Winter, and Pulaski and Madison

If you saw my last post, you know it was based upon my comments to the items on a list compiled by Time Out Chicago of things Chicagoans would like to see "ghosted" in this city. (The original list was published last Halloween, hence the term). Most of the items on the list were general in nature, things like traffic, the weather, food, certain biases of Chicagoans, etc. However, one item stood out to me as it mentioned along with the weather, a very specific place in the city which inspired a post of its own, actually two posts.

Here's the item:

Winter, and Pulaski and Madison.

I don't have a problem with winter in Chicago, in the winter that is. I'm not too crazy about winter in April and May however, which is not uncommon here.

I do have a personal connection with the area around Pulaski and Madison on the West Side of Chicago as long ago, it was the location of my pediatrician's office. 

Consequently, I will always associate it with the painful shot in the rear end I would receive at the end of each visit. Perhaps the commenter who singled out this specific corner of the city has a similar association with it. 

But I doubt it.

 

  

The corner of Madison and Pulaski, March 5, 2023

My late cousin Bob Hoggatt used to refer to the West Side Irish of Chicago as "lace curtain Irish". Look it up if you don't know the term. One day I asked him how then he would characterize the South Side Irish, such as himself. His answer, typical for him was hilariously self-deprecating but, uncharacteristically crude.

I'll just leave it to you to imagine what he said. 

Driving west on Washington Boulevard past Sacramento, Bob's assessment of the West Side rings true today as the magnificent gold dome of the Garfield Park Fieldhouse comes into view as you pass the ornate facades of the elegant late nineteenth and early twentieth century houses and two flats, those that survived decades of turmoil and neglect on the West Side.

The fortunes of the neighborhood around that park first took off after the construction of two elevated lines in the 1890s. Madison Street, between the two lines, became the main drag after the L tracks cast a permanent shadow over Lake Street, the previous main thoroughfare. 

Just west of the park, the intersection of Madison and Crawford, later named Pulaski Road, was the heart of one of many neighborhood "downtowns" that sprung up throughout Chicago at that time. So large and successful was the Madison/Pulaski Shopping District, that it served as the commercial, entertainment and business center for the entire West Side throughout the first half of the twentieth century and beyond.

But it was the twenties when the area really boomed, seeing the construction of grand hotels, department stores, and two movie palaces, the Paradise and the Marbro, both of whom rivaled the Chicago Theater in the Loop in opulence and size. Perhaps the most conspicuous symbol of the success of the area was the construction of the Midwest Athletic Club which, when it was built, was the tallest building between the Loop and Des Moines, Iowa. The building still stands, you can see it in the background of the photograph above. 

The boom ended as it did everywhere, during the Great Depression. But the neighborhood kept plugging along mostly intact through the difficult thirties and forties, with the exception of the Athletic Club whose building became a hotel. Many of the "lace curtain" residents left for lacier dwellings to the west. They were replaced by new residents, many of whom were immigrants from South, Central and Eastern Europe and their offspring. The community then took on a more working class feel. 

That is illustrated by the construction of a Goldblatts Department store in the shopping district in 1951. Goldblatts for decades had been recognized as the "workingman's Marshall Fields", whose stores were always situated inside architecturally impressive buildings, despite the discount prices they offered inside. 

It was the construction of one of their stores or their chief competitor Wieboldts, sometimes both, that set into motion the development of the commercial centers around them. 

 

Not so at Madison and Pulaski where Goldblatts was bringing up the rear.

Here is a photograph of the grand opening of the store on the SE corner of Madison and Pulaski featuring its bold Mid-Century-Modern entrance in April of 1951.

The same building, greatly altered, can be seen on the right in the contemporary color photograph above.

I'm sure the store's appearance in the district made many of the remaining lace-curtain types who like my mother would have never set foot in a Goldblatts, throw up their hands and say: "well there goes the neighborhood!" 

But the riches-to-rags story of the community would come a decade and a half later. It's sadly a familiar theme in Chicago, and many similar cities around the country.

 

It begins with a rumor, usually propagated by phone calls, often in the middle of the night. "The neighborhood is changing..." says the voice on the line, "and it's time to get out or else".  It usually took only a few bites before panic set in and pretty soon practically everyone on the block was packing their bags and heading out. What they meant by "changing" as you may be able to guess if you've been around these parts long enough, was that black people were starting to move in.

Now in a just and perfect world, nobody would bat an eye over something like that. After all, in a big city like Chicago, neighborhoods change all the time. As we just saw, West Garfield Park had already gone from lace curtains to vinyl window shades. But that change took place over a couple generations and was the result of upward mobility of families, both those leaving, and the new arrivals. In other words, they moved on their own terms. This was different. 

Black people immigrated to Chicago for the same reason as members of other ethnic/racial groups before and after them including my father. In a word, that reason was opportunity. Most of the black people who came to Chicago in the first half of the twentieth century (commonly referred to as "The Great Migration"), came from the rural American South, especially the Mississippi Delta. hoping to leave behind poverty, the injustice of institutional racism, the brutal share-cropper system, and perpetual second-class citizenship. The rapidly growing industries of Chicago provided the opportunity of work, a steady paycheck, and the hope for a better life. 

Chicago was never a particularly welcoming place for new groups of arrivals. The Irish, the Germans, the Bohemians, the Poles, the Jews, the Italians, the Chinese, and many other groups, all faced discrimination and hatred when they came here en masse. Quite often the worst abusers were members of the group who had just proceeded them. But the sum of all that hatred directed at those groups would not add up to a fraction of what was directed at the black people of Chicago. The tragic story of Chicago, the Segregated City, is based upon the fact that when black people moved into a neighborhood, white people almost invariably left, quick as their legs could carry them. 

For many, the reasons for "white flight" are simple. If you ask one group, they might say it was about personal safety and property value. Ask another group and they'd say it was flat out racism. They're both right to an extent but the story is much more complicated than that. There were bad actors to be sure, plenty of them. Add to that, bad public policy, bad life choices, bad business decisions, bad landlords, bad faith, bad blood, bad parenting, bad luck, bad logic, bad manners, bad timing, bad choices, bad this, bad that, and a whole lot of good people, black and white, caught in the middle. 

Those middle-of-the-night phone calls were not idle threats. 

The people on the receiving end probably didn't know anything about the city's long-standing discriminatory housing covenants that determined where black people could live and where they couldn't, forcing people into over-crowded, dehumanizing slums. 

They more than likely didn't know about the disinvestment caused by federal government maps of neighborhoods which lending institutions used to color code communities depending on their viability. The neighborhoods with red lines drawn around them, 

hence the term "redlining", were almost always in the city, consisted of older housing stock and more often than not, were (or were about to be) inhabited by black people. These neighborhoods were deemed too risky to lend money to. Consequently, the communities lacked the funding from banks necessary for home improvement, new development, and any hope to keep them alive and vibrant. 

It's also unlikely they knew about the true motives of those blockbusting callers, contract sellers who bought up property at bargain basement prices then turned it around overnight, well above market value and financing it themselves while charging exorbitant interest rates. These people made a killing by preying off the fears and prejudices of the white people they bought the property from, and the lack of other options for the black people to whom they sold the property.

Nor did the white folks understand many other systematic, pernicious discriminatory practices that all but guaranteed segregation in the city and second-class status to people of color.

What they did know was what they could see with their own eyes: once thriving neighborhoods deteriorating rapidly not long after black people moved into them.

The people in West Garfield Park didn't have to look far. In 1951 when Goldblatts opened at Madison and Pulaski, there were virtually no black people living in the community. That same year in neighboring North Lawndale to the south, the population was 13 percent black. Ten years later that number was 91 percent. It wasn't merely the complexion of the community that changed in a decade, the new arrivals found massive unemployment as the moribund industries in the area were not hiring, at least not to them, and despite the population of the community at an all-time high, due to redlining, no new housing to speak of was constructed, which resulted in the rapid deterioration of the existing housing stock and the infrastructure of the community.

By 1960, the black population of West Garfield Park was 16 percent. Given the rapid change next door, there was legitimate concern and tension in the neighborhood, especially following a riot in 1965 sparked by the death of a young black woman who was accidentally struck by a Chicago Fire Department vehicle.

After that incident, virtually the entire West Side of Chicago became a tinder box ready to explode.

It wasn't a match that set the tinder box ablaze, but a bullet.

Martin Luther King Jr. was no stranger to the West Side. As part of his "Campaign to End Slums", in 1966, King and his family moved into an apartment at 1550 South Hamlin in North Lawndale. It was during that time when Dr. King led marches for open-housing in the then all-white neighborhoods of Gage Park and Marquette Park on the South Side and also in the suburb of Cicero. 

Needless to say, Dr. King was not warmly welcomed as the beloved figure of peace and love who just wanted all of us to get along, as he is pictured today among members of the white ultra-right. I vividly remember the parents of my best friend at the time rhetorically asking: "Why doesn't that colored guy just mind his own business?" Those were some of the milder comments about him, It was on August 5th of that year in Marquette Park, where King was hit in the head with a rock, inspiring this statement: 

I’ve been in many demonstrations all across the South, but I can say that I have never seen, even in Mississippi and Alabama, mobs as hostile and as hate-filled as I’m seeing in Chicago.

Not a quote seen too often in collections of quotes about our great city. 

On the evening of April 4, 1968, Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis, and cities all over the country went up in flames. While there were flareups in the more established black communities of the South Side, cooler heads there prevailed and community leaders, including gang leaders, intervened to help control the damage.

But not on the West Side. 

Here is a link to a short film produced by the CFD (obviously told from their perspective) on Chicago's West Side riots after Dr. King's assassination.

It made so little sense to so many, especially white people, why people rioted, looted and set fire to their own community, leaving thousands homeless, vital businesses destroyed and the neighborhood in a state of ruin from which it has yet to recover, more than fifty years later.

I had an epiphany of sorts several years ago when I read in its entirety, Dr. King's most famous speech. Here I'm quoting myself:

As I became re-acquainted last week with the "I Have a Dream" speech, one line particularly spoke out to me. Dr. King said early in the speech:

"One hundred years later...", (after the Emancipation Proclamation), "...the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land."

Perhaps for the first time in my life I put myself in the shoes of the people in the African American community who rioted in cities all over the country after King's murder. No longer do I feel that the violence, regrettable as it was, was not justified. With the image of people exiled in their own land in mind, I could understand why folks threw up their hands believing that this country had nothing left to offer (them). Martin Luther King preached non-violence in order to bring about justice for his people, and where did it get him? Dr. King did nothing more than confirm the rights guaranteed in our constitution. The only difference was he added the "for all" part that American children recite in school every day, preceded by the words liberty and justice. For that he went to jail in Birmingham. For that bricks were thrown at him in Chicago. For that he was killed in Memphis.

While many white folks claimed Dr. King who advocated non-violence would have been appalled by the response to his murder, King shortly before his death prophetically revealed the truth of the matter:

Urban riots must now be recognized as durable social phenomena... They may be deplored, but they are there and should be understood. Urban riots are a special form of violence. They are not insurrections. The rioters are not seeking to seize territory or to attain control of institutions. They are mainly intended to shock the white community. They are a distorted form of social protest. The looting which is their principal feature serves many functions. It enables the most enraged and deprived Negro to take hold of consumer goods with the ease the white man does by using his purse. Often the Negro does not even want what he takes; he wants the experience of taking.

During the sixties, roughly 40,000 white people left West Garfield Park, replaced by the same number of black people. With its commercial heart all but destroyed by the riots after the assassination of Dr. King, black people who had the means to do so, left the neighborhood as well. Between 1970 and 1980, the total population of West Garfield Park diminished by thirty percent. In the following decade, it diminished by nearly another thirty percent. In the latest census, the population is nearly thirty percent less than that. 

Here is a link to an article from WBEZ Chicago which describes the latest newsworthy event that took place around Madison and Pulaski, and it wasn't good. Once again, the neighborhood experienced riots and looting, this time after the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis in 2020. The article begins by quoting Thomas Morris, a lifelong resident of West Garfield Park who participated in the 1968 riots. Like Dr. King, Morris was measured in his response, viewing both sides of the issue: 

I’m looking at the consequences of being stupid. You torched stuff in the community that you [need]. Now, you got no place to buy food, medical [supplies], because you destroyed it... And you dishonored the man who lost his life.  

On the other hand... 

It seems like for us to get any attention, we have to do wrong...it's just systemic racism in America...and this has to change and we have to do things to be fair.

The article points out that Morris is "frustrated and angry with the damage" but also angry that people in 2020 still have to:

...protest and fight for the same things (we) fought for in the 60s... how the hell can the racism in the 60s be allowed today in the 2000s?

I'll let these words of Mr. Morris that cut to the chase better than my poor words ever could, close this post. 

This was long and as I stated at the top, it's only part one.

As I said, this is a complicated issue. 

Until next time...

A Walk in the Park

The brouhaha surrounding the Lucas Museum makes it easy to forget that the mission of the so-called "elitist" organization, Friends of the Parks, doesn't end at the lakefront. Rather, Friends of the Parks advocates a commitment to and the preservation of the parks and open spaces throughout the entire Chicago area.

The industrial ruins and decaying residential neighborhoods of the west side are the last place you might expect to find the crown jewel of Chicago's storied park system. But there it sits at the intersection of Central Park Boulevard and Lake Street, Garfield Park and its magnificent Conservatory.

Before the Great Fire of 1871, architect and engineer Willam Le Baron Jenney was hired by the commission who oversaw the parks on Chicago's west side to lay out plans for three major landscape parks and the boulevards to connect them. Jenny is most famous for having designed the first multi-story commercial building whose interior metal skeleton would support the outside wall, or in pure Chicago parlance, the world's first skyscraper. Fourteen years before the Home Insurance Building opened, the parks Jenny laid out would become Humboldt Park on the north. Douglas Park on the south, and appropriately enough, Central Park in between. Central Park would get a new name in 1881 after the assassination of the 20th president of the United States, James Garfield.

A tiny bit of the landscape of the Garfield Park community peaking though
the lush plants of the tropical house of the Conservatory.

One might consider Humboldt, Garfield and Douglas Parks and their connecting boulevards to constitute one greater park, much as you would the south side Jackson and Washington Parks and Midway Plaisance, the wide swath of park and boulevard that connects the two. The idea of a Chicago boulevard system creating a ring of parks that would connect the city and the lakefront goes all the way back to the 1840s and was the brainchild of one John S. Wright, an early real estate speculator and developer. Alas politics and the economy got in the way as they usually do, and no action was taken until the idea was picked up upon by the Chicago Times newspaper who in 1866 published a plan of a park system "one quarter mile wide and fourteen miles long" that would encircle the existing city starting at the northernmost part of the Chicago lake shore and ending at the southernmost.

The three west side parks of Jenny's would be among the first sections of the boulevard system to be realized. Unlike today's emphasis on recreation, the west side parks were designed with the typically mid-nineteenth century principle that parks were intended first and foremost to be a relief from the city, in the words of Lewis Mumford, they provided "refuge against the soiled and bedraggled works of man's creation."

Jenny's west side parks did just that. Curving carraige paths and walkways contrasted sharply with Chicago's practical but relentless street grid. Berms and strategically planed flora would wall off the everyday functions of the city from the parks' interiors. Quite the contrast from the typical architecture found in the city, the parks were filled with fanciful, ornate buildings that served as bandstands, conservatories, observation towers and field houses. The limited area set aside for the west side parks inspired Jenny and his associates to import species of plants from all over the world to make up for less than promising land features. Most of all, Jenny's liberal use of water, especially in Humboldt and Douglas Parks resulted in over fifty percent of their respective areas comprised of lagoons and small rivers.

Some of Jenny's plans were realized but yet again, fate, the economy, and a trait at which Chicago particularly excels, political corruption, all got in the way. It would take a scrupulous laborer from Denmark who had a particular talent in horticulture to see the project through to its completion. Along the way, Jens Jensen would become one of the most influential landscape philosophers and architects of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

It's well known that Jensen began his career in Chicago as a laborer in Humboldt Park then quickly made his way up the ladder to become park supervisor. Just as quickly, he lost that job because he wouldn't play along with the "Chicago way." Soon bygones became bygones and Jensen found himself as the director of the West Parks as well as their chief architect. Jensen, who came to love the prairie landscape of his adopted home, the American Midwest, was a strict advocate of using only native species in his plantings. Unlike his predecessors and many of his peers, Jensen did not believe you could improve upon nature.

"A great Midwestern haystack" The southern facade of the Garfield Park Conservatory

Slowly but surely, Jensen transformed the Humboldt, Garfield, Douglas trifecta into a glorious reflection and tribute to the landscape in which we inhabit. Gone were many of the trappings of Victoriana including the exotic buildings and more exotic flora, replaced by Prairie Style buildings and plantings. Jensen was not only a great landscape architect but he knew his way around a building as well. He designed the current Garfield Park Conservatory along the same principles of adherence to regional influence as his philosophy of planting. In an interesting contrast to the Lincoln Park Conservatory which looks like it could have been plucked straight out of nineteenth century London, Jensen's building, according to Julia Bachrach, author of The City in a Garden: A Photographic History of Chicago's Parks, is designed "to emulate the simple form of a great Midwestern haystack."

Throughout his career, Jensen had an on again off again relationship with Chicago and the West Park Commission. (The Chicago Park District which consolidated the many different park commissions in the city was not organized until 1934.) During one of those off again times, the baroque style  "Gold Dome Building" was built in 1928 to be the headquarters of the West Park Commission. After the establishment of the CPD, it would become the park's field house. Surely Jensen hated it, despite the fact that it and its eponymous dome are enduring symbols of the Garfield Park neighborhood that has to put it mildly, had its ups and downs over the years.

The Conservatory too has had its ups and downs, but in the last dozen years or so, much effort has been put into its restoration and today, despite being slightly off the beaten path, is one of the premier cultural institutions of this city.

Certainly in my lifetime and perhaps since it was built in 1908, the conservatory and its environs have never looked better. Most recently, several acres of land directly to the west of the conservatory were turned into The City Garden. 

Bridge spanning the vast lily pond of The City Garden.

As the newest public garden in Chicago, The City Garden, much like the great Palmisano Park on the site of a former limestone quarry in Bridgeport, embraces the industrial landscape surrounding it rather than walling it out. Built upon land that once was the site of tennis courts and a wading pool, The City Garden, according to the Garfield Park Conservatory website,

takes urban greening as its guiding principle, and it gives expression to that principle at multiple levels, from its structure to its materials and plantings. It also provides an important link in an ever-growing lacework of boulevards, gardens, and open spaces scattered beyond its borders.

City Garden in front of reminders of the west side of Chicago's industrial past

It is a little disconcerting to hear the rumbling of the L as you stroll through the multiple "garden communities" of The City Garden, including a grove of hawthorn trees supposedly planted by none other than Jens Jensen. But as Elwood Blues told his brother Jake when he spent the night at his place whose open window was about ten feet from the extremely busy Loop elevated structure, "you get used to it."

Although not as well known nor understood as Chicago's commercial and residential architectural history, Chicago has a distinguished history of landscape architecture. The legacy of Jenny, Jensen, Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, Alfred Caldwell and others, is one we can be proud of, one worth caring for. The City Garden, the Conservatory, Garfield Park and its sister parks Humboldt and Douglas, remain treasures to behold, no small effort, thanks in part to the tireless efforts of groups like Friends of the Parks.

Thanks folks for a job well done.