan Avenue that would furnish a boulevard link between the north and south sides of the city. (See Photo for what the area looked like in 1915, five years before the bridge was completed.) AND Circuit Court Judge Lockwood Honoré enters an order confirming agreements that would give the city the riparian property between 53rd Street and 55th Street, leaving only two small tracts between Grant Park and Jackson Park to which the public had no clear title. Ride along this route on a bright, sunny summer's day and think about how huge this was.
Labels:
1913,
Chicago Events,
Lakefront,
Michigan Avenue
Sunday, December 20, 2015
Horsepower in Chicago -- December 20, 1870
Transportation, for
freight and passengers, in a rapidly growing city of the late nineteenth
century relied heavily on horsepower supplied by . . . horses. In Chicago during this period it is estimated
that close to 75,000 horses were stabled within the city, there being 9 horses
for every 22 of the city’s inhabitants. [Tarr & McShane. The Horse as an Urban
Technology. www.tandfonline.com]
After about 1850 technology moved away from the horse drawn omnibus for transporting passengers in a city to trolleys
that rode on rails laid at street level.
It was an improvement for patrons who paid cheaper fares for faster and
more dependable transportation around town.
It was still an burden for the horses.
“The equipment
proved a nightmare to operate,” wrote Perry R. Duis in his Challenging Chicago. “The
weight of the car and the frequent stops and starts exhausted the animals after
traveling only a few miles of a route.
The company had no choice but to own and maintain a large herd—usually
seven horses for each car—which also required a lot of blacksmiths, grooms,
hostlers, and barn hands as well. Many
of the animals perished each year because of falls, rough handling, or other
urban hazards.”
Particularly hard
on a horse’s vulnerable legs was pulling the dead weight of the loaded trolley from a standing start, something that happened over and over again as
it plied the route. Horses could
generally work no more than five hours without being totally exhausted, and
they were usually kept on the transit routes no more than five years before
they were sold or put down.
There were times
when the price of horseflesh brought more for a carcass than one being sold
after retirement from the transit lines.
No insurance was paid to an owner who destroyed his own animal, so many
horses were worked until they dropped dead in the streets. Rendering companies bid on the rights to pick
up dead animals, guaranteeing their service within a few hours of the death of
the horse.
Consider this
account from Chicago, carried in The
Chicago Daily Tribune on this date, December 20, in 1871.
A cold rain had
been falling that day until 2:00 in the afternoon when it began to snow. At about that time a horse trolley left
Cottage Grove, drawn by an “emaciated, woe-begone-looking white horse, that
stumbled along as if on its way to a bone yard.” [Chicago
Daily Tribune, December 20, 1870]
Because of the snow
the car was crowded. The horse was
shoeless while “the cobblestones remained slippery. The horse “under this combination of adverse
circumstances” was “about as often down as up, slipping all the time.”
By the time the
trolley reached Harrison Street (probably having traveled four miles or more), there were two
inches of snow on the tracks. The cars
following this one began to stack up until there were 17 cars lined up looking
“for all the world like a funeral procession.”
“Every time the car
came to a halt, which was about every fifty yards, the horse would sink
together from sheer exhaustion, and there was a trembling in every limb. When encouraged to make a fresh start it
would be convulsed with spasm, sway from side to side, and fall on its knees,
but full of good pluck, somehow would manage to get started again.”
When it came to the
end of the line, there were 22 cars piled up behind the poor horse and the car
it was pulling.
Scenes like this
were commonplace in the wild days of growth just before and after the fire of
1871. Next time I am out in the cold,
waiting on the 151 and see two of them pull up to the stop, one after the
other, I’ll swipe my fare card, thinking of that poor exhausted nag, pulling its heavy load
of citizens through the Chicago snow.
Friday, December 18, 2015
Clarence Darrow Argues for the Defense -- December 18, 1896
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| December 18, 1896 -- More Trouble at Fort Sheridan (JWB Photo) |
On this date,
December 18, in 1896 a manslaughter trial ended in the courtroom of Judge Peter
S. Grosscup. The defendant was a young
Fort Sheridan private, James D. Allen of the Fifteenth Regiment, who was
accused of killing another private on the post, Daniel M. Call, the previous
March.
![]() |
| Judge Peter Grosscup |
What makes the
trial especially interesting is that Judge Grosscup was the same jurist who had issued
the injunction against the Pullman strikers two years earlier, allowing 22
railroads to continue operations.
Leading a boycott of those railroads, Eugene V. Debs, the leader of the
American Railway Union was indicted for refusing to end the job action. A team led by Clarence Darrow defended
him. Darrow was in the courtroom as Private
Allen’s attorney on this day in 1896.
Allen had little
chance of winning. At least four witnesses
had seen him shoot Call, and the facts were indisputable. Apparently at breakfast on the morning of
March 20, 1896 a quarrel began between the two men because one had supposedly
taken the other’s seat at the mess table.
The Chicago Tribune reported, “Call, in a joking way, suggested that it
would be a good plan to settle the matter with the boxing gloves.” [Chicago Tribune, March 21, 1896]
Four other privates in Company A accompanied Allen and Call to the company’s barracks where the Allen and Call put on boxing gloves and began sparring.
It seems that Allen was the better athlete of the two. He was an instructor at the garrison’s gym
and “well-formed, and skilled in difficult feats of agility and strength.” One can
imagine that he would be aggrieved, then, when Call appeared to be “having the
best of the sparring match.”
After five minutes
or so of trading punches, Allen sat down for a few minutes and then announced
that he was going for a drink of water.
When he returned, “he opened the door a little way, and, thrusting his
hand holding the revolver through the space . . . shouted to call, 'You’re a
goner.'"
He was right. He shot Call in the abdomen, and the wounded
man was carried out on a stretcher. He subsequently died. In the struggle for the weapon, Allen was
also shot in the upper leg.
An officer on the
post, Captain Brinkerhoff, said, “The man must be crazy. It has been reported to me since the affair
that he has been acting and talking queerly for the last few days and it is a
deed no sane man would have done. The
dispute which started it was trivial, and onlookers thought the boxing match
was merely a friendly contest.”
![]() |
| Colonel R. E. A. Crofton (Buffalo Bill Center of the West) |
The shooting was
the culmination of a series of distrurbing events that had taken place under
the command of Colonel R. E. A. Crofton over the preceding three years. Consider the following:
March 25, 1893:
Soldiers at Fort Sheridan are so alarmed at reports of a sea monster in
Lake Michigan off Fort Sheridan that 200 of them sign a resolution to give up
drinking.
November 1, 1893: Lieutenant
J. A. Maney shoots Captain Alfred Hedberg, allegedly as a result of a quarrel
over the dead man’s wife.
February 22, 1894: A
federal grand jury returns a number of indictments against unlicensed liquor
dealers at Fort Sheridan, Highwood, and Highland Park.
July 18, 1894:
Three soldiers are buried at Fort Sheridan after a caisson explosion on
the south side of Chicago.
January 9, 1895:
Three soldiers are hospitalized, two of them with gunshot wounds, and a fourth
in jail after an altercation with Highwood police.
October 3, 1895:
Lieutenant Samuel S. Pague tries to shoot the post commander, Colonel
Crofton, and is taken to the federal insane asylum in Washington, D. C.
November 1, 1895: Six
enlisted men join in a complaint to the Secretary of War regarding enlisted men
being used as body and house servants.
January 25, 1896: The
Tribune reports on various “scandals and quarrels” that have occurred at Fort
Sheridan under the command of Colonel Crofton.
March 20, 1896:
Private Allen shoots Private Call.
January 16, 1897: A
cavalry trooper stabs an infantryman.
January 17, 1897:
There is a “rebellion” at the fort over the quality of the food that is
being served.
When the guilty
verdict was returned at the trial of Private Allen in December of 1896, Allen
said, “I do not know what to say about the verdict. My friends seemed to be satisfied, and I
guess it is all right.”
Things clearly were
not “all right” at Fort Sheridan, and the Allen manslaughter trial appears to
have been the last straw for the War Department. On
February 4, 1897 the Fort Sheridan post commander, Colonel Crofton, was
forcibly removed from the army by orders of President Cleveland and placed on
the retired list.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Reliance Hotel Fire -- December 17, 1953
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| The body of Captain Nicholas Schmidt is removed from the wreckage of the Reliance Hotel (HistoricImages.com) |
It was on this date, December 17, in 1954 that the Chicago Fire
Department suffered through another tragic day when over one hundred men
responded to a 3-11 alarm fire at a sway-backed hotel, the Reliance, at 1702
West Madison Street.
The wind was out of
the west at ten to fifteen miles per hour, and the temperature stood right
around ten degrees as over two-dozen firemen searched the second floor’s 17
rooms and the third floor’s 28 rooms.
Five men were on the roof of the structure when a portion of the
building collapsed. The men on the roof
rode the debris down into the building; those on the second and third floors
were trapped in the wreckage.
Some men were able
to free themselves as frantic firefighters worked most of
the day in frigid temperatures to free those who were trapped in the
debris. Four doctors, three from the
Presbyterian Hospital and Dr. Herman H. Bundesen, president of the Board of
Health, went into the debris to attend to trapped men as they awaited rescue.
Finally, after more
than six hours as another wall tilted precariously over the rescue effort and
hope dwindled, Assistant Fire Commissioner Anthony J. Mullaney ordered all of
his men to leave the wreckage and a crane was brought in to search for two
firemen who remained missing. Shortly
after the order a portion of the third floor tumbled into the basement.
One of the missingg men
was George Malik, a 37-year-old acting lieutenant. “They put the crane in – our hope is gone,”
his wife cried softly. “That means all
our hope is gone.” [Chicago Tribune,
December 18, 1953]
The survivors’
stories were harrowing. A lieutenant
with Squad 2, Alvin Joslin, said, “We had no warning. The wall just let go. I was lucky.
I was pinned under a door and it shielded me.”
Fireman Arthur
Carlson of Engine 31 said he could feel rescuers walking on the debris that
entrapped him. “They dug me out after we
had been in there three or four hours.
It seemed forever.”
“It was like I was
in a cast,” fireman Raymond Nowicki of Engine 107 said. “I could only see down, so I just had to stay
put and pray.
Over eight
hours had passed before the last fireman’s body was found.
One resident at the
hotel, John Tybor, died in the fire.
Five firefighters
lost their lives that cold December day.
Lieutenant George Malik had served with the department for ten years,
the whole time with Engine 34. He left
two children, George, Jr., 10, and Judy, 8.
Fireman John Jarose, a father of three children, Diane, 11; Kenneth, 7, and John, Jr., 2, also
died. He had fractured a leg fighting a
fire at St. Ignatius High School the previous January and had spent three
months recovering in a hospital.
Fireman Robert
Jordan was looking forward to spending the first Christmas in a new home with
his wife and three children, Gregory, 16; Barbara, 13, and Robert, Jr., 8. He had been a fireman for ten years.
Fireman Robert R.
Schaack had been wounded on Okinawa and drove a truck before joining the fire
department. He had been a fireman for
five years and lived with his parents.
The last fireman to
be removed from the wreckage was Captain Nicholas Schmidt, 56, who had 26 years
of service with the department, serving with Company 112 and with Engine
107. He left a widow, Lillian, and three
sons, John, 24; Robert, 23, and Edward, 8, along with two daughters, Mary, 20,
and Audrey 12.
The equipment is
better these days, and the protective gear the firefighters wear provides more
protection than it did back in 1953. The
danger, though, is just as great and the firefighters just as brave as they
ever were.
The death in the line of duty this past Monday of firefighter Daniel Capuano reminds us of that. Our thoughts are
with his family, friends, and comrades as they mourn his passing. Firefighter Capuano’s wake today and
tomorrow’s funeral are reminders of how special these men and women are, folks who at a
moment’s notice drop everything and walk into unknown peril to search for,
assist, and, often, save the lives of people they have never met.
As you give thanks
this holiday season, take a moment to give thanks for them.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Alexander Hamilton Statue Dedication -- December 16, 1954
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| This is a 1952 Hamilton . . . Apparently, somewhere there is a 1954 Hamilton (JWB Photo) |
The great thing
about research is that often researchers start out in a certain direction and
end up heading into an alley that they didn’t even know existed. That happened to me this afternoon.
I learned that on
this date, December 16, back in 1954 a statue of Alexander Hamilton was placed
in Grant Park near the Illinois Central tracks between Madison and Monroe. Apparently the statue had existed previously
and was removed while the first underground garage in Grant Park was being
constructed.
I’ve been
interested in the Hamilton statue for a number of years and have written at
least three blogs pertaining to it in one way or another. They can be found here, here and here. Yet, the Hamilton statue that I wrote about
must be a different statue than the one placed in Grant Park in 1954 – the
statue in Lincoln Park was unveiled two years earlier than the one remounted in
Grant Park.
Clearly, there
would be no reason to dig up a perfectly good gilded statue in a swell location
and stick it next to the Illinois Central tracks.
So . . . there must
be a second Alexander Hamilton statue that at some point made its farewell
address and headed out of Grant Park.
Some digging
revealed that there was such a statue, the last work of significance sculpted
by Bela Lyon Pratt, who studied at the École des Beaux Arts and with August
Saint-Gaudens. The architectural work was
executed by Charles A. Coolidge (Think Shepley, Routan and Coolidge, the Boston
firm that designed the Art Institute and the Chicago Cultural Center building). The Grant Park Hamilton was unveiled on
September 28, 1918. Frank G. Logan, the
vice-president of the B. F. Ferguson monument fund, made the presentation. [Chicago
Tribune, September 29, 1918]
![]() |
| The re-dedication of Pratt's statue on September 28, 1918 (Chicago Tribune Photo) |
Anyone know where
it is? Because in the duel of the two
statues this one clearly lost.
Oh, and by the
way. The other Alexander Hamilton statue
-- the one that Kate Buckingham left a million dollars to create and take care
of -- that one is gone now, too.
There isn’t much of
mystery there. A sign posted next to the
polished granite base on which the statue once stood reads, “The Alexander
Hamilton statue is temporarily removed for conservation of its gilded finish .
. . Funding for this project is provided by the Kate S. Buckingham Fund of the
Art Institute of Chicago.”
With luck Mr.
Hamilton will be back by the Fall of 2016.
The other Hamilton,
the one that got stuck on the wrong side of the tracks back in 1954? I hope he’s somewhere warm, and that someone
is taking good care of him.
![]() |
| The gilded guy has also said farewell . . . just a polished granite base remains (JWB Photo) |
Monday, December 14, 2015
Symphony Center in Chicago Dedicated -- December 14, 1904
| Theodore Thomas Orchestra Hall (JWB Photo) |
Two thousand two
hundred members of Chicago society came together on this evening, December 13,
of 1904 to attend the dedication of the new home for the Chicago symphony
orchestra on Michigan Avenue.
Three-quarters of a million dollars made up of voluntary contributions
from over 8,000 different people had made it possible to get the place built.
After 14 years with the orchestra its conductor, Theodore Thomas, finally had a home
for his musicians who had up to this point played in the cavernous Auditorium
building just down Michigan Avenue. The
Apollo and Mendelssohn music clubs joined with the members of the Chicago
symphony for five numbers, beginning with Tannhäuser’s “Hail, Bright Abode.”
Attorney and former
United States congressman George E. Adams dedicated the new hall with a short
speech, saying to the audience members who had helped fund the project, “We
hope and believe that this building will outlive every one of you and every one
of us. We hope and believe that it will
stand for generations to come. But if it
stands for centuries it will not outlast the beneficent influence which you
have bestowed upon the higher life of the American people.”
Unfortunately, when
the first reviews of the new hall emerged, it became clear that the impassioned
desire for it to stand for generations needed to be tempered somewhat. The critic for The Tribune, W. L. Hubbard, wrote, “It would be an act both
graceful and joyous to state that the concert last evening convinced that
Orchestra hall was all that could be desired – that it was a concert room
virtually faultless . . . But the facts so far as personal observation and
attention could establish them last evening, make such a statement now
impossible. And the disappointment felt
because of this is only the more keen because the contrary had been so
earnestly desired.” [Chicago Tribune, December 15, 1904]
The brass
instruments “swallowed up” the orchestra in louder sections. The quality of the strings “when heard” was
“hard.” A violin solo was “small and
colorless.” The kettledrums were
“hollow” and “tubby.”
Most devastatingly,
in the critic’s words, “For the first time since the Chicago orchestra has been
heard it sounded common . . . for last evening it seemed that instead of having
the Chicago orchestra given to us permanently, it had been taken away from us
and an inferior unfinished organization substituted.”
A tone deaf Chicago would find
a way to get along with Hubbard’s assessment for 91 years until a
major overhaul of what is now Symphony Center would begin, a project that
consumed the better part of two years from 1995 to 1997 and markedly improved the space.
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