Chicago History | Spring 2000

THE MAGAZINE OF THE CHICAGO HISTORICAL SOCIETY

Spring 2000 VOLUME XXVII, NUMBER 3

Contents

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Welcoming Jewish Americans Elliot Zashin

This Haven of Rest and Health: The Chicago Daily News Sanitarium Cynthia Mathews

Departments From the Editor Rosemary K. Adams

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Yesterday’s City

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Making History

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Index to Volume 27

Theodore J. Karamanski

Timothy J. Gilfoyle

C H I C AG O H I S T O RY Editor-in-Chief Rosemary K. Adams Associate Editors Daniel Greene Gwen Ihnat Designer Bill Van Nimwegen Photography John Alderson Jay Crawford

Cover: The Chicago Hebrew Institute helped Jewish immigrants adapt to American life between the 1880s and the 1920s. The boxing scene above demonstrates CHI’s emphasis on phsical culture as a component of Americanization. (CHS, ICHi-17310).

Copyright 2000 by the Chicago Historical Society Clark Street at North Avenue Chicago IL 60614-6099 312-642-4600 www.chicagohistory.org ISSN 0272-8540 Articles appearing in this journal are abstracted and indexed in Historical Abstracts and America: History and Life. Footnoted manuscripts of the articles appearing in this issue are available from the Chicago Historical Society’s Publications Office.

C H I C AG O H I S T O R I C A L S O C I E T Y OFFICERS

TRUSTEES

R. Eden Martin Chair Potter Palmer Vice Chair Sharon Gist Gilliam Vice Chair M. Hill Hammock Treasurer Joseph Levy Jr. Secretary Philip W. Hummer Immediate Past Chair Douglas Greenberg President

Philip D. Block III David R. Boles David P. Bolger Laurence Booth Charles T. Brumback Mrs. Ann Middleton Buckley Michelle L. Collins John W. Croghan Stewart S. Dixon Michael H. Ebner Sharon Gist Gilliam Douglas Greenberg M. Hill Hammock Cynthia L. Hedlund Henry W. Howell Philip W. Hummer Richard M. Jaffee

LIFE TRUSTEES

Edgar D. Jannotta Barbara Levy Kipper W. Paul Krauss Fred A. Krehbiel Joseph Levy Jr. Mrs. John J. Louis Jr. Wayne A. McCoy R. Eden Martin Robert Meers Potter Palmer Michelle S. Paulsen Margarita Perez Donald H. Rumsfeld Gordon I. Segal James R. Thompson Daniel H. Wheeler

Lerone Bennett Jr. Bowen Blair John T. McCutcheon Andrew McNally III Mrs. Frank D. Mayer Mrs. Newton N. Minow Bryan S. Reid Jr. Dempsey J. Travis HONORARY TRUSTEES

Richard M. Daley Mayor, City of Chicago Michael Scott President, Chicago Park District

The Chicago Historical Society gratefully acknowledges the Chicago Park District’s generous support of all of the Historical Society’s activities. 2 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

FROM THE EDITORI

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f you have lived in Chicago any length of time, you have most likely heard the tale of “Resurrection Mary.” Legend has it that during the 1930s, a young woman named Mary attended a dance near Archer Avenue on the southwest side of Chicago. At some point that evening, the car she and her escort rode in hit another car (although some versions claim that she jumped out of the car to escape her date’s amorous advances). Mary died at the side of the road near Resurrection Cemetery. Since then, many witnesses have claimed they viewed her ghostly figure as they drove past the cemetery; others maintain that they’ve actually stopped and picked up the girl, only to have her vanish into thin air when the car approached the cemetery. It is a good story, and it may well be true: although I myself have never seen a ghost, I have not ruled out their existence. But this tale bears a remarkable resemblance to the ubiquitous “Vanishing Hitchhiker” urban legend that has cropped up repeatedly across the country and around the world over the past one hundred years (before cars, the hitchhiker waved down carriages). Everyone has heard an urban legend at one time or another—you know, those stories that happened to a friend of a friend. Years ago, more than one of my grammar-school classmates claimed to have heard of a kid who found spider eggs in a popular brand of bubble gum. A still-circulating, yet long-refuted, rumor claims that the legendary, Chicago-born Walt Disney decreed in his will that his body be frozen upon his death and then brought back to life when medical technology discovered a way to resurrect people. And every Halloween, parents carefully check their children’s trick-or-treat goodies for signs of tampering, although no known cases of random Halloween poisoning have been confirmed (unfortunately, at least one child has died from eating tainted candy, but it was intentional: the boy’s father was charged in his murder).

These tales have circulated in different variations for years. In The Vanishing Hitchhiker: American Urban Legends and Their Meanings (and several other books), folklorist Jan Harold Brunvand traces the history of popular urban legends, some of which have their roots in the latenineteenth century, that are still making the rounds today. According to Brunvand, urban legends are a type of folklore, stories passed via oral tradition. But unlike myths or fairy tales, which people recognize immediately as fiction, urban legends usually contain an element of truth that makes them plausible. Thus, when you hear about your cousin’s best friend’s mother-in-law finding a mouse tail in a bottle of soda, you do not immediately dismiss it as fantasy, since it is not out of the realm of possibility that a rodent might find its way into a bottling plant. Interestingly, modern mass media, rather than eradicating this oral tradition, has actually helped expand urban legends. The Internet and e-mail have increased the distribution channels for urban legends of all sorts. A current round of e-mails promises recipients free merchandise from any one of a number of major companies, including Coca Cola, the Gap, and Microsoft (it’s not true!). A friend in Paris recently forwarded an e-mail that entreated me to add my name to an e-petition demanding equal rights for Afghan women. While the email sheds light on the repressive conditions under which Afghan women live, the petition itself is a hoax, so adding one’s name to the list has no effect. While the legend of Resurrection Mary may ring true with its local color, it also draws from a long tradition of urban legend. I’ve merely touched on some of the highlights of the work Jan Harold Brunvand and other folklorists have done on urban legends. For more information on which stories actually happened to a friend of a friend, and to find out which are mere hoaxes, check out Brunvand’s books or the Urban Legends Reference Pages at www.snopes.com. 3

Welcoming Jewish Americans ELLIOT ZASHIN

Philip Seman’s Chicago Hebrew Institute helped Jewish immigrants adapt to American life during the early 1900s.

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early one hundred years have passed since the founding of the Chicago Hebrew Institute (CHI), which played a major role in the acculturation of thousands of eastern European Jews (and their children) who migrated to Chicago between the 1880s and the early 1920s. Today the CHI lives on as the Jewish Community Centers of Chicago, a vibrant organization that comprises seven centers located in the several pockets of Jewish populations in the metropolitan area. Many individuals collaborated to make the CHI an important institution for Chicago’s largely immigrant Jewish community, but CHI general director Philip Seman developed the goals and programs that made the CHI a highly successful experiment in mass acculturation. In detailed CHI annual reports, Seman expressed his observations concerning the Jewish immigrants and their children and put forth his views on the best ways to improve their lives. Born in Warsaw, Poland in 1881, Philip Seman came to the United States when he was twelve. He graduated from Adelphi College in Brooklyn and taught at the Jewish Orphan Asylum in New York City for two years. He moved to St. Louis to become superintendent of the Jewish Educational and Charitable Association in 1905; while in St. Louis he also taught in the school of social economics at Washington University and acquired a law degree from that institution in 1910. He then returned to Brooklyn to become executive director of the Federation of Jewish Charities. Philip Bregstone, author of Chicago and Its Jews: A Cultural History, remembers meeting Seman in Chicago in the summer of 1908. Viewing the Taylor Street property that the Chicago Hebrew Institute had recently purchased from a Catholic institution, “Seman mused aloud 4 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

Chicago Hebrew Institute general director Philip Seman (above) chronicled his views on Jewish acculturation in detailed annual reports, such as this one from 1941 (below).

Chicago Hebrew Institute children reenact a WWI battlefield in this undated photograph. Seman particularly wanted to help Jewish children acculturate to American society, so many CHI programs were geared toward youngsters.

on what he would do if he were entrusted with so fine a piece of ground.” Five years later, the Chicago Jewish community’s leadership recruited Seman to head the institute. Just thirty-two, Seman already had made his reputation as a talented social-service administrator. For more than three decades, from 1913 to 1945, Philip Seman served as the general director of the Chicago Hebrew Institute, later known as the Jewish People’s Institute. As described in Hyman Meites’s History of the Jews of Chicago, members of an early Zionist organization founded the CHI in 1903. The official CHI goals included “the promotion of education, civic training, moral and physical culture, the amelioration of the condition and social advancement of the Jewish residents of the city of Chicago.” But since the organization had a hard time raising money, the institute “soon became known in many quarters as the ‘paper institute.’” The CHI struggled; its original home was a rundown, rented building on Blue Island Avenue near Roosevelt Road (then Twelfth Street). The building contained “classrooms, a library, an assembly hall, a gymna-

sium, baths, and parlors.” Since residential buildings had limited bathing facilities, the baths were especially popular. Still, the site lacked spacious grounds, and the CHI did not have funds to purchase a better one. In 1907, CHI president Nathan Kaplan asked noted philanthropist Julius Rosenwald for financial support to purchase a larger property with six buildings at Taylor and Lytle Streets for $110,000. Rosenwald offered a loan of $75,000 (without interest for the first two years) and a personal contribution of $5,000 on the condition that an additional $45,000 be raised. Kaplan then invited Rosenwald to join the board of directors. In his letter of acceptance, Rosenwald wrote: “I am in sympathy with any movement that will tend toward breaking down the social barrier which seems to exist between the Russian and German Jews,” and he hoped that his “connection with the Hebrew Institute [would] be a step in that direction.” Meites, who was one of the original CHI founders, noted in his History of the Jews that the institute “served the function of bringing together the orthodox and the reform Jews, the German and the Russian, the WestChicago Hebrew Institute | 5

Sider and the South-Sider. Through the Institute they became better acquainted with one another . . . ; the Institute was a large factor in that gradual process wherein dislike and suspicion, bred by distance, gave way to understanding and sympathy.” German Jews already had achieved a relatively secure status in American society, and they were ambivalent toward their newly arrived co-religionists from Russia. The more acclimated German Jews felt some sympathy for the plight of their fellow Jews, who were threatened with pogroms and endured poverty in Russia. But the German Jews also were fearful that the negative stereotypes applied to the recent immigrants might affect their own status as Americans. German Jews probably attended some CHI events, but their philanthropic and organizational support proved critical to the survival and development of the institution. The Russian Jews benefited most from the CHI’s programs. By 1913, when Seman became general director, CHI leadership had been assumed, according to Meites, by “influential men and women, representative of the philanthropic leadership of the community,” including: Sears, Roebuck president Julius Rosenwald; insurance executive Jacob Loeb, who followed Rosenwald as president and who eventually became president of the Chicago Board of Education; Benjamin Schiff, a successful banker and organizer of the Federated Jewish Charities (the orthodox community’s fundraising institution); and Mrs. Julius

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Above: CHI supporter Julius Rosenwald donated great sums of money to help the struggling institute in 1907. Below: The Chicago Hebrew Institute in 1909.

Stone, who became active in the CHI in 1907, and began a long term as secretary in 1908. Seman expanded CHI activities among the many families of eastern European Jewish immigrants who populated the Near West Side of Chicago from the 1880s until the 1920s. In the 1890s, Jewish youth began attending Jane Addams’s Hull-House, and within a decade they constituted the largest ethnic group using Hull-House programs. Nonetheless, the great majority of Jewish youngsters eventually left Hull-House for CHI. In Pluralism and Progressives: Hull-House and the New Immigrants, 1890–1919, Rivka Lissak asserts that the CHI “was modeled after Hull-House in many of its features,” but its uniqueness lay “in its emphasis on teaching Jewish values, culture, and traditions and developing a Jewish ethnic identity.” The CHI was intended as a substitute for Hull-House in the Jewish community. Lissak suggests that the decline in Jewish participation at Hull-House as CHI attendance increased indicates that this objective was achieved.

Some experts maintained that CHI modeled itself on Hull-House (above) in many ways, while expanding its focus on Jewish culture; eventually many youngsters left Hull-House for CHI. Hull-House founder Jane Addams spoke at the CHI celebration of Lincoln Week in 1909 (below).

Chicago Hebrew Institute | 7

She adds that although Jane Addams and Hull-House supported the Jewish community’s fight against anti-Semitism and for equal rights, Addams did not support the development of a Jewish ethnic identity. Seeing the Jews primarily as a religious group, “[Addams] failed to understand the strong desire of Jews to remain a community.” Philip Seman had a different approach, including a plan that exceeded responding to the eastern European Jews’ most urgent need: to learn English and marketable skills so that they could obtain employment and thereby the means to buy food, clothing, and shelter. Eastern European Jews were trying to adapt to American society at a time when most of the services and protections of the welfare state had not yet been legislated. Housing and sanitary conditions on the Near West Side were extremely poor. Immigrants lived in cramped quarters with rudimentary plumbing and limited light and fresh air. Low wages limited spending on food, clothing, and recreation. In the face of these conditions, Seman and the CHI emphasized educational and motivational activities, and ignored political and organizational strategies. But Seman wanted the institute to accomplish much more than teaching English and vocational skills. He wanted his charges not only to master the language, but also to 8 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

Above: Through the CHI, Philip Seman hoped to help Jewish immigrants adapt to American culture, leading to better education, employment, and opportunity. CHI members in front of the institute, 1917. Below: Many new immigrants had to endure cramped living quarters; this CHI group learns about other housing options at a model home display.

become familiar with its literature; to be able to speak effectively in public; to be schooled in democratic practice; to be knowledgeable about hygiene; to develop good habits; and to use their time to improve their minds and bodies. Although this program was not uniquely American, Seman believed that living in the United States offered immigrants and their children opportunities for self-development that had not existed for most Jews in eastern Europe. Seman thought that the home should be the center of life’s satisfaction, providing children with intellectual and moral qualities that would govern their activities and relations. But the average immigrant home was likely to be cramped and dreary, hardly conducive to the recreation Seman thought young people needed after a school day that provided no outlet for their pent-up energies. So Seman designed the institute to make up for the deficiencies of the home, creating an environment that encouraged good character and healthful habits. For example, large posters published by the National Child Welfare Association and the American Social

Hygiene Association hung on the institute’s game room walls. In CHI’s 1921 annual report, Seman stated, “These means of visual education” were “more effective than speeches by teachers or the game room director.” Seman thought the posters, which focused on developing good health habits, self-reliance, and American democratic spirit, were well-designed to appeal to young people. For example, these posters stressed beneficial habits such as getting enough sleep, good posture, and not smoking, as well as desirable conduct, such as treating public property with care and not littering, and keeping one’s clothes clean and neat. To modern sensibilities, such efforts to influence children’s behavior may seem simplistic, but for immigrant children, the identification of these behaviors as American had a larger effect than one might expect. Seman knew about the attractions that could lead young people into harmful habits and behavior, such as the cheap dance halls and poolrooms that sought adolescents as paying customers. The institute attempted to provide an alternative with Saturday evening dances. Seman had an

Education was key to Seman’s philosophy; these CHI students conduct experiments in chemistry class. Chicago Hebrew Institute | 9

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“enlightened” attitude toward the attraction between teenage boys and girls. In his annual report of 1916, he noted that “parents and teachers fail to attach sufficient importance to the physiology of the sexual change” and he did not want to “encourage an unnecessary prudishness.” CHI’s goal was to encourage boys and girls to know each other well in a healthy way. They needed an outlet for their interest in the opposite sex; if they denied this interest, teenagers would meet secretly, which could lead to mischief. Immigrant children experienced a complex interaction of acculturation and maturation. As these adolescents asserted their independence of parental control, they also rejected their parents’ old-world attachments and attitudes. In offering a genteel vision of becoming an American, Seman had to compete with the enticement and excitement of the contemporary street life, which contained dangers such as attacks by ethnic gangs, troubles with the police, and sexually transmitted diseases. It also contained attractions such as opportunities to socialize with members of the opposite sex, illicit ways of making money that seemed easier than the hard labor and long hours of most immigrant jobs, along with pool halls, bars, movie and vaudeville shows, and houses of prostitution. In order to compete successfully, the institute offered a comprehensive program, presented by attractive role models within a modern facility with many

Seman stressed the importance of good health, emphasizing activities such as gardening (opposite top), children’s gym classes (opposite bottom), and boxing clubs (below). To encourage wholesome behavior, the CHI also held dances (above), hoping to keep adolescents out of taverns and pool halls.

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amenities. The institute’s faculty possessed genuine concern about their charges’ well being, as opposed to the operators of street establishments who saw young people merely as customers. In 1915, the opening of a new, modern gymnasium and natatorium on the site at Taylor and Lytle Streets, thanks to a grant from Julius Rosenwald, proved crucial for CHI’s development. This facility made Seman’s agenda of self-improvement through emulation, guidance, and training in athletic activities possible. From Seman’s remarks in the CHI annual reports, it is clear how important physical fitness and strength were to his conception of an upstanding American citizen. All gymnasium patrons received an annual medical examination to determine their physical capabilities. The yearly examinations gave the instructors an opportunity to make suggestions to young people about their personal development, and offer help, such as special exercises, if they discovered “physical defects” in the patrons. Every member learned to swim, which for most immigrant children was probably a new experience, one their parents had not had in eastern Europe. Until the CHI began offering gym classes, Jews had no presence in Chicago’s public athletics. Within a few years of the opening of the gymnasium, CHI individual competitors and teams compiled impressive records in public athletic events. The institute took great pride in these achievements that demonstrated that Jews were capable of physical prowess, which contradicted the usual Jewish stereotype. Ultimately, Seman wanted to build character, and developing the body was an essential component. At the opening ceremony of the gymnasium in 1915, he said that the new facility was not meant solely to train leaders, solely to train champions that the rest may sit around and look on and applaud. That is one of its purposes, but primarily I hope that it is meant for the other boys and girls, the ordinary boys and girls, the entire mass of its membership, to give them the opportunity for self development, for increased strength and vigor, for finer and nobler character. The institute’s “higher purposes” became clear during World War I. The CHI took considerable pride in the fact that “institute boys” volunteered for military service and distinguished themselves by their fitness. As reported in the 1918 annual report, an observer of one of the CHI club dances remarked, “[who could] doubt the wholehearted loyalty of American Jews. . . . The chance for service has opened the eyes of non-Jews to Jewish prowess.” The speaker asserted that the military authorities used institute boys as “mentors in the arts of fit manhood” for other soldiers. Not only had the institute 12 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

In the early 1910s, all patrons of the CHI’s new, state-of-the-art gymnasium had to be examined each year to determine their physical capabilities. Chicago Hebrew Institute | 13

Philip Seman felt that unstructured leisure time could lead to mischief. In “New Opportunities for the Use of Leisure Time,” his address from a 1939–40 report (above), he hypothesized that focusing on physical activities during leisure time built character, which can lead to higher purposes. These higher purposes became clear during wartime: a 1942–43 report featured letters from former institute members who reported how their CHI upbringing was helping them in the armed forces during World War II (left).

trained them in fitness, it had given them an “intelligent understanding of their place and part in American life, a love of their adopted land that has given them a freedom they never knew or dreamed of.” The institute helped new immigrants develop a highminded conception of citizenship. A letter to Julius Rosenwald, apparently from Seman, speaks of the CHI’s function “as a great Americanization factor among our people and as an antidote to all the ‘isms’ and unrest now prevailing.” In the 1918 CHI annual report, Seman attributes the large increase in citizenship applications to the “outstanding position the U.S. held in the world” as defender of democracy in the World War, as opposed to the motivation provided by city ordinances that required citizenship application papers to receive any kind of license. Seman realized that the corruption of machine politics in Chicago repelled some immigrants; he endorsed improving politics by raising the caliber of the men 14 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

entering the political arena. For instance, he referred in the 1916 annual report to the recruiting announcement of the Illinois Progressive Republicans, which sought “doers, pluggers, and knowers among young men to be the able, ambitious, and energetic future citizens and political officials of the nation”; the group’s goals were “Social Justice, Civic Betterment, and Good Government.” Seman also described the Young Americans, a group of six-year-old boys who learned the rudiments of democracy by electing officers and voting on motions: “They are being trained without their knowing it . . . in a perfectly natural and easy manner.” The adult immigrants, on the other hand, might have been inhibited from becoming citizens by their attachments to their home country and repelled by the appeals of machine ward heelers. Immigrants knew that the political system in Chicago did not measure up to American ideals, but Seman hoped to persuade them that America meant democracy, freedom, and opportunity— adequate enough reason for citizenship. Seman premised his methodology for improving the living conditions of the Jewish immigrant community on upward mobility instead of class conflict. He accepted American notions of individualism, i.e., that individual efforts at selfimprovement, within an environment of opportunity, would lead to a better quality of life. When efforts to organize the working class attracted some immigrant families, Seman and his patrons might have been fearful that the media and public figures would identify Jewish immigrants with radical and anarchist movements. In the 1921 CHI annual report, Seman clearly expressed his belief in rapid “Americanization” as a way to avoid radicalism. Without “proper social facilities of the kind the Institute provides,” he felt, immigrants would turn to “radicalism of the extreme type . . . They did not find facilities that would give them the right impression of America, its history, its idealism.” In the 1922 annual report, he refers to the institute as a kind of “safety valve which promises to save the individual and society what in many circumstances would be disasters.” Referring to an individual who “works hard all day at occupations which are very irksome because of his past training and social environment,” Seman stated that the institute would provide this individual with an opportunity to spend the evening expressing himself in an intellectual setting. Prior to World War I, socialist and working-class clubs, along with more conventional groups, held social activities at the institute. It seems that the CHI did not discourage these clubs; Seman might even have thought that the institute would have a moderating effect on them. An incident in 1915, however, indicated that these opportunities did not necessarily inhibit radical tendencies. That summer, assistant CHI superintendent A. I.

The Chicago Hebrew Institute changed its name to the Jewish People’s Institute in 1926. The photograph below shows construction of the new Jewish Center in 1926. Continuing Seman’s stance on education, the JPI also established a People’s Junior College (above).

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Although the CHI stressed Americanization, it also held strongly to traditional Jewish values and beliefs, pleasing the older eastern European generation (above). Below, young female students at CHI learn how to cook traditional Jewish dishes.

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Margolis agreed to rent institute space for a meeting of the Labor Defense League at which Alexander Berkman, a well-known Russian Jewish anarchist, was the featured speaker. Philip Seman was on vacation at the time. When CHI president Jacob Loeb learned of the meeting, he canceled the agreement, calling the police to disperse the expected crowd. He also fired three staff members, including Margolis. The New York Times reported that approximately five hundred students and CHI faculty walked out in response and founded a Workers Institute (WI), which provided its own classes and activities. The Times account said that this faculty planned to make its institute self-supporting and self-governing, as well as a defender of free speech. The Workers Institute aligned itself with the working classes. The Chicago Federation of Labor and individual unions endorsed it, and faculty from the University of Chicago and local high schools volunteered to teach. The subjects that the CHI had offered were supplemented by new WI classes in sociology, economics, and political science. When the CHI board of directors met that September, the United Hebrew Trade Union (UHTU) brought up several demands, sparking considerable discussion. Unfortunately, the meeting record reveals neither the content of the discussion nor what role Seman played. It can be assumed that Seman agreed to submit the UHTU demands to the CHI directors. The board defeated a motion, which might have been an attempt at compromise, for the president to appoint a committee “to devise ways and means to place before the people of the community, the ideas and principles of the Institute.” The Sentinel, a Jewish weekly, reported that community sentiment was critical of Margolis’s insubordination, but there was no consensus on whether the CHI should have been used for the Labor Defense League event. Loeb and the other directors might have remembered an earlier incident that attracted considerable attention. In March 1908, Lazurus Averbuch, a young Russian Jew who had recently arrived in Chicago, went to the home of the chief of police and was shot and killed; the chief justified the killing by claiming that Averbuch was part of an anarchist conspiracy to assassinate him. The initial press reports gave only the chief’s account, and popular hysteria toward immigrants, particularly eastern European Jews, resulted. The Chicago Jewish community then found itself in a terrible bind; on the one hand, Jewish spokespersons wanted to dissociate the community from anarchism; on the other, a great injustice apparently had been done to a Jewish immigrant. There was no evidence that Averbuch was connected with anarchist movements, and he had not owned a gun or known how to use one. As questions mounted, the police wanted to put the incident behind

them; Jewish leaders were torn between seeking justice and removing the controversy (with its associations with anarchism) from the public mindset. In 1915, Philip Seman might well have been relieved by the departure of these working-class radical elements from the CHI. Samuel Holland, the first president of the Workers Institute, said that the WI “became a real workers’ cultural center, carrying on lectures and debates on current political and economic problems, trade union activities, and economic and philosophical theories, in an atmosphere of friendship, tolerance, and cooperation. It became a second home, and a beehive of activity for Socialists, liberals, anarchists, IWWs, and pure and simple trade unionists.” This was not the kind of reputation that the directors of the CHI wanted, and the demise of the Workers Institute in 1920 during the period of the Red Scare and the Parker Raids might have justified their caution. Seman also had to confront the problematic question of which kind of Judaism to promote. The CHI was intended to be a Jewish institution from the outset, as attorney Nathan Kaplan, one of the CHI founders, explained: The younger generation speaking English and mixing with English-speaking people loses its interest in things Jewish, and the older people speaking nothing but their native language live always in a foreign atmosphere. We hope the Institute will give both an opportunity to meet on common ground and so, while making the Orthodox tolerant and the younger element better fitted to sympathize, preserve all that is best in the race and its faith. Most eastern European immigrants were Orthodox; German Jews had been in the United States for several decades, and tended to embrace the less conventional Reform movement. Seman leaned toward a modern, intellectually oriented conception of Judaism, yet he was sensitive to the traditional practices of the previous generation. He also felt that the average Chicago Jewish home or Hebrew school did not provide an optimal Jewish education. The typical cheder, he said, in the 1916 annual report, was dark and dingy, taught by an old-fashioned rote instructor. At home, observant parents were traditional and their Hebrew was limited to knowledge of the prayerbook. Seman wanted his charges to be able to read and speak Hebrew and to study texts, not just memorize them. Even though Seman’s affiliations do not indicate any pronounced Zionist bias, Zionists gave lectures at the institute and Zionist clubs met there. Zionism meant, in part, taking pride in the accomplishments of Jewish people throughout their long history, and a feeling of attachment to the land of Chicago Hebrew Institute | 17

At Camp CHI in Antioch, young girls swam in Loon Lake (above) and performed in dance pageants (below) while also following kosher diets and Jewish traditions.

their ancestors. Seman wanted to present that heritage as relevant to modernity and morally inspiring. Seman, for example, took great pride in Camp CHI. An overnight camp located in Antioch, Illinois, it allowed immigrant boys and girls to escape the crowded and inhospitable conditions of the Near West Side and provided an alternative social and cultural environment. In his description of the camp in the 1922 CHI Annual Report, Seman indicated that he steered a course between his conception of an enlightened Judaism and the orthodoxy of the previous generation. Thus, he ensured that Camp CHI was strictly kosher, which gained the confidence of both parents and children. He stated, “We made every effort to create a distinctly Jewish atmosphere in camp along the most constructive lines, not a dogmatic Judaism particularly, but a spiritual and cultivated type.” The camp observed shabbat with candle lighting at the Friday evening meal; the camp director admonished the girls “to meditate in silent prayer at the time of lighting on the things most beautiful to them and to think of those who were dear to them.” A Saturday morning assembly was “usually devoted to reading a psalm or poem on a distinctly Jewish subject.” The camp did not conduct classes that involved regular work and discouraged letter writing on Saturday, and closed the candy shop on Friday evenings. The traditional Sunday dinner was served on Saturday, “to emphasize that the Sabbath was on Saturday.” 18 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

The camp held up both Jewish heroines of the Bible and famous Gentile women as female role models. Cabins were named not only for Biblical figures Esther, Ruth, Deborah, and Naomi, but also for Martha Washington, Rosa Bonheur, Betsy Ross, George Eliot, and others. Seman suggested in the 1922 CHI Annual Report that these names were a way to teach girls in the camp about female accomplishments, and “as a result,

[campers] were made much more conscious of the contribution of their sex” to the development of civilization. Seman’s description of Camp CHI suggests that he did not see any major conflict between introducing young people to modern progressive notions and maintaining a basically observant stance toward Judaism. Within fifteen years of Seman’s appearance on the Near West Side, the great majority of Jews had moved further west to more upscale Lawndale, evidence of their rapid economic improvement. Although eastern European immigration had been cut off, the CHI still had a role to play in the social and cultural development of the increasingly prosperous and dispersed Jewish community. In the 1930s, the Depression posed serious problems for the community, and after World War II, renewed upward mobility and suburbanization significantly altered the living conditions of many of Chicago’s Jews. As the Jewish Community Centers of Chicago (JCC), the institution Seman built continued to provide an important focal point for the expression of ethnicity in social, educational, and cultural activities. In the 1970s, with the arrival of large number of Russian Jews in the United States, the JCC once again assisted immigrants in their adaptation to American society. Philip Seman would have been pleased to know that the JCC was available to assume that role.

I L L U S T R AT I O N S | 4 above, from History of the Jews of Chicago; 4 below, CHS, Annual Report of the General Director Jewish People’s Institute, 1941; 5, CHS, ICHi-21699; 6 above, CHS, ICHi12342; 6 below, CHS; 7 above, CHS, ICHi-19288; 7 below, CHS, Program of Celebrations during Lincoln Week at the Chicago Hebrew Institute, February 10–13, 1909; 8 above, CHS, ICHi-24695; 8 below, CHS, ICHi-21694; 9, CHS, ICHi-30108; 10 top CHS, ICHi-21696; 10 bottom, CHS, ICHi-21173; 11 above, CHS, ICHi23491; 11 below, ICHi-17315; 12–13, CHS, ICHi-21698; 14, all CHS, JPI: Chicago’s Largest Community; 15 above, CHS; 15 below, CHS, ICHi-18850; 16 top, CHS, ICHi-30109; 16 bottom, CHS, ICHi-30113; 18 above, CHS, ICHi-30112; 18 below, CHS, ICHi21697; 19, courtesy of the Jewish Community Centers. F O R F U RT H E R R E A D I N G | Papers from the Chicago Hebrew Institute, the Jewish People’s Institute, and the Jewish Community Centers are available at the Research Center of the Chicago Historical Society. For more information on Jewish immigration in Chicago, read H. L. Meites’s History of the Jews of Chicago (originally published in 1924 by the Chicago Jewish Historical Society; reprinted by Wellington Publishing, Inc. in 1990) and Irving Cutler’s From Shtetl to Suburb: The Jews of Chicago (University of Illinois, 1996). Elliot Zashin is coordinator, Mansfield Institute for Social Justice, Roosevelt University in Chicago.

The Jewish Community Centers still thrive today. Above is the Bernard Weinger Jewish center, one of the JCC’s many branches. Chicago Hebrew Institute | 19

This Haven of

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Rest and Health The Chicago Daily News Sanitarium

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Cynthia Mathews

uring the late nineteenth century, social reformers concerned with improving the health of tenement children faced two major obstacles—the unhealthy environment in which poor urban children lived and the lack of medical attention they received. To meet these challenges, social service organizations and private groups, including several newspapers, established fresh-air charities in many cities across the United States. Fresh-air charities served the needs of tenement children by bringing them to an environment where they could escape the fumes of the city, even if only for a day, and receive free care from doctors and nurses. In 1887, the Chicago Daily News Fresh-Air Fund opened a sanitarium in Lincoln Park for Chicago’s tenement children. This sanitarium, on the lakefront at Fullerton Avenue, operated primarily in the summer, when the stifling heat worsened the already heavily polluted air in the tenements. The sanitarium’s founders stressed the health benefits to be gained from the open design of the building and the cool lake breezes at that location. When shore improvements were made in 1914, the first sanitarium facility was replaced by a new building that stands today near the first site, just east of Lake Shore Drive. The sanitarium closed in the mid-1930s, and the Chicago Park District currently occupies the building, offering Theater on the Lake performances and refreshments in the summer. The Chicago Daily News championed the cause of the sanitarium in its pages during the summer months, encouraging mothers to bring their children to the facility and asking readers to donate coins at charity globes placed around the city. The nearly daily articles about the sanitarium described the workings of the sanitarium, stories of babies whose health improved after a visit to the facility, and the success of charitable events held to benefit the children. The Daily News also stressed the numbers of people served, as noted in a 1931 annual report: “To this haven of rest and health have come an average of over four hundred children a day throughout the summer months.”

Children aboard the free wagon service that ran along Fullerton Avenue from Halsted Street to the lakefront sanitarium, October 1911. Cynthia Mathews is a cataloger on the Chicago Daily News digitization project at the Chicago Historical Society. 21

The Chicago Daily News first published photographs of the sanitarium around the turn of the century as innovations in printing technology enabled photographs to appear in mass-circulation newspapers. The Daily News frequently published images of visibly malnourished children as evidence of the sanitarium’s necessity. The Fresh-Air Fund’s annual reports also contained many similar illustrations. The Chicago Daily News negative collection at the Chicago Historical Society contains more than five hundred glass-plate negatives relating to these Fresh-Air Fund activities, including the sanitarium, country camps, and fresh-air outings. The sanitarium photographs seen on the following pages have been selected from the Chicago Historical Society’s Chicago Daily News negative collection. These sanitarium photographs include images of the horse-drawn wagon that brought mothers and children to the building from the

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streetcar at Halsted Street and the car that replaced the wagon in later years. In these images, doctors examine children in tents and the building’s open interior is filled with hammocks for the babies who were prescribed a day’s rest at the sanitarium. Other images feature the sanitarium’s kitchen, where milk was tested for impurities, and food was prepared to provide four free meals a day to all visitors. The images also show the excursion element of a trip to the sanitarium. The first building was built over the lake, supported by 150 concrete pylons and connected to the shore by a ramp. The second building was located on “Picnic Island,” surrounded by a lagoon to the west and the lake to the east. A day at the sanitarium was truly a vacation from the tenement areas of the city. Older children who likely accompanied sick babies to the sanitarium can be seen in the photographs standing on the deck of the facility as if on

the deck of a ship, looking out at the lake and Diversey Harbor. Clues about how people passed the day at the sanitarium can be gleaned from the photographs as boys did woodwork, mothers sewed, and children wrote letters. A large number of images consist of posed photographs of the babies, children, and mothers who came to the sanitarium. The Chicago Historical Society is digitizing and cataloging fifty-fivethousand glass-plate negatives from the Chicago Daily News collection with a grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation in partnership with the Library of Congress and New-York Historical Society. The digital images and catalog records will be available beginning in 2001, enabling researchers to search and view the collection in ways previously not possible due to the fragile nature of glass-plate negatives.

Mothers and children walking across the ramp into the sanitarium, c. 1912.

A doctor attends to a baby in an examining tent on the porch of the sanitarium, 1911.

A nurse greets mothers and babies at the sanitarium while another nurse stands to the side reading the Chicago Daily News, October 1911.

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The Chicago Daily News placed children’s charity globes in businesses and department stores around the city. The News paid all administrative costs of the sanitarium, assuring donors that coins dropped into the globes would go directly to the babies.

A young boy with bowed legs, often a result of rickets, stands on the deck of the sanitarium, c. 1909. DN-054533.

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Older boy holding a baby, possibly a younger sibling, July 1916.

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A mother and two older children watch a nurse attending to a baby in a hammock, c. 1916.

Mothers were required to remain with their babies during their stay at the sanitarium, allowing the nurses to act as physician’s assistants. A mother holds a baby up in his hammock, July 5, 1916. 26 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

“Where the little lungs thrive on fresh air.� Attendance figures for a typical July day in 1907: sick babies, 93; mothers, 91; children, 82; visitors, 768. The Daily News encouraged all readers to visit the sanitarium when in Lincoln Park, and attendance figures for visitors were consistently high. DN-005123.

Boys working on a wood project, 1912.

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Mother sewing while holding a baby on the deck of the sanitarium.

Children and mothers watching a ship from the deck of the sanitarium, July 1916.

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A mother poses with a baby as the boy at her side holds a copy of the Chicago Daily News, 1912.

A group of children and mothers gathered around a table, probably writing letters, 1912.

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Aerial view of the second sanitarium building, which opened in June 1914, located on “Picnic Island,� c. 1930. This building still exists and is used by the Chicago Park District. DN-092214.

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The first sanitarium building, built by Chicago architects Burnham and Root, seen from Lincoln Park, November 7, 1903. DN-001421.

The second sanitarium building, seen from Lincoln Park, c. 1930. DN-092209.

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A child poses with an American flag, 1908. DN-008337.

The Chicago Daily News boasted that the sanitarium’s kitchen featured “refrigerators, filters, graduates, thermometers, milk testers and other necessary utensils in preparing the food for babies,� November 7, 1902. DN-001422.

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Women prepare sandwiches in the sanitarium’s kitchen. Sandwiches and milk were served free of charge four times a day to mothers and their children. DN-081332.

Sanitarium medical staff testing milk, c. 1925.

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The sanitarium first offered a winter service in 1926. The second building had enclosed but sunny rooms that were used as nurseries. Fifty-one children were admitted during the seven-month season for constant care, while three hundred children went to the sanitarium about once a week. Chicago Daily News Sanitarium

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Babies rest in a crib, probably during winter 1926. Chicago Daily News Sanitarium

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Young women holding babies, August 15, 1913.

Group of children on the deck of the sanitarium, 1912.

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Else and Gabriel Steiner, August 20, 1914. The Steiners were among the few children in these photographs to be identified by name in the Daily News. The newspaper reported that Else had been cured of chorea, a disease associated with rheumatic fever, at the sanitarium the previous summer. Chicago Daily News Sanitarium

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Y E S T E R D AY ’ S C I T Y

The Marseilles of Lake Michigan THEODORE J. KARAMANSKI

C

hicago’s nickname—before the “windy city,” “the city that works,” or “the city with big shoulders”—was the “Queen of the Lakes.” In 1871, more ships arrived in Chicago than in New York, San Francisco, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston, and Mobile combined. The port of Chicago was the entrepot of the Great Lakes and one of the greatest ports in the world. As a port city, Chicago grew to prominence and its maritime industries shaped its nineteenth-century character. Milwaukee and Racine, Green Bay and Muskegon, and other ports of Lake Michigan, while significant in their own right, took a back seat to Chicago’s port in shipping on Lake Michigan. Three-quarters of all cargoes shipped out of Lake Michigan came from the Chicago harbor. Historian James Parton accurately, if rather grandly, captured the nature of this relationship when he referred to Chicago as the “Marseilles of our Mediterranean.” Chicago’s geographic position, where the prairie and the lake meet, shaped the city’s economic destiny. The schooner’s humble maritime technology allowed those opportunities to be realized. Other types of sailing ships frequented the port, but schooners—vessels with two or more masts rigged with sails parallel to the hull of the ship—outnumbered them all. The mast and sail arrangement of the schooner made for a maneuverable vessel that a small crew could man. Although steamboats frequented Chicago after 1833, neither they nor the railroad dislodged schooners from their niche in interstate commodity commerce. Schooners were to nineteenthcentury Chicago what tractor-trailer trucks are to today’s city: ubiquitous, indispensable, and ignored, except when they caused a traffic jam.

This 1864 Louis Kurz lithograph, highlighting pictures of the city’s many ports and schooners, proclaims Chicago to be the “Metropolis of the Northwest.” 40 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

Yesterday’s City | 41

Chicagoans embraced that chaos for half a century. “The blackened waters of the river,” described Frank Norris in his novel The Pit, “disappeared under fleets of tugs, of lake steamers, of lumber barges from Sheboygan and Mackinaw, of grain boats from Duluth, of coal scows that filled the air with impalpable dust, of cumbersome schooners laden with produce, of grimy rowboats dodging the prows and paddles of larger craft, while on all sides, blocking the horizon, red in color and designated by Brobdingnag letters, towered the hump-shouldered elevators.” By the mid- to late 1800s, twenty-seven spans, which pivoted on piers sunk in the center of the river, bridged the busy stream that divided the business district. These swing bridges, designed to facilitate both maritime and pedestrian access to the central city, frustrated both. The bridge piers reduced the already narrow river channel to a needle-eye passage. The bridge’s constant opening and closing maddened the masters of vessels moving up river, and left pedestrians, suddenly cut off from their business across the river, stomping their feet with frustration. On a single day in 1854, twenty-four thousand pedestrians and six thousand teams of horses crossed the Clark Street bridge. Yet during that same day one hundred boats passed under Clark Street and the bridge was open for a total of three hours. Nineteenth-century Chicago stood first and foremost as a schooner port. Chicago’s enduring commodity markets grew from the city’s ability to provide cargoes for sailing ships. The need to manage the flow of scores of ships daily, in and out of the Chicago River, challenged the city’s young infrastructure. Supplying sailors, stevedores, drovers, and railroaders with shelter, refreshment, and entertainment made Chicago the vice capital of the lakes as well. Chicago’s status as a port contributed to the city’s frantic, intense nineteenth-century image. “Here on the shores of Lake Michigan,” wrote a much impressed visitor, “has risen a great and growing city, worthy to bear the title of the Empire City of the West.” The key to the port of Chicago lay in the Chicago River, which Theodore Dreiser praised as “the smallest and busiest river in the world.” Dredging throughout the nineteenth century, along the short main branch of the river and up the north and south forks, increased the port’s ample sheltered dockage. The Chicago River wove its way through the heart of the city: ships could sail right up to grain elevators, lumberyards, or railroad sidings; sailors could make a dash for hundreds of saloons and bordellos, or the YMCA and a complete range of churches. The river was the hub on which life revolved in nineteenth-century Chicago, but moving a hundred or more ships a day in and out of the bustling city invited chaos. 42 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

Ships and grain elevators crowded the Chicago River in 1869 (left). This 1892 view of the Chicago River entrance (below) shows stacks of lumber waiting to be shipped.

Some Chicagoans took foolish risks to avoid bridge delays. It became common for pedestrians to remain on the bridges as they swung open, which reduced their delay somewhat, as they could at least walk to the other end of the bridge while the ships were passing. Lastminute leaps from the street to the turning bridge were a regular part of a nineteenth-century Chicagoan’s commute to work.

In November 1863, these dangerous tactics had tragic results on the Rush Street bridge. A drover moving a herd of cattle to a northside stockyard tried to hurry his beeves on to the span as it swung open for an approaching ship. The bridgetender could have stopped opening the span, but experience had taught him that only moving the bridge away from the street stopped traffic. Unfortunately the cattle, panicked by a tug boat whistle and the moving of the bridge, stampeded to one end of the span. The herd’s weight caused the span to tilt and break in half. The cattle and a handful of terrified pedestrians on the bridge fell into the filthy, cold water. A mad rush to get boards down to the drowning people and rescue boats into the water followed. A young girl, the sister of the reckless cowboy, drowned, and the bridge, valued at fifty thousand dollars, was destroyed. The Chicago City Council struggled to manage the conflict between busy street traffic and a burgeoning port. In 1867, the council established an ordinance that no bridge could be open for more than ten minutes at a Above: Before the fire, the sturdy State Street Bridge boasted brick streets and a C. H. Dupee & Co. butcher stand. Below: A conglomeration of cattle, horses, carriages, and cabs crowded downtown city bridges during rush hours.

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Left: The opening of a bridge, such as the Michigan Avenue Bridge shown here, could tie up traffic considerably, and many pedestrians went to foolish lengths to avoid getting “bridged.” Below: This view of the Madison Street Bridge just after the turn of the century shows the frantic bridge traffic, with carriages and cabs in the middle and pedestrians sticking to the outer walkways, just as they do today. Opposite: Too much traffic— including a herd of frightened cattle—resulted in the collapse of the Rush Street Bridge in 1863.

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time. Bridgekeepers received a large red ball, lowered by a rope, to signal approaching vessels that the span would swing closed. In 1881, “much to the satisfaction of tens of thousands who work down-town every day,” the city council made it unlawful to open a bridge during the morning (6:00–7:00 A.M.) and evening (5:30–6:30 P.M.) rush hours. Another regulation required tugboat smokestacks to be lower than the eighteen-foot clearance afforded by the bridges, so that tugs pulling canal boats or returning from towing sailing ships would not require bridges to open. The volatile tug skippers immediately went on strike. A clever invention, a hinged stack that could be quickly raised or lowered, avoided the possible economic nightmare. All Chicagoans shook their heads knowingly about the frustrations of being “bridged.” Traffic often backed up for a quarter mile. “There was a great deal of scolding on such occasions,” reported a journalist, “and—alas for human nature!—sometimes I fear, a slight degree of profanity.” Still, as late as 1887, Frank Lloyd Wright, fresh off the train from rural Wisconsin, took an unscheduled ride on the Wells Street bridge. He was staring dreamily at the river when: Suddenly the clanging of a bell. The crowd began to run. I wondered why: found myself alone and realized why in time to get off, but stayed on as the bridge swung out with me into the channel and a tug, puffing clouds of steam came pushing along

below pulling an enormous iron grain boat, towing it slowly through the gap. Stood there studying the river-sights in the drizzling rain. . . . Later, I never crossed the river without being charmed by somber beauty. The most loathed sight for a tugboat skipper was the bridgetender’s red-ball signal that the span was about to swing shut. Tug men considered bridgetenders petty tyrants perched atop the spans solely to frustrate their livelihood. Those in the high-profile, high-pay post of bridgetender usually attained their position more as a reward for faithful party service than for temperament, marine background, or sobriety. The Republican Chicago Tribune delighted in portraying a Democratic, usually Irish, bridgetender as the cause of most accidents or traffic delays on the river. During the hard times of the 1890s, Chicago bridgetenders received a lavish $2,700 for eight months’ work. Although the operators of the first swing bridges opened and closed their spans with a hand crank, the tender was relieved of manual labor once the spans were electrified. Journalist Peter Finley Dunne, best known for his colloquial stories about the Bridgeport neighborhood, described the importance of the bridgetender in a May 1897 story: In Archer road the command of the “red bridge” is a matter of infinite concern. There are aldermen and members of the legislature in Archer road, clerks of Yesterday’s City | 45

Above: Before the skyscraper era, grain elevators dominated Chicago’s skyline. Below: In his 1908 report to the Chicago Harbor Commission, George Sikes complained about traffic stand-offs between bridges and boats in the Chicago River.

the courts and deputy sheriffs, but their duties do not affect the daily life of the road. Whereas the commander of the bridge is a person of much consideration, for every citizen sees him day by day; it is part of his routine to chat loftily with the wayfarer, and the children help him to turn the bridge. The cussing between tug men and bridgetenders was legend in nineteenth-century Chicago. “From 9 o’clock until 11 a blue haze hung over the river near the Lake Street bridge as a result of the promiscuous profanity which the captains and sailors exchanged with the bridge-tenders,” recorded the Chicago Daily News in 1893. The bridge’s power system had gone out and a considerable backup of ship traffic resulted. “Pedestrians stood on the bridge and listened in awe to the strange oaths, known only to river men, which the boatmen and bridge-tenders hurled at each other.” The harbormaster reigned as the overlord of the crowded, often chaotic Chicago river port. Usually a veteran sailing master, the harbormaster had the difficult job of keeping traffic moving on the congested river while an assistant took his post atop the lighthouse, which stood at the mouth of the river. When he spotted ships approaching the river mouth, the assistant telegraphed (later telephoned) a request for a tug to a central dispatch office. Meanwhile, the harbormaster patrolled the river, troubleshooting. At congested points such as the lumber market, where vessels liked to tie on three or four deep, he would order schooners to go to a less crowded location lest they block the channel. When 46 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

disputes between bridgetenders and tugs escalated, he intervened to their mutual dissatisfaction. The harbormaster towed abandoned and decrepit vessels, which took up space in the river and could sink and impede commerce, and scuttled them in the deep water beyond the breakwater. The weaknesses of Chicago’s port also stood as its strengths. The narrow river that limited the flow of ship traffic wound its way through virtually all parts of the city. The congested river harbor, beset with thirty-seven navigation-inhibiting bridges, resided in the heart of the business district. Bulk cargoes shipped to Chicago required less handling in its makeshift harbor than in many larger natural harbors, because ships sent to Chicago, particularly the adaptable schooners, could use the river to directly access northside distilleries, southside slaughterhouses, or westside lumberyards. On the north branch of the Chicago River, factories and grain elevators lined the banks. Nineteenth-century Chicagoans marveled at these grain towers. Until William LeBaron Jenny invented the skyscraper in 1885, the grain elevators dominated Chicago’s skyline as seventeen hulking brick buildings cast dark shadows over the north side of the city. Visitors from all over the world

came to gawk at the giant vertical bins of grain. Chicago dominated the grain trade, as it did the lumber business, because its port brought railroad and maritime transportation together. By the 1890s, the larger elevators unloaded hundreds of railroad cars per day. In a single hour, a schooner could load three hundred thousand bushels of grain. Throughout the navigation season, grain left Chicago by both train and ship. Nonetheless, when winter closed the lakes for the year, the holds of the hundreds of ships wintering in the river had to be used as reserve storage for the grain elevators’ surplus. Along with trade, Chicago’s busy river port also invited vice. This city was a popular port-of-call for Great Lakes sailors, and its popularity stemmed from its wide variety of less-than-respectable offerings. As early as the 1860s, the city housed more than two hundred brothels and thousands of streetwalkers. The large number of people passing through the city at any one time sustained vice on this scale, with businessmen in the city’s best downtown hotels; drummers and farmers in town to secure supplies before quickly returning to the countryside; railroad men operating the trains or repairing the track; canal boat crews; and armies of the Midwest’s seasonal labor force: harvest hands, lumberjacks, and packinghouse workers.

This engraving from an 1857 issue of Chicago magazine displays a schooner in front of Munger & Armour’s Grain Warehouse at the north end of the river, between Franklin and Wells Streets. A schooner could load three hundred thousand bushels of grain in an hour. Yesterday’s City | 47

Several thousand Lake Michigan sailors based in the city and as many stevedores made up the core group of rough and ready clients for the city’s gamblers, saloonkeepers, and prostitutes. From the notorious “Sands,” Chicago’s first vice district, to the “Levee,” arguably the city’s last true red-light commune, Chicago vice was tied to its river port. Chicago’s wide-open port posed more than a moral threat to incautious sailors. The infamous Micky Finn, an unsavory barman of the Levee who was part pickpocket, part thug, and part publican, developed a special knockout concoction composed of grain alcohol, snuff water, hydrate of chloral, and reportedly morphine. With the help of streetwalkers and party girls, Finn set up sailors and other newly paid men to drink the knockout

Vice prospered in Chicago’s busy river port, as seen in this “Night Scenes” illustration (above) from the 1940 book Gem of the Prairie. Only the bravest would walk through one of Chicago’s red light districts unarmed (above right). Chicago prostitution houses, such as the popular Everleigh Club at 2131 North Dearborn Street (below left and right) thrived during this period.

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potion, making them easy to rob. Dock rats and footpads (robbers on foot) waited in the dark for any sailor foolish enough to conclude his spree alone. Morning found men slumped in the alleyways or all too frequently floating facedown in the river. “Those wharves are the most dangerous places in the world,” complained Captain Fred A. Bailey in 1895. “One doesn’t know the moment when he will be knocked senseless, robbed of all he has on his person, and flung into the river.” Bailey, like many vessel masters, always carried a pistol when on the Chicago docks. Even the police captain charged with protecting the docks along the South Branch observed, “It would be folly and sure death for an unarmed man to venture along the river anywhere between Van Buren and Twenty-second

Chicago citizens protested the vice-ridden river district, as seen in this 1913 City Club Bulletin headline, “Chicago’s Harbor Problem.”

streets.” Police officers would not venture unaccompanied on to the docks at night. In 1883, a Chicago Times reporter described this memorable scene of a midnight tour of the docks: a narrow rotten footway, ill-lighted and unpoliced, the abode of vermin, biped and quadruped. Occasionally a drunken sailor or wharf rat is passed and at rare intervals the solitude is broken by the brawling of some inebriated dock-walloper who is making [the] night hideous in one of the many low doggeries that abound.

Chicago’s policemen (as portrayed in a “Street Types of Chicago Character Study,” above) had their hands full fighting pirates, wharf rats, and river thieves during the vice period. Even police officers would not walk by the docks alone at night.

The reporter “recoiled with an ejaculation of horror” at the discovery of a dead body floating in the water. He referred to climbing the stairs up from the river as returning to “civilization.” Crime along the river rose during the winter. When the navigation season drew to a close, between two and five hundred schooners, steamers, and canal boats tied up in the river and prepared to winter in the port. Sailors Yesterday’s City | 49

Above: Captain Herman Schuenemann (center), c. 1909, sold Christmas trees off of the deck of his ship docked in the harbor. Right: This 1902 Century magazine illustration shows an old boat shop under the Wells Street Bridge. Skippers spent the off season repairing their damaged ships.

stripped sails and sent them to a loft for storage; they secured the rigging below so that they could turn the schooner over to a shipkeeper. Keepers remained particularly vulnerable to riverside thugs as they spent a winter alone on a ship. The numbers of pirates and other wharf rats increased as the seasonal jobs of sailors and stevedores ended. “Look out for river thieves,” the Chicago Inter Ocean warned in November 1876. “We will have from 2,000 to 3,000 idle sailors in Chicago this coming winter and the desperadoes among them, will, without doubt, work the fleet of fine large vessels laid up in the harbor.” A maritime village existed every winter along the frozen Chicago River. Wintering vessels were tied up three and four deep with gangways linking them to the dockside. Postmen delivered mail directly to the ships each day. This community’s residents consisted mainly of shipkeepers, veteran seamen whose job gave them a 50 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

small income, but, more important, saved them from having to shell out money for a boarding house during the winter. Keepers did light chores about the ship, including minor repairs and shoveling snow. Masters who owned their own vessels sometimes moved their families onto the ship for the winter. Heated with a pot-bellied stove, the cabin of a schooner could be a snug, if somewhat cramped, winter home. When the river froze over, adults and children alike took to their skates. Adventurous skaters followed the iced river as far west as Riverside, ten miles away. The less youthful would gather around the stove to read newspapers or share checkers, cards, songs, and stories. The annual sale of Christmas trees, from the decks of the last schooners to tie up for the winter, brought Chicago’s terrestrial and maritime residents together. During the winter, many unemployed sailors headed north to the lumber camps of Michigan and Wisconsin. Men with carpentry skills found work in Chicago’s thriving shipyards. The shipyards resounded with the bang of caulking hammers throughout the winter as older vessels were repaired and new commissions executed. In the depths of winter, the shipyards took advantage of the numerous unemployed in the city by paying their carpenters and caulkers a modest wage ($1.75 per day in 1861). As outdoor work increased in February and March, the wages of skilled ship workers rose (to $2 a day and higher in 1861). The Miller Brothers Shipyard led Chicago’s shipbuilding industry during the schooner era. Located on the North Branch of the Chicago River, just above the Chicago Avenue bridge, Miller Brothers had the largest dry-dock in the harbor during the 1860s and 1870s, and frequently had two ships on the stocks at the same time. The company built propellers, tugs, and schooners. Smaller shipyards dotted the banks of north and south branches of the river, many merely undertaking ship repair, others specializing in canal and small boat construction. John Wesley Powell purchased the hardy boats that descended the Colorado River from one such Chicago yard. Even more important than the dry docks and shipbuilders were the ship chandleries. Gilbert Hubbard & Company dominated the ship supply business in Chicago with their stock of sails, cordage, and flags, the largest on Lake Michigan. Many ships built in Wisconsin or Michigan came to Chicago to be fitted out with Gilbert Hubbard’s rope, canvas, tackle blocks and anchors. Chicago’s river port also boasted a substantial maritime hospital. In an early example of government health care, Congress created the United States Marine Hospital Service in 1798. Port duties and a special tax paid by seamen provided a system of medical care for sailors. Larger ports had actual hospitals run by the Marine Hospital Service; in lesser ports the service was arranged with preferred private care providers.

Chicago’s first Marine Hospital was established in 1852 at the site of the old Fort Dearborn. As grain elevators and warehouses began to crowd along the river and the need for a larger facility became obvious, the Marine Hospital moved to then-suburban Lakeview. For a good portion of the nineteenth century, the Marine Hospital was the best of the handful of medical institutions in the city. A sailor in search of spiritual repair could find various safe harbors on the river. The Seamen’s Mission, which began in the 1840s, was replaced by an actual Mariner’s Church for Chicago sailors in the 1860s. Capt. Henry Bundy directed revivals from the deck of his evangelical schooner Glad Tidings at Wolf’s Point, where he was sure to attract a crowd and distribute bibles and advice. Another popular benevolent institution in the port was the hospital ship, an old schooner rented for the summer as a supervised playground for inner-city children. During the summer, between ten and fifteen thousand children would visit the ship in the 1870s and 1880s. Toward the turn of the century, despite its massive trade activity and its riverfront community, the port of Chicago became a victim of its own success. The city that had grown up at the nexus of rail yards and wharves now had no room for either in the central business district. Urban planners, commuters, and many of the business community wanted to see freight traffic banished from the heart of Chicago. Mayor DeWitt Cregier, a member of the Democratic machine, called for filling in the river. Carter Harrison seconded him. Most Chicagoans, a federal official noted, regarded the Chicago River, “as a nuisance to be abated.” For a time the city’s maritime interests found an ally in the United States Army Corps of Engineers. The chief engineer told Congress that the Chicago River was “the most important navigable stream of its length in the world.” The engineers succeeded in widening and deepening the navigation channel, even forcing the haughty railroads to remove their obstructions to shipping. But the army could not turn back the clock for Chicago’s downtown harbor. In 1889, the harbor handled eleven million tons of cargo, ranking Chicago with London, Hamburg, and New York as one of the greatest ports in the world. But Chicago’s port never reached this height again. Although the cramped Chicago River could be adapted to the comings and goings of the small sailing ships, no amount of improvements by the Corps of Engineers could make it an effective port for the new steel vessels that were beginning to dominate the lakes. These five-hundred-feet long steel cargo vessels could not navigate the inner harbor, as they were also sixty feet wide. To take even a three-hundred-foot vessel up the river as far as the grain elevators at Twenty-second Street required tugboat charges that equaled one-half the cost of transporting the cargo from Chicago to Buffalo. Yesterday’s City | 51

Above: When Daniel Burnham’s Plan of Chicago called for beachfronts instead of red light districts, Chicagoans clamored to get rid of the vice-ridden harbor. Kaufmann & Fabry photograph of Oak Street Beach, 1922. Below: Sailors eventually opted for the wider Calumet River over the crowded Chicago River. Bird’s eye View of East Side and Calumet River, South Chicago.

By the early 1900s, even Chicago’s politicians had become alarmed at the decline of the port. “It is a notorious fact,” intoned Mayor Fred Busse, “that the lake commerce of Chicago, once the pride and boast of this city, has been steadily decreasing for a number of years,” and in 1912, he appointed a commission to investigate the matter. One proposal called for a seven-hundred-foot wide canal from the forks of the Chicago River to Western Avenue and a link to the Sanitary and Ship Canal. Other commission members favored building a commercial harbor along the lakefront. While the Harbor Commission produced its recommendations, Daniel Burnham was preparing his gleaming beaux arts vision of Chicago. For civic leaders and citizens alike, the choice between the chaos and congestion of maritime commerce and the prospect of miles of lakefront parks was an easy one. 52 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

The Burnham Plan sealed the fate of Chicago’s downtown port. During the late 1880s, the Army Corps of Engineers improved the Calumet River, making it more attractive to navigation by lake-going vessels. South Chicago Harbor, near the Illinois-Indiana state line, became the scene of a tremendous building boom in the 1890s. This harbor was built on the “big shoulders” bulk cargoes that had once characterized Chicago—grain, coal, and iron ore—while the Chicago River Harbor began a long but steady decline. Passenger ships still steamed into the river, but when the Eastland rolled over in 1915 at the cost of more than eight hundred lives, much of the joy in cruising the lakes went with it. Three years later, Chicagoans bought Christmas trees from the deck of a schooner for the last time. Even this old tie to the past was a fraud, however; by 1917, the trees actually had come to the city by rail, their sale from the schooner a mere marketing ploy. By the early 1900s, the river had gone from congested and dynamic to insipid and still. The gray waters, and perhaps a few gray beards at the mariners hall, alone remembered, as the Grand Haven Times described it, “the merry sound of the ‘Heave-Ho,’ the cranking of the windlass, heaving the heavy anchor, and the shaking of the unfurled canvas in the wind, the stentorian voices of the officers giving their various orders, and the “aye-aye” of the active seamen,” the sounds of a schooner getting ready to leave Chicago and embrace the broad, blue expanse of the lake. When the age of sail ended on Lake Michigan, the Chicago River’s glory as a port waned. The gray water awaited a future generation of Chicagoans to define a new role for the river.

Above: Passenger ships frightened many Chicagoans after the horror of the Eastland Disaster in 1915. Below: Today the Chicago River sees only a fraction of the water traffic it once did. View of Chicago River east over State Street and Wabash Avenue Bridge.

I L LU S T R AT I O N S | 40–41, CHS, ICHi-05769; 42 left CHS, ICHi-03731; 42 below CHS, ICHi-25523; 43 above CHS; 43 below CHS; 44 top CHS, G1987.210; 44 bottom CHS, ICHi19151; 45 CHS; 46 above CHS, ICHi-17111; 46 below CHS, George Sikes, Report to the Chicago Harbor Commission, 1908; 47, CHS, engraving from 1857 Chicago magazine; 48 above left, “Night Scenes from Custom-House Place” from Gem of the Prairie; 48 above right, “Map of One of Chicago’s Red Light Districts, 1893” from Gem of the Prairie; 48 below left, CHS, ICHi00367; 48 below right, CHS, ICHi-0384; 49 left, CHS, ICHi-18333; 49 right, CHS, The City Club Bulletin, Tuesday, December 10, 1913, “Chicago’s Harbor Problem;” 50 above, CHS, DN-6926; 50 right, from The Century magazine: “Chicago’s Great River Harbor” by Elliott Flower, February 1902; 52 top, CHS, ICHi-00122; 52 bottom, CHS, ICHi-30117; 53 above, CHS, ICHi-02034; 53 below, CHS, ICHi-05777. Theodore J. Karamanski is a professor of history at Loyola University Chicago. This article is based on his book Schooner Passage: Sailing Ships and the Lake Michigan Frontier, to be published in December 2000 by Wayne State University Press. Yesterday’s City | 53

M A K I N G H I S T O RY I

Creating a Dance: Interviews with Bruce Graham and Maria Tallchief T I M O T H Y J . G I L F OY L E

F

ew American artists have dominated their respective crafts as architect Bruce Graham and ballerina Maria Tallchief have done. In a city sometimes known as the birthplace of the skyscraper, Graham created the two signature buildings of twentieth-century Chicago: the John Hancock Center (1970) and the Sears Tower (1974). Graham also played influential roles in creating a plethora of other Chicagoland structures: the Inland Steel Building (1958), the United Airlines Office Building in Elk Grove (1962), the Brunswick Building (1965), the Richard J. Daley Center (1965), Baxter Travenol Laboratories and Headquarters in Deerfield (1975–85), Three First National Plaza (1981), Madison Plaza (1982), the Gateway Center (1963–83), One Financial Place (1986), the north expansion of McCormick Place Exposition Center (1986), Holy Angels Roman Catholic Church (1990), and the central plan for Dearborn Park (1977–81). The Chicago Chapter of the American Institute of Architects, recognizing the distinctive contribution of Graham’s work, awarded special prizes for five of these projects during his professional career. Many consider Maria Tallchief to be the prima ballerina in American ballet history. Dancing for George Balanchine’s New York City Ballet from 1947 to 1965, she played a leading role in more than twenty ballets. In Firebird (1949), the ballet that became Tallchief’s signature performance, critic Walter Terry wrote that she “gave a performance of historical proportions.” Displaying her dazzling footwork, extreme concentration, and split-second timing, Tallchief danced with the Paris Opera, the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, the Royal Danish Ballet, the Chicago Opera Ballet, and the Chicago Lyric Opera. In 1955, a year after appearing on the cover of Newsweek magazine, she reportedly earned the highest salary in ballet history. In 1965, Tallchief received the Capezio Award, one of the most distinguished honors in American dance.

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Architect Bruce Graham, winner of the 1999 Daniel Burnham Award for Distinction in Architecture, designed Chicago’s two best-known skyscrapers, the John Hancock Center and the Sears Tower.

A prima ballerina and the architect of some of the world’s tallest structures may appear to have little in common. Yet psychologist Havelock Ellis noted that “the art of dancing stands at the source of all the arts that express themselves first in the human person. The art of building, or architecture, is the beginning of all the arts that lie outside the person; and in the end they unite.” Graham agrees that architecture is more philosophically compatible with dance than any other art form, as both embody the physical expression of certain convictions and ideologies. “The very fact that you do modern architecture is a search for a vocabulary for your country, your city, and the architecture you’re doing,” argues Graham. More specifically, “architecture is the design of space, both interior and exterior. So it’s much more closely related to dance than it is to painting or sculpture.” On January 24, 1925, in Fairfax, Oklahoma, Betty Marie Tall Chief was born to Alexander Joseph Tall Chief, an Osage Indian, and Ruth Mary Porter, a Kansan of Scotch-Irish descent. Tallchief’s mother quickly recognized that both Tallchief and her younger sister Marjorie (who also became a professional ballerina) had musical abilities. “I think I was probably three or four when I started studying the piano,” remembers Tallchief. “It turned out I had absolute pitch, so everybody in Fairfax, Oklahoma, thought I was the new Mozart coming along. We used to spend the summers in Manitou, Colorado, outside of Colorado Springs, and I had my first dancing lesson in the basement of the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. This tall, not very attractive woman, trying to tell me to turn my feet out and put my hands a certain way. All I could do was just put my eyes on the floor because I was just so shy and so embarrassed.” Tallchief’s family moved to Los Angeles in 1933. “Mother saw the opportunity for me to study with a better teacher for the piano and to try to find a good teacher for ballet.” A local druggist directed Tallchief’s mother to the dance studio of Ernest Belcher. While living in Beverly Hills, Tallchief attended Belcher’s studio for several years. Then Bronislava Nijinska accepted Tallchief into her studio. Nijinska, the sister of famed Russian dancer and choreographer Vaslav Nijinsky, had moved to Los Angeles to open a ballet school. Says Tallchief of her five years under Nijinska’s direction: “It was like going to church to enter her classroom.” No one talked, and “when the class would be divided in two groups, instead of walking to the back and fixing your shoes, you walked to the side. Other people came forward to do the step and you watched. She always would point to her eyes—you must look to see everything.” Tallchief’s mother imposed an equally rigorous regimen on both her daughters. They began each day at 6 A.M. and played the piano for an hour. After school, they had another hour of piano practice before going to ballet rehearsal from 5:00 to 6:30 P.M. “Years later, people would say, ‘Oh, my goodness! You had such a dreadful childhood,’” remarks Tallchief. “In retrospect, I don’t regret anything that I learned. I’m grateful to my mother. Many years later when my daughter was born, my mother—who was here in Chicago at

Many consider Maria Tallchief, winner of the 1999 Theodore Thomas History Maker Award for Distinction in the Performing Arts, the prima ballerina in American ballet history.

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the time—said to me, ‘Now, you know that you cannot raise her the way you were raised.’ Perhaps life was different then. The rules were different.” Graduation from Beverly Hills High School in 1942 marked the end of Tallchief’s formal education. She immediately moved to New York City to dance with the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo. A year later, she officially changed her name from “Tall Chief ” to “Tallchief.” During the 1940s, even American audiences expected to see Russian ballet danced by Russian stars, not American. “Americans were just supposed to chew gum and tap dance,” remembers Tallchief. “They’re not supposed to be classical ballet dancers.” Shortly after Tallchief’s arrival in New York, the Ballet Russe hired Nijinska. “She came to me and, once again, pointed to her eyes and told me that I must look at my part and be prepared to dance one day. All of a sudden, the Russians in the company realized Madam Nijinska was favoring me. Then they really hated me. Nijinska in the world of ballet at that time was the supreme of all supremes.” Maria Tallchief began taking dancing lessons at the age of four (above). After many years of training, she landed lead roles in classic ballets such as Swan Lake (left).

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Born in 1925 in La Cumbre, Colombia, near Bogata, to Carroll Stewart Graham and Angelica Gomez de la Torre Bueno, Graham, like Tallchief, had an unconventional childhood. “My father was a bank inspector for Chase Bank,” recalls Graham. “He traveled through Latin America doing that. He met my mother in Arequipa, Peru. They got married there and then he went to Columbia and I was born there.” Shortly thereafter, his father was transferred to Puerto Rico, where Graham was raised. Graham has fond memories of his childhood in Latin America. “Puerto Rico was beautiful. The population then was a little over a million. Today it’s three and a half million. And it was a beautiful island. It is a beautiful island. And we had people from all over the world that lived in Puerto Rico—Germans, British, French.” After Graham’s father died in 1941, Graham left the island to attend the University of Dayton on a scholarship. But World War II interrupted his studies, and from 1943 to 1945, he served in the U.S. Navy in the Pacific theater. Graham jokingly describes his major wartime assignment as fixing “up [an admiral’s] Quonset huts so they looked elegant.” After the war, Graham resumed his education at the University of Pennsylvania on the G.I. Bill and graduated in 1948. Penn’s architecture program emphasized the Beaux Arts styles, but students also learned the principles of modernism, studying the work of the Bauhaus, Corbusier, Picasso, and Miro. When asked if he considered himself a modernist coming out of college, Graham gives an emphatic reply: “Absolutely. Absolutely. Absolutely.” Graham soon came under the influence of Mies van der Rohe in Chicago. “In fact, when I came here, I asked Mies where to go to work,” remembers Graham. “He was a very, very nice guy, misunderstood by a lot of people. He was short speaking in English because he was ashamed of his English. Whenever some Germans came, he was a blabbermouth. But his character was unbelievable.” van der Rohe encouraged Graham to work at Holabird and Root because, as the elder architect put it, “They’re the only ones who remember how to do permanent buildings.” Graham’s first job in Chicago was with Holabird, Root, and Burgee. Preeminent Chicago architect Mies van der Rohe (left) strongly influenced Graham, and encouraged the young architect to take his first job at Holabird and Root.

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After Graham’s brief tenure at Holabird, he moved to an up-and-coming firm at 100 West Monroe Street—Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM)—in 1952. The firm was founded in 1936 by Nathaniel Owings and Louis Skidmore, who had been one of the designers of the Century of Progress Exposition in Chicago (1933–34). In 1939, structural engineer John Merrill joined the firm. Over the next half-century, SOM evolved into a major, if not the leading, proponent of modernism and the International style of architecture. Architects who worked at SOM’s Chicago office read like a list of luminaries of postwar Chicago architecture: Walter Netsch (1947–79), Harry Weese (1946–47), Myron Goldsmith (1955–83), George Schipporheit (1956), Stanley Tigerman (1957–61), Adrian D. Smith (1967–present), and Graham (1952–90). Several factors contributed to SOM’s rapid ascendancy. The firm hired and included engineers as part of the partnership, a revolutionary idea Graham credits to Owings. Furthermore, SOM boasted a nationwide presence; by 1987, the firm had offices in seven different cities, and each office conducted business independently of the others. “Each office had its own character and personality due to the people that ran it, people that designed in it. And that was the idea,” notes Graham. “In fact, there was no intention of design partners even in one office following a certain mode. They all did different things.” 58 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

Graham soon left Holabird and Root for Skidmore, Owings & Merrill in 1952. This photograph shows the SOM offices that same year.

The nineteen-story Inland Steel Building (1958), Graham’s initial Chicago commission, was the first major Loop high-rise since the Field Building (1934), the first to be erected on steel pilings instead of concrete caissons, and the first to employ sixty-foot steel spans to create an uninterrupted interior. The latter necessitated placing the columns outside the glass wall, thereby exposing the steel and advertising the company’s product. Graham describes the structure employing metaphors of dance: “As you go up the elevator and cross into the building, you can see that you’re going into another waltz. The structure gives people a sense of scale on the outside. You understand with those columns that it’s a clear span, that there are no other columns. Before you come into the building, you can imagine where you’re going. You can see the flow through the space.” Just as Graham’s move to SOM proved to be a key turning point in his career, Tallchief’s introduction to George Balanchine forever changed both her professional and personal life. A Russian emigre and the most influential classical choreographer in American history, Balanchine first collaborated with Tallchief in Song of Norway in 1942. In 1946, despite their twenty-year age difference, they married. Over the next five years, Balanchine created The Four Temperaments, Symphonie Concertante, Symphony in C, Orpheus, Bourree Fantasque, La Valse, Swan Lake, Theme and Variations, Scotch Symphony, and Firebird, each designed to exploit Tallchief’s talents. She remembers that “it was

Graham’s initial Chicago commission was the imposing nineteen-story Inland Steel Building.

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Tallchief’s collaborations with influential choreographer George Balanchine (left) cemented her reputation. “George Balanchine created the Maria Tallchief the world remembers,� stated one dance historian. One of the most memorable results of the Tallchief/Ballanchine pairing was the legendary Firebird (left and opposite).

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an incredibly productive period for him—and certainly for me. But people just didn’t know they were looking at masterpieces—they thought his stuff was awful!” At least one dance historian concluded, “Balanchine created the Maria Tallchief the world remembers.” Although Balanchine and Tallchief divorced in 1951, they continued their professional collaboration. Between 1947 and 1958, Tallchief performed a leading role in numerous Balanchine ballets, including Caracole, Scotch Symphony, The Nutcracker, Allegro Brillante, and The Gounod Symphony. Balanchine’s patron, Lincoln Kirstein, financed the Ballet Society, which became the New York City Ballet Company in 1947. Over the next thirteen years, Tallchief danced as many as eight ballets a week as prima ballerina of the company. Her impressive versatility, stamina, musicality, and unquestioning dedication contributed to her rise as one of the nation’s most popular figures in dance. Tallchief not only received the best roles, but she partnered with many of the leading male dancers of twentieth-century classical ballet: Andre Eglevsky on numerous occasions, Nicholas Magallanes in Orpheus, Erik Bruhn in Miss Julie, and Frank Moncion in Firebird. Although Graham refuses to identify any project as his “best” or “most significant,” the world will remember him as the chief architect of the John Hancock Center and the Sears Tower, two of the three tallest structures in Chicago (the Amoco Building is nine feet taller than the Hancock). With the Hancock Center, Graham and his design team created a new kind of structure that accommodated multiple uses while simultaneously expressing the scale and grandeur of a one-hundred-story tower. The original plan envisioned a skyscraper with sloped columns. Graham remembers that when engineer Fazlur Kahn joined the project, he “suggested that if we used the diagonals, it would be cheaper.” The diagonal bracing allowed builders to use less than thirty pounds of steel per square foot of flooring, equal to what was then used in towers half the height of the Hancock Center. Graham adds, “I thought it was a great idea because it would express the fact that it is a taller building than usual. You wouldn’t put those diagonals on a twenty-story building.” The Hancock ultimately included residential units (still the highest such units in the world), retail and office space, and parking, creating an “encapsulated neighborhood”; residents could live, work, and shop without ever leaving the building. Graham further emphasizes the functionality of Hancock’s form: “The Hancock slopes because you have different uses, and these uses require different spans. Even in the apartments, I put all the efficiency apartments down first because they’re the deepest since they have no bedrooms, then the one-bedroom apartments and then the two- and three-bedroom apartments, and then the largest apartments on top. And that’s an expression of space.” The Sears Tower presented considerably different challenges for Graham. A football field taller than the Empire State Building and one hundred feet higher than the World Trade Center (both in New York), Sears was the world’s tallest building. Graham remembers that Sears officials intended to rent the Making History | 61

lower floors for the purposes of generating additional revenue, which required all the lower floors of the structure to be the same size, eliminating the possibility of sloping the four sides as in the Hancock. “So we tried a number of schemes,” recollects Graham. “One, a split building—two buildings with a bridge across it. Then finally this scheme which I thought of when I was having lunch with Faz [Fazlur Kahn]: I pulled out my cigarettes and said, ‘Faz, why don’t we have a whole bunch of tubes?’ And he looked at it and he said, ‘That’s a great idea!’ So we clustered the tubes.” The original plan for the Sears Tower included fifteen tubes. “There were three others attached by three more that were to be a hotel,” claims Graham. But “Sears backed away from the idea of a hotel—after we had started construction. That’s why the building’s over to the side [of the block]. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have put it on the side.” Graham admits that the Sears Tower was a sharp departure in size from earlier structures like Inland Steel. In fact, Graham points out that “the top tube [of the Sears Tower] is the size of the Inland Steel Building.” Although Graham gets credit for the tallest buildings in Chicago, he attributes their design to the various teams of architects and engineers who worked on the projects. “At the beginning of SOM, when I was there, none of us would take credit for the building,” remembers Graham. “We refused to do that. But finally, people started to push. Architects were bowing even when bows were not required. So finally, SOM changed the policy. . . . The managing partner for the project, the design partner for the project, the engineers, the project managers—we listed them all. And that unfortunately isn’t being done any more.” 62 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

This early model of John Hancock Center (above) showcases the innovative “diagonal” design Graham created. In the actual building, the effect is even more impressive (above left).

Graham believes this team philosophy partly explains SOM’s success. “There isn’t a chief. There isn’t one guy. . . . There’s a partners committee and a chairman.” Graham sarcastically admits, “I called myself ‘janitor of the committee.’” Teams under the leadership of select partners organized projects in each office, so SOM’s offices had a less hierarchical structure than their competitors did. “It was a more intimate relationship with clients,” insists Graham. “You just cannot go around and do big projects and say, ‘Well, I did it all.’ That’s baloney! Absolute baloney. Impossible!” Graham’s success with the Hancock Center and Sears Tower translated into even larger projects in his final years at SOM. He played key roles in some of the world’s largest development plans at the end of the twentieth century, notably the King’s Cross Master Plan (1987–88), the Bishopsgate Project (1988–92), and the Canary Wharf Master Plan (1988), all in Great Britain. In Chicago, Graham served as the president and director of the Central Area Committee, which was active in developing the master plan for Dearborn Park. Graham recognizes the unique position he filled, claiming that Chicago was “probably the only city that would take the top businessmen in the city and elect an architect president. That wouldn’t happen in New York, Houston, Los Angeles, or anywhere else.” By the time Graham left SOM in 1990, at least one contemporary described the work of Graham and SOM as “indistinguishable.” In addition to tall buildings and mammoth development projects, Graham designed his own house in the Lincoln Park neighborhood at 2215 North Cleveland. Graham’s home, a courtyard house, suits a densely populated city “because it gives the family a sense of space. Once my children came in through that gate, the city disappeared.” In 1966, Graham had a new neighbor not far from his Cleveland Street home. Upon her formal retirement in 1966, Tallchief moved to Chicago and lived on East Scott Street. A decade earlier, she had married Henry “Buzz” Paschen Jr., a rising executive of Paschen Contractors, which had built some of Chicago’s biggest projects, including the extension of Lake Shore Drive, renovation of Navy Pier, the Deep Tunnel, the Dirksen Federal Building, and the McCormick Place expansion. Although their daughter Elise was born in 1959, the two lived apart—Paschen in Chicago and Tallchief in New York and Europe—for much of their first decade of marriage. Tallchief admits that upon arriving in Chicago, “I was appalled at the quality of dance teachers in Chicago and the lack of arts education in the schools.” So when Carol Fox of the Lyric Opera asked her, “Would you be willing to come down to the Opera House? I’m starting a school for young apprentice singers to eventually will go into the Lyric Opera or they can go now in smaller parts. But I’d like for them to learn how to move,” Tallchief agreed. But, she remembers,

Above: Graham (left) credits collaboration with engineer Fazlur Kahn (right) for some of the most inventive design elements in his buildings.

As artistic director of the Chicago City Ballet, Tallchief extended her ballet legacy to a new generation. Choreographer Paul Mejia (below) rehearses a CCB student for a 1982 performance of Cinderella.

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Left: Initial construction begins for Graham’s Sears Tower at Franklin Street and Jackson Boulevard, 1971. Above: The Sears Tower’s final construction phase.

“Out of the blue, they were going to do an opera that had a ballet in it. Obviously, it must have been a French opera because those were the ones that had the ballets in it. So I did what I said I would never do—I created an instant ballet company. We had auditions. And I must say, there was some great talent there.” Tallchief suddenly and unexpectedly became the ballet director at the Lyric Opera Ballet School, serving from 1974 to 1980 when the school lost its funding. At that point, the school separated from the Lyric Opera to become an independent organization—the Chicago City Ballet. Tallchief vividly remembers, “By that time, Buzzy’s construction company had bought an old loft building over on West Erie Street. But it had pillars in the middle of it. Buzzy went over with some engineers and they discovered that they could take out those pillars to make a great big studio, which we did. We made one big studio and one small studio.” Paschen allowed the Chicago City Ballet to operate rent-free. At the time, Tallchief did not realize how much Balanchine approved of her new career. Now she recognizes that he “really wanted me to teach because he knew how much I had learned.” Tallchief remembers that when Balanchine visited Chicago, “He came over to see the studio and thought it was wonderful.” Tallchief expressly sought to make the Chicago City Ballet into an instrument that reflected the artistic and creative ideals of her mentor, as she proclaimed that her purpose was “to carry on the tradition” of Balanchine. Tallchief ’s choreographer, Paul Mejia, was a former dancer and Balanchine protégé. Even today, she refers to Balanchine as “the godfather of the company.” Tallchief quickly learned a Chicago paradox: while the city historically supported the visual and performing arts, such was not the case with ballet. In a city with world-class art museums, symphonies, architectural firms, poets, and writers, Chicago lacked a world-renowned dance studio and ballet company. In 1984, Tallchief complained that Chicago was “awfully slow” to support ballet. “Chicago seems afraid of ballet,” she stated in one interview. “‘Those men in their tights!’ they say. They still don’t understand that ballet is a major force in Russia, in England, in France . . . in New York. I’m afraid it’s going to take a very long time before Chicago has the respect for dance that New York City has.” 64 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

At the time, Tallchief admitted that fundraising was “our biggest problem and our biggest battle.” Finally, in 1987, financial problems and conflicts among board members resulted in the firing of Mejia over the objections of Tallchief and Paschen. The board hired a new artistic director and pushed out Tallchief, giving her the titles of founder and advisor. Paschen then pulled his support, forcing the board to dissolve the company, which later reformed as Ballet Chicago. In retrospect, Tallchief attributes some of these misunderstandings to the fact that “the history of ballet is not that old in America.” Tallchief and Graham each infused their respective crafts with new and sometimes democratic sensibilities. “We didn’t have that much of a tradition” in American ballet until Balanchine, Tallchief insists. “He took the American way of moving, and our spirit and our way of being and our way of listening to the music and reacting to the music.” By successfully interpreting Balanchine’s vision and performing his works for thousands in her inimitable style, Maria Tallchief became the preeminent American ballerina, bringing this tremendous art form to the people. Similarly, Graham believes that a misunderstood element of Chicago’s architectural legacy is its democratic ethos. “Most New York buildings are sculpture. They don’t have any sense of space. The idea in modern architecture is to express that space so the people understand it.” Chicago, therefore, has a distinctive character. “This is what I would call a democratically formed city,” believes Graham. “The grid means all spaces are equal. That’s not true in Paris. Not true in Berlin. It’s not true in any of the imperial cities. So that search for creating what I call ‘a dance’ is what tells you what’s a good architect and what’s a bad architect. I’ll never forget [hearing] that the taxi drivers loved the Hancock Building best. That’s exactly what I want. I want them to understand it.” Graham clearly brought his art to the people as well.

The 1999 Making History award honorees: (left to right) Bruce Graham, Maria Tallchief, John Bryan, and Newton Minow. Timothy J. Gilfoyle teaches American history at Loyola University Chicago and is the author of City of Eros: New York City, Prostitution, and the Commercialization of Sex, 1790–1920 (W.W. Norton, 1992).

F O R F U RT H E R R E A D I N G | The best introductions to Bruce Graham’s designs are Stanley Tigerman, ed., Bruce Graham of SOM (New York: Rizzoli, 1989); and John Zukowsky, ed., Chicago Architecture, 1923–93: Reconfiguration of an American Metropolis (Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago, 1993). The influence of SOM is examined in Christopher Woodward, Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1970); and Carol Herselle Krinsky, Gordon Bunshaft of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (New York: Architectural History Foundation, 1988). Maria Tallchief’s autobiography, written with Larry Kaplan, is Maria Tallchief: America’s Prima Ballerina (New York: Henry Holt, 1997). Other biographies include Olga Maynard, Bird of Fire: The Story of Maria Tallchief (New York, 1961); E. Meyers, Maria Tallchief (New York, 1966); Joan Kufrin, “The Dancer: Maria Tallchief,” in Kufrin, Uncommon Women (Piscataway, N.J.: New Century, 1981, 3–16); and Lili Cockerille Livingston, America’s Indian Ballerinas (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997). I L LU S T R AT I O N S | 54, courtesy of Skidmore, Ownings, and Merrill; 55, courtesy of Maria Tallchief; 56 left and right, courtesy of Maria Tallchief; 57, CHS, HB-23200; 58, CHS, HB-14925-B; 59, CHS; 60 top, courtesy of Maria Tallchief; 60 bottom, CHS, Civic Opera House Ballet Program, April 1951; 61, courtesy of Maria Tallchief; 62 left, CHS; 62 right, CHS, Gift of Department of Public Works, City of Chicago; 63 above, courtesy of Skidmore, Ownings, and Merrill; 63 below, CHS, from To the Pointe Fall 1982; 64 left and right, CHS; Making History | 65

Index to Volume 27 This index includes author, title, and subject entries. Illustrations are indicated in italics. If a subject is illustrated and discussed on the same page, the illustration is not separately indicated.

A Adams, John, 1: 3 Adams, Rosemary K., “From the Editor,” 1: 3; 2: 3; 3: 3 Addams, Jane, 1: 15; 3:7 Adler, Liebman, 1: 10 African-American Institute, 2: 71 African Americans in baseball, 2: 40, 46–47, 48–50, 53, 55, 56, 59 and birth of gospel music, 2: 22–37 women in music, 2: 60, 63–64, 66–69, 71–72 at the World’s Columbian Exposition, 1: 27–43 African Diaspora International Visitors Center, 2: 71 African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church, 2: 60 Afro-Arts Bazaar, 2: 71 Alger, Horatio, 1: 65 Alger, Horatio, Association, 1: 65 Allegro Brillante (ballet), 3: 61 Altrock, Nick, 2: 52 American Antiquarian Society, 1: 65 American Giants, 2: 57 American Institute of Architects, 3: 54 American League (Baseball), 2: 50 American Medical Association (AMA), 2: 4 convention of, in Philadelphia, 2: 10 women as delegates to, 2: 10 American Negro Press, 2: 64 American Social Hygiene Association, 3: 9 American Society for Environmental History, 1: 65, 68 American Society of Superintendents of Training Schools for Nurses, 2: 13 Amoco Building, 3: 61 Anderlik, Jack, 1: 61 Anderson, Dave, 2: 72 Andreas, A. T., 1: 4 Anson, Andrian “Cap,” 2: 53, 55 Anson’s Colts, 2: 53, 55 Anti-Semitism, 1: 15, 2: 62 Aon Corporation, 1: 61, 65, 66, 69 Apollo Theater, 2: 63 Architecture Burnham Plan in, 3: 52–53 influence of Mies van der Rohe, 3: 57 interview with Bruce Graham, 3: 54–65 Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM) in, 3: 57–59, 62–63 skyscrapers in, 3: 47, 61–63, 64 at World’s Columbian Exposition, 1: 31, 40 Arensberg, George, 1: 46, 50, 52, 53 Arensberg Wager, 1: 46 Arnold, C. D., 1: 42 Arrington, Russell, 1: 70 Ashland Park, 2: 50 Associated Jewish Charities (AJC), 1: 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 23, 24 Associated Negro Press (ANP), 2: 63 Astaire, Fred, 2: 64 Atlanta, 2: 24–25 Atlantic Monthly, 1: 43 Auburn Park, 2: 49 Augustana Hospital, 2: 17 Austin & Stone’s Dime Museum, 1: 53 Averbuch, Lazurus, 3: 17

Ballet: interview with Maria Tallchief, 3: 54–65 Ballet Chicago, 3: 65 Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, 3: 54, 56 Ballet Society, 3: 61 Baltimore Jewish Times, 1: 25 Bancroft Prize, 1: 68 Barber, Red, 2: 69 Barnes, William C., 1: 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53 Barnett, Claude, 2: 63, 64, 67 Barnett, Etta Moten. See Moten, Etta Barnett, Ferdinand, 1: 27–28, 29, 43 Barnum, P. T., 1: 45, 47 Barrelhouse Tom. See Dorsey, Thomas Andrew Baseball and the Civil War, 2: 39–40 golden age of Chicago, 2: 38–59 Bates, Mary, 2: 13 Battle of Vertieres (painting), 1: 39 Baxter Travenol Laboratories (Deerfield, Illinois), 3: 54 Belcher, Ernest, 3: 55 Bell, John, 1: 46 Bennett College of Eclectic Medicine and Surgery, 2: 9 Benton Harbor, Michigan, 1: 15 Berkeley, Busby, 2: 64 Berkman, Alexander, 3: 17 Bethune, Mary McLeod, 2: 63 Blackwell, Elizabeth, 2: 5 Blackwell, Emily, 2: 5, 6 Blondell, Joan, 2: 64 Blue Stockings, 2: 40 B’nai B’rith, 1: 7, 9, 15 Board of Lady Managers, 1: 27 Bogue, Allen, 1: 57 Bork, Robert, 1: 66 Boston Braves, 2: 52 Bourree Fantasque (ballet), 3: 59 Bowles House of Music, 2: 35 Boys’ League, 2: 45 Bradenburg’s Ninth and Arch Street Museum, 1: 53 Brain, Davey, 2: 52 Breakstone, Benjamin, 1: 19 Bregstone, Philip, 1: 16, 20; 3:4–5 The Bride Comes Home (movie), 2: 64 Bridges over the Chicago River, 3: 42–46, 44 Bridgetenders, 3: 43, 45–46 Brown, Anne, 2: 68 Brown, Anne Wiggins, 2: 67 Brown, Hallie, 1: 43 Brown, Mordecai “Three-Fingered,” 2: 53 Bruhn, Erik, 3: 61 Brunvand, Jan Harold, 3: 3 Brunswich Building, 3: 54 Bryan, John, 3: 65 Bundy, Henry, 3: 51 Burnham, Daniel, 3: 52 Burnham Plan, 3: 52–53 Burnham, Daniel, Award for Distinction in Architecture, 3: 54 Burton, Benedict, 1: 31 Burton, Phillip, 1: 62 Busse, Fred, 3: 52 Byford, William H., 2: 6

Bailey, Fred A., 3: 49 Baker Field, 2: 62 Balanchine, George, 3: 54, 59–61, 64, 65 Ballard, Barbara J., “A People without a Nation,” 1: 27–43

“Cabin at the Crossroads” (radio program), 2: 64 Callahan, Jimmy, 2: 50, 51, 52, 53, 57 Calumet River, 3: 53 Camp CHI, 3: 18

B

66 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

C

Canton, Ohio, 2: 69 Capezio Award, 3: 54 Caracole (ballet), 3: 61 Caravans, 2: 35 “Carioca” (song), 2: 64 Carter, Jimmy, 1: 63 Catholic Foresters, 2: 49 Cellu-Craft Products, 2: 71 Century of Progress Exposition in Chicago, 3: 58 Chadbourne Residential College, 1: 70 Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England (Cronon), 1: 65 Chicago, University of, 1: 56; 70 Chicago Amateur League, 2: 40 Chicago American, 2: 63 Chicago and Its Jews: A Cultural History (Bregstone), 3: 4 Chicago Avenue Bridge, 3: 51 Chicago Bears, 2: 60, 64, 65, 69–72 Chicago Board of Education, 3: 6 Chicago Bulls, 2: 69 Chicago City Ballet, 3: 64 Chicago City Council, establishment of ordinances over opening of bridges, 3: 43, 45 Chicago City League, 2: 40, 44, 45, 48, 50, 55 Chicago Congress on Africa, 1: 37 Chicago Cubs, 2: 39, 40, 50, 52, 53, 55, 56 Chicago Daily News, 1:48; 2: 64; 3:46 Fresh-Air Fund, 3: 21, 22, 24 opening of sanitarium by, 3: 21–39 Chicago Daily Tribune, 2: 15 Chicago Evening Journal, 1: 48, 50, 51 Chicago Federation of Labor, 3: 17 Chicago Giants, 2: 57 Chicago Hebrew Institute (CHI), 3: 4–19 Chicago Historical Society, 2: 49, 60 Chicago Daily News negative collection, 3: 22, 23–39 Chicago Inter Ocean. See Inter Ocean Chicago League, 2: 56, 57 Chicago Lyric Opera, 3: 54 Chicago Medical College, 2: 6, 9 admission of women to, 2: 5 Chicago National League, 2: 53 Chicago Opera Ballet, 3: 54 Chicago Park District, 3: 21, 30 Chicago River, 3: 47, 50, 53 bridges over, 3: 42–46, 44 crime along, 3: 42, 47, 48–50 decline of, as harbor, 3: 47, 53 Eastland disaster in, 3: 53 lumber for shipping on, 3: 42 ships and grain elevators on, 3: 42 Chicago Times, 1: 35; 3: 49 Chicago Tribune, 1: 47–50, 52, 53; 2: 45, 56, 69, 72; 3: 45 Heartland Prize of, 1: 68 Chicago Union Giants, 2: 46–47, 48, 49 Chicago Urban League, 2: 71 Chicago Wesley Memorial Hospital, 2: 21 Chicago White Sox, 2: 39, 50, 52, 53, 57 Chicago Women’s Club, 2: 10, 13 Children, health care for tenament, 3: 21–39 Children’s Aid of the Mount Sinai Hospital, 1: 23 Church Women United of Greater Chicago, 2: 71 Cincinnati Enquirer, 1: 46, 53 City Club Bulletin, 3: 49 City League, 2: 49, 59. See also Chicago City League City of Eros: New York City, Prostitution, and the Commercialization of Sex (Gilfoyle), 3: 65 Civil rights issues, 1: 58–59 Civil War, baseball during, 2: 39–40 Clark, Charles R., 1: 16 Clark Street, 1: 4, 45 Clark Street Bridge, 3: 42 “A Climatic Change” (cartoon), 1: 35 Cochrane, John, 1: 13 Colbert, Claudette, 2: 64 Cole, Harry, 1: 46 Colored World’s Series, 2: 49

Columbia Giants, 2: 49 Columbia University, 2: 62 Combined Insurance Corporation, 1: 65, 66 Comiskey, Charles, 2: 50 Comiskey Park, 2: 57, 58 Committee on the Grading of Nursing Schools, 2: 20 Congress of Industrial Organizations, 1: 58 Congress on Africa, 1: 38 Continental Casualty (CNA), 1: 61 Cook County Hospital, 2: 10, 11, 13 Cooper, Anna Julia, 1: 37 Coppin, Fannie Jackson, 1: 37 Courthouse Dome, 1: 8 Crain’s, 1: 54 “Creating a Dance: Interviews with Bruce Graham and Maria Tallchief,” article by Timothy J. Gilfoyle, 3: 54–65 Creevy, William, 1: 47, 48, 50 Cregier, DeWitt, 3: 51 Crerar, John, 2: 12 Crime, along Chicago River, 3: 42, 47–50 Cronon, William career of, 1: 65, 67–69 education of, 1: 65 interview with, 1: 54–72 success of, 1: 65 Crummell, Alexander, 1: 43 Cuban Giants, 2: 46–47, 49 Cullen, Ida, 2: 71 Cusick, Nancy, 1: 70

D

Dahomeans of West Africa, 1: 31 Dahomey Village, 1: 33, 34, 35 Daily Inter Ocean. See Inter Ocean Daily Jewish Courier, 1: 13, 16, 19, 20, 21 Daley, Richard J., Center, 3: 54 Daley, Richard M., 1: 59 Darwin, Charles, 2: 9 Davis, J. R., 1: 46, 47, 53 Davis, James, 1: 23 Dearborn Park, 3: 54 Deep Tunnel, 3: 63 “De Glory Road” (song), 2: 64, 66 DeJarnatt, Clinton “The Kid,” 1: 48, 50, 52 DeLee, Joseph B., 1: 4, 7 Denver Grizzlies, 2: 53 Dime museums, 1: 45–48, 50, 52, 53 Dirksen Federal Building, 3: 63 Disney, Walt, 3: 3 Distinguished American Award, 1: 65 Ditka, Mike, 2: 61 Diversey Harbor, 3: 22 Dorsey, Etta Plant, 2: 24 Dorsey, Nettie (Harper), 2: 27 Dorsey, Thomas Andrew, 2: 22–37 quartet of, 2: 30 Dorsey House of Music, 2: 28, 35 Douglas Park, 1: 22 Douglass, Frederick, 1: 27, 28, 29, 34, 38–40, 43 Dreiser, Theodore, 3: 42 Duguid, Alexander, 1: 53 Duke University, 1: 70 Dunbar, Paul Laurence, 1: 40, 43 Dunne, Peter Finley, 3: 45–46 Dupee, C. H., & Co., 3: 43 DuSable Museum, 2: 71

E

Eastland disaster, 3: 53 Eclectics, 2: 8 Edgar, Jim, 1: 70 Edwards, Don, 1: 62 Eglevsky, Andre, 3: 61 Ellis, Havelock, 3: 55 Emancipation Proclamation, 1: 29 Empire City of the West, 3: 42 Empire State Building, 3: 61

Index to volume 27 | 67

Environmental history, 1: 56–57, 64, 65, 67–69 Esmark, 1: 65 Evening Mail, 1: 47, 48, 50, 51 Everleigh Club, 3: 48

F

Faithful, Emily, 2: 9 Fannie Mae candy, 1: 3 Fast and Furious (musical), 2: 63 Feathers, Bettie, 2: 65 Federal Aviation Authority, 1: 66 Federated Jewish Charities, 3: 6 Federated Orthodox Jewish Charities, 1: 19–21, 23, 24 Field Building, 3: 59 Finn, Micky, 3: 48 Firebird (ballet), 3: 54, 59, 60, 61 First Chicago Bank, 1: 61, 65 Fiske Jubilee Singers, 1: 43 Flower, Lucy, 2: 13 Flying Down to Rio (movie), 2: 64 Foley, Red, 2: 36 Football, 2: 64–66 Football Hall of Fame, 2: 69 Forest History Society, 1: 68 Fort Dearborn, 3: 51 Fortnightly Club, 2: 10 Foster, Andrew “Rube,” 2: 53, 55, 57 The Four Temperaments (ballet), 3: 59 Fox, Carol, 3: 63 Frango mints, production of, 1: 3 Franklins, 2: 45, 48 Fraser, Chick, 2: 45 Fraser, Donald, 1: 62 Freeport, Illinois, 1: 61 “From the Editor,” column, by Rosemary K. Adams, 1: 3; 2: 3; 3: 3 Frye, Theodore R., 2: 31 Fullerton Avenue, and free sanitarium wagon, 3: 21

G

Galloway, Paul, 2: 72 Garden Citys, 2: 45 Garland, Merrick B., 1: 70 Gateway Center, 3: 54 Gem of the Prairie (Asbury), 3: 48 Geneva Medical College, 2: 5 Georgetown University, 1: 70 Georgia Tom. See Dorsey, Thomas Andrew Gershwin, George, 2: 67, 69 The Ghetto (Wirth), 1: 15 Gilfoyle, Timothy: “Creating a Dance: Interviews with Bruce Graham and Maria Tallchief,” 3: 54–65 “Stars of Chicago: Interviews with Etta Moten Barnettt and Sid Luckman,” 2: 60–72 “Wisconsin’s Finest: Interviews with William Cronon, Abner Mikva, and Patrick Ryan,” 1: 54–72 Gingrich, Newt, 1: 63 Ginsburg, Ruth Bader, 1: 66 Glad Tidings (schooner), 3: 51 Goldberg, Arthur, 1: 58 Gold Diggers of 1933 (movie), 2: 64 “The Golden Age of Chicago Baseball,” Yesterday’s City, by Ray Schmidt, 2: 38–59 Goldmith, Myron, 3: 58 Gospel music, 2: 63 birth of, 2: 22–37 The Gounod Symphony (ballet), 3: 61 Graham, Bruce, 3: 54–65 Graham, Otto, 2: 69 Grain elevators, 3: 47 Grand Haven Times, 3: 53 Grange, Red, 2: 65 Great Chicago Fire of 1871, 2: 9 impact on German Jews, 1: 9, 10 Great Equity Life Insurance Company, 1: 61 Great Lakes, 3: 40 68 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

Great Migration, 2: 26 Green Lake, 1: 55 Griffith Stadium, 2: 69 Grimké, Angelina, 1: 43 Grossman, James, 1: 4 Guggenheim Foundation, 1: 65 Gullen, Countee, 2: 71 Gunther, Charles E., 2: 48, 49 Gunthers, 2: 48, 49, 50, 52, 55–57, 59 Gutenberg, 1: 44 Gutler, Lloyd N., 1: 66

H

Hahnemann, Samuel, 2: 9 Hahnemann Medical College and Hospital, 2: 9 Ladies Aid Society of, 2: 9 Haitian Pavilion, 1: 27, 30, 31, 38, 40, 43 Haitian Rebellion, 1: 38 Halas, George, 2: 64–66 Halas, George, History Maker Award for Distinction in Sports, 2: 61 Halsted Street, and free sanitarium wagon, 3: 21 Hamilton Park, 2: 38–39 Hampton, Isabel Adams, 2: 13, 15 Hancock, John, Center, 3: 54, 61–63 “Happy New Year” (Moten and Barnett holiday card), 2: 67 Harbormasters, 3: 46–47 Harper, Nettie. See Dorsey, Nettie (Harper) Harrison, Carter, 3: 51 Harvard Medical School, 2: 5 Health care hospital ships in providing, 3: 51 for indigent women and children, 2: 6; 9 for Jewish American immigrants, 3: 9–13 Marine Hospital Service provision of, 3: 51 Michael Reese and Mount Sinai hospitals in, 1: 4–25 provision of home, 2: 12 role of women in, at turn of century, 2: 4–21 for tenament children, 3: 21–39 for tuberculosis, 1: 12 Hebrew Sheltering and Immigrant Aid Society, 1: 19 Heisman Trophy, 2: 63 Hershey, Milton Snavely, 1: 3 Hess, Julius, 1: 19 Heyward, DuBose, 2: 67 Historical Statement of the Jewish Federation Movement in Chicago, 1: 20 History of the Jews of Chicago (Meites), 3: 5–6 Hoey, Clyde R., 2: 67 Holabird, Root, and Burgee, 3: 57–58 Holland, Samuel, 3: 17 Holt, Nora, 2: 64 Holy Angels Roman Catholic Church, 3: 54 Holy Cross, 2: 72 Homeopathy, 2: 8–9 Horwich, Bernard, 1: 19, 20 Howells, William Dean, 1: 43 Hubbard, Gilbert, & Company, 3: 51 Hudson, Joseph M., 1: 47, 48, 50, 52 Hughes, Langston, 2: 63 Hughes, “Long” Tom, 2: 50, 52 Hull-House, 3: 7 Hunt, Harriet, 2: 5 Hunter, Rollings Burdick, 1: 65 Hurston, Zora Neale, 2: 63 Huxley, Thomas, 2: 9 Hyde Park, 1: 25 Hydropathy, 2: 8 Hydrophobia, 2: 12 Hyppolite, Florvil, 1: 27, 38–39, 40 Hyppolite, Hector, 1: 39

I

“I Do, Don’t You” (song by Dorsey), 2: 35 Ihnat, Gwen, “That’s Good News! Chicago and the Birth of Gospel Music,” 2: 22–37 Illinois Hospital Association, 2: 20 Illinois Nurse Practice Act, 2: 19, 20, 21 Illinois Progressive Republicans, 3: 15

Illinois State Association of Graduate Nurses, 2: 19, 20 Illinois State Medical Association, 2: 20 Illinois State Medical Society, 2: 5, 10 Illinois State Normal School, 2: 9 Illinois Steel, 2: 49 Illinois Training School for Nurses, 2: 5, 10, 12, 13, 16, 20 “I’ll Never Turn Back” (song by Dorsey), 2: 27 Independent Voters of Illinois, 1: 59 Infant Welfare Society (IWS), 2: 12 Influenza pandemic of 1919, 2: 19 Inland Printer, 1: 47, 50, 52, 53 Inland Steel Building, 3: 54, 59, 62 Insurance industry, 1: 65–66, 69–70 International Congress of Charities, Correction, and Philanthropy, 2: 13 International Typographical Union, 1: 46, 47 International Women’s Decade Conferences, 2: 71 International Zionist movement, 1: 16 Inter Ocean, 1: 47, 48, 51; 2:53; 3:50 Interstate League, 2: 49 “It’s Tight Like That” (song by Dorsey), 2: 26

J Jackson, Mahalia, 2: 33 Jackson Jubilee Singers, 2: 63 Jackson Park, 2: 42–43 Jefferson, Thomas, 1: 3 Jenny, William LeBaron, 3: 47 Jessye, Eva, Choir, 2: 63 Jewish Americans development of hospitals for, 1: 4–25 role of Chicago Hebrew Institute in adaptation of, to American life, 3: 4–19 Jewish Center, 3: 15 Jewish Charities of Chicago, 1: 23, 24 Jewish Community Centers of Chicago (JCC), 3: 4, 19 Jewish Consumptive Relief Society, 1: 19 Jewish People’s Institute (JPI), 3: 5. See also Chicago Hebrew Institute (CHI) Jewish Reader for Sabbath Schools (1877), 1: 14 Jewish Social Service Bureau, 1: 25 Jewish Standard, 1: 16 Jim Crow laws, 1: 28 Jimmy Callahan, 2: 50 Johnson, Myles, 1: 46 Jordan, Michael, 2: 69 Junior Mount Sinai Hospital Workers, 1: 23

K Kahn, Fazlur, 3: 61, 62, 63 Kanigel, Robert, 1: 25 Kaplan, Nathan, 3: 5, 17 Karamanski, Theodore J., “The Marseilles of Lake Michigan,” 3: 40–53 Kastenmeier, Bob, 1: 62 Kenney, L. J., 1: 53 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 2: 33 Kirstein, Lincoln, 3: 61 Kohl & Middleton’s Dime Museum, 1: 45, 46–48, 50, 52, 53 Kraft, 2: 71 Ku Klux Klan, 1: 23 Kupcinet, Irv, 2: 69 Kurtzon, Morris, 1: 20, 23 Kurz, Louis, 3: 40–41

L

Labor Defense League, 3: 17 Labor laws on women’s work hours, 2: 16 Ladies Aid Society of the Hahnemann Hospital, 2: 9 Lake Michigan, role of, in shipping, 3: 40–53 Lake Shore Drive, 3: 63 Lake Shore League, 2: 59 Lake Street, 1: 10 Lake Street Bridge, 3: 46 Landsmannschaften, 1: 16 LaSalle Street, 1: 8 Lauver, Isabella, 2: 13 La Valse (ballet), 3: 59

Lawndale, 1: 19, 21, 25 Lawrence, Margaret, 2: 10 Leland, Frank, 2: 49 Leland Giants, 2: 53, 55–57 Leopold, Aldo, 1: 57, 67 Leventman, Seymore, 1: 25 Levy, Sam, 2: 71 Levy, Thomas, 1: 48, 50, 52, 53 Liberia, 1: 33 Library of Congress, 3: 22 Life magazine, 2: 63 Lincoln Park, and the Chicago Daily News sanitarium, 3: 21, 27 Linotype, 1: 44, 45, 53 Lissak, Rivka, 3: 7–8 Little, Lou, 2: 62, 72 Livingston, Homer, 1: 65 Loeb, Jacob, 3: 6, 17 Logan Squares Baseball Club, 2: 50, 52, 53, 55–57, 59 Loon Lake, 3: 18 Louverture, Toussaint, 1: 38, 39, 40 Loyola University, 2: 9 Luckman, Sid, 2: 60–72 education of, 2: 62–63 Lumber camps, 3: 51 Lusk, Brigid, “Monstrous Productions or the Best of Womanhood? Progressive-Era Women in Medicine,” 2: 4–21 Lustgarten, Henry, 1: 61 Lyric Opera, 3: 63 Ballet School, 3: 64

M

MacArthur Foundation, 1: 65 Machine politics, 3: 14–15 MacMurray, Fred, 2: 64 Madison, Thomas, 2: 24 Madison Plaza, 3: 54 Madison Street Bridge, 3: 44 Magallanes, Nicholas, 3: 61 Maimonedes Kosher Hospital, 1: 7, 19–21. See also Mount Sinai Hospital Majestic Theater, 2: 68 Making History award winners: Barnett, Etta Moten, 2: 60–72 Cronon, William, 1: 54–72 Graham, Bruce, 3: 54–65 Luckman, Sid, 2: 60–72 Mikva, Abner, 1: 54–72 Ryan, Patrick, 1: 54–72 Tallchief, Maria, 3: 54–65 March on Washington, 2: 71 Mardon, Lawson, 2: 71 Margolis, A. I., 3: 17 Marine Hospital, 3: 51 Mariner’s Church, 3: 51 “The Marseilles of Lake Michigan,” article, by Theodore J. Karamanski, 3: 40–53 Marshall Field’s, and production of Frango mints, 1: 3 Martin, Roberta, 2: 31 Martin, Roberta, Singers, 2: 31 Martin, Sallie, 2: 32, 35 Martin and Morris Music, Inc., 2: 32, 35 Martin-Frye singers, 2: 31 Mathews, Cynthia, “This Haven of Rest and Health: The Chicago Daily News Sanitarium,” 3: 21–39 Maxwell Street, 1: 13, 15, 16, 21 Maxwell Street market, 1: 6–7 Mayo Clinic, 2: 71 McCann, Joseph W., 1: 46–50, 52, 53 McCarthy, Jack, 2: 50 McCormick Place, 3: 63 Exposition Center, 3: 54 McGill University, 2: 16 McKay, Claude, 2: 63 McMillan, M. Helena, 2: 4, 5, 16, 17, 18, 19–21 McNamara, Brooks, 1: 45 Medical education for women, 2: 4–21 Medicine. See Health Care Meites, Hyman, 3: 5–6

Index to volume 27 | 69

Mejia, Paul, 3: 63, 64, 65 Mellon, Andrew W., Foundation, 1: 65; 3: 22 Mergenthaler, Ottmar, 1: 44, 53 Merrill, John, 3: 58 Michael Reese Hospital, 1: 4–25; 2: 72 Michigan Avenue, 1: 16 Michigan Avenue Bridge, 3: 44 Midway Plaisance, 1: 31, 42 Midway Types (publication), 1: 35 Midwest League, 2: 59 Mikva, Abner career of, 1: 59, 61–63, 66, 70 interview with, 1: 54–72 Miller Brothers Shipyard, 3: 51 Milwaukee, 1: 55 Milwaukee Brewers, 2: 53 Minneapolis Millers, 2: 53 Minow, Newton, 3: 65 Minton, Sherman, 1: 58 Miss Julie (ballet), 3: 61 Moncion, Frank, 3: 61 Monheimer, Leo, 1: 48, 50 “Monstrous Productions or the Best of Womanhood? Progressive-Era Women in Medicine,” article, by Brigid Lusk, 2: 4–21 Montana, Joe, 2: 69 Morants-Sanchez, Regina, 2: 16 Morgan, Edmund S., 1: 65 Morgari, Rodolfo, 1: 37 Morris, Kenneth, 2: 32, 35 Morris, Nelson, Memorial for Medical Research, 1: 20 Morris, Sarah, Hospital for Children, 1: 19, 20 Morton International, 2: 71 Moten, Etta, 2: 60–72 education of, 2: 63 in Porgy and Bess, 2: 67–69 and public affairs, 2: 71 “Moten, Etta, Show,” 2: 71 Moten, Freeman Franklin, 2: 60 Moten, Ida Mae Norman, 2: 60 Mount Sinai Hospital, 1: 4–25 Mount Sinai Hospital Association, 1: 20 Mount Sinai Hospital Woman’s Club, 1: 23 Mount Sinai Hospital Workers, 1: 20 Muhammad, Elijah, 1: 63 Muhammad Speaks (newspaper), 1: 63 Munger & Armour’s Grain Warehouse, 3: 47 Municipal Order League of Chicago, 2: 10 Music birth of gospel, 2: 22–37, 63 contributions of Etta Moten, 2: 60, 61, 62, 63–64, 66–69, 71–72 “My Forgotten Man” (song), 2: 64

N Nagurski, Bronko, 2: 65 Namath, Joe, 2: 69 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 2: 62 National Broadcasting Network, 2: 64 National Championship (in typesetting), 1: 44–53 National Child Welfare Association, 3: 9 National Conference of Christians and Jews, 2: 72 National Congress of Negro Women, 2: 71 National Convention of Gospel Choirs and Choruses, 2: 28, 32 National Council of Negro Women, 2: 71 National Football League (NFL), 2: 64–65 National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA), 1: 66 National League (Baseball), 2: 40, 50, 53, 55, 56 National Music Award, 2: 37 National Rifle Association, 1: 63 National Security Act, 1: 63 National Youth Association, 2: 62 Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West (Cronon), 1: 54, 67 Navy Pier, 3: 63 NBC, 2: 71 Negro Baseball League, 2: 53 Negro National League, 2: 59 70 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

Netsch, Walter, 3: 58 “New Opportunties for the Use of Leisure Time” (Seman), 3: 14 Newsweek, 3: 54 New York City Ballet, 3: 54, 61 New York Giants, 2: 65, 69 New York Herald, 1: 46, 47 New York Herald Tribune, 2: 68 New–York Historical Society, 3: 22 New York Times, 1: 47, 49; 3: 17 New York Tribune, 1: 53 New York World, 1: 47 New York Yankees, 2: 70 Niessen, Billy, 2: 57 Night baseball, 2: 57 Nightingale, Florence, 2: 10 “Night Scenes” (illustration), 3: 48 Nijinska, Bronislava, 3: 55, 56 Nijinsky, Vaslav, 3: 55 Norris, Frank, 3: 42 North Lawndale, 1: 16 North Side Ball Park, 2: 40, 45, 53 Northwest Ball Park, 2: 40, 45 Northwestern University, 1: 58, 70, 70–71; 2: 15 Woman’s Medical School at, 2: 15 Notre Dame, 2: 72 Nurse Practice Act (North Carolina, 1903), 2: 19 Nurses Associated Alumnae of the United States and Canada, 2: 15 Nursing, role of women in, 2: 4–21 The Nutcracke (ballet), 3: 61

O

Oak Street Beach, 3: 52 Obin, Michel, 1: 39 The Occident (newspaper), 1: 15 O’Hara, Barratt, 1: 61–62 Old West Side Park, 2: 58–59 One Financial Place, 3: 54 Opera House, 3: 63 Orpheus (ballet), 3: 59, 61 Osborne, Estelle Massey, 2: 71 Our Day (magazine), 1: 37 Owings, Nathaniel, 3: 58

P

Page-Fence Giants, 2: 49 Palmer, Bertha Honoré, 2: 13 Palmer House Hotel, 2: 10 Paris Opera, 3: 54 Parker Raids, 3: 17 Parkman, Francis, Prize of the Society of American Historians, 1: 65 Parton, James, 3: 40 Paschen, Elise, 3: 63 Paschen, Henry “Buzz,” Jr., 3: 63, 64, 65 Paschen Contractors, 3: 63 Patronage, 1: 59–60 “Peace in the Valley” (song by Dorsey), 2: 36 Penn, I. Garland, 1: 27–28, 29 Penn Mutual, 1: 61 Pennsylvania, University of, 1: 70 People’s Junior College, 3: 15 “A People without a Nation,” article, by Barbara J. Ballard, 1: 27–43 Perkins, George, Marsh Prize, 1: 68 Peters, William, 2: 49 Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, 2: 10 Philadelphia’s Ninth and Arch Street Dime Museum, 1: 53 “Picnic Island,” and the Chicago Daily News Sanitarium, 3: 22, 30 Pilgrim Baptist Church, 2: 28, 31 The Pit (Norris), 3: 42 Pluralism and Progressives: Hull-House and the New Immigrants (Lissak), 3: 7–8 Police, 3: 49 Politics, 1: 58, 61–63, 66–67 machine, 3: 14–15 Polo Grounds, 2: 69 Porgy and Bess (folk opera), 2: 67, 68, 69 Porgy (novel), 2: 67 Powell, Dick, 2: 64 Powell, John Wesley, 3: 51

“Precious Lord, Take My Hand” (song by Dorsey), 2: 27, 33, 34, 36 Presbyterian Hospital, 2: 20–21 school of nursing at, 2: 17 Women’s Board at, 2: 19 Presley, Elvis, 2: 36 Printers’ Circular, 1: 48, 53 Printing industry, early, in Chicago, 1: 44–53 Pritzker, Naphtali, 1: 13 Progressive era, women in medicine in, 2: 4–21 Prudential of Mid-America, 1: 69

Q Quaker Oats, 2: 71 The Quarterly, 2: 19 “Queen of the Lakes,” 3: 40

R

“The Race is to the Swift: The 1886 National Typesetting Championship,” Yesterday’s City, by Walker Rumble, 1: 44–53 Race relations, 2: 60–72 See also African Americans Rae, Fred, 1: 48 Rainey, Gertrude “Ma,” 2: 26, 27 Raising the Grade (Andreas), 1: 4 Randolph Street, 1: 10–11 Reagan, Ronald, 1: 66 The Reason Why the Colored American Is Not in the World’s Columbian Exposition (Douglass, Wells, Barnett, Garland), 1: 28, 29, 34, 40, 41 Red, Tampa, 2: 26 Red Scare, 3: 17 Reese, Michael, 1: 12 Reform Advocate, 1: 15, 16 Reid, Whitelaw, 1: 53 Religion. See also Jewish Americans and birth of gospel music, 2: 22–37 provision of, by missions, 3: 51 Research universities, 1: 70 Resurrection Mary, 3: 3 Reverby, Susan, 2: 16 Riess, Steven, 2: 49 Ringler, Richard, 1: 57 The Rise of Gospel Blues: The Music of Thomas Andrew Dorsey in the Urban Church (Harris), 2: 27 Rivals, 2: 45 River Forests, 2: 56 Riverside, 3: 51 Rockfords, 2: 40 Rogers, Ginger, 2: 63, 64 Rogers Park, 2: 57 Romberg, Mrs. Edwin, 1: 20 Roosevelt, Eleanor, 2: 63 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 2: 60 Rosenfield, Henrietta, 1: 12 Rosenwald, Julius, 1: 23, 24, 25; 3: 5, 6, 12, 14 Royal Danish Ballet, 3: 54 Rumble, Walker, “The Race is to the Swift: The 1886 National Typesetting Championship,” 1: 44–53 Rush Medical College, 2: 6, 8, 15, 19 admission of women to, 2: 5–9 Rush Street Bridge, 3: 43, 44–45 Russian Aid Society, 1: 15 Russick, John, “That’s Good News! Chicago and the Birth of Gospel Music,” 2: 22–37 Ruth, Babe, 2: 57, 59 Rutherford, Jim, 1: 69 Ryan, Jimmy, 2: 50, 52 Ryan, Patrick career of, 1: 61, 65–66, 69 college education of, 1: 58 interview with, 1: 54–72 Ryan Field, 1: 70, 71 Ryan Insurance Group, 1: 61, 65 Rydell, Robert, 1: 34

S St. Joseph’s College, 2: 72 St. Luke’s Hospital, 2: 13, 15 St. Paul Pioneer, 1: 50 A Sand County Almanac, 1: 67 Sanitarium, opening of, by Chicago Daily News, 3: 21–39 Sanitary and Ship Canal, 3: 52 Sanitary reform, need for, 2: 10 Sara Lee, 2: 71 Say Amen Somebody (documentary), 2: 37 Scalia, Antonin, 1: 66 Schakowski, Jan, 1: 70 Schif, Benajmin, 3: 6 Schipporheit, George, 3: 58 Schmidt, Fred, 2: 50 Schmidt, Ray, “The Golden Age of Chicago Baseball,” Yesterday’s City, 2: 38–59 Schooner Passage: Sailing Ships and the Lake Michigan Frontier (Karamanski), 3: 53 Schooners, 3: 40, 42, 47, 51 Schroeder, H., piano manufactory, 1: 9 Schuenemann, Herman, 3: 50 Schwartz, Steven M. “Strong Medicine,” 1: 4–25 Scotch Symphony (ballet), 3: 59, 61 Seamen’s Mission, 3: 51 Sears, Roebuck, 2: 49; 3:6 Sears Tower, 3: 54, 61–62, 63, 64 Self Education Club, 1: 16 Seman, Philip, 3: 4–19 Sentinel (newspaper), 3: 17 Settlement houses, 2: 4 Seymour, Harold, 2: 45 Shanovski, H., Family Boot and Shoe House, 1: 9 Shipping and bridges over the Chicago River, 3: 42–46 and Lake Michigan, 3: 40–53 Shipyards, 3: 51 Shoulder Field, 2: 70 “The Significance of the Frontier in American History,” 1: 67 Skidmore, Louis, 3: 58 Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM), 3: 58, 62, 63 Smith, Adrian D., 3: 58 Smithsonian Institution, 2: 37 Social Darwinism, 1: 28 Society of American Historians, 1: 65 Song of Norway (ballet), 3: 59 South Chicago Harbor, 3: 53 South Haven, Michigan, 1: 15 South Kensington Science School, 2: 9 South Side Grounds, 2: 40 Southwest Grounds, 2: 40 Southwest park, 2: 45 Spaldings, 2: 56 Spaulding American Baseball, 2: 45 Stanwyck, Barbara, 2: 63 Starr, Kenneth, 1: 66 “Stars of Chicago: Interviews with Etta Moten Barnettt and Sid Luckman,” Making History, by Timothy J. Gilfoyle, 2: 60–72 State Farm Mutual Auto Insurance Co. vs. Department of Transportation, 1: 66 State Street, 3: 53 State Street Bridge, 3: 43 Steamboats, 3: 40 Steiner, Else, 3: 39 Steiner, Gabriel, 3: 39 Stevenson, Sarah Hackett, 2: 4, 6, 9, 10, 13, 20 Memorial Lodging House, 2: 9; 10 Stillé, Alfred, 2: 4 Stinson, Eugene, 2: 64 Stone, Mrs. Julius, 3: 6–7 Stone, W. Clement, 1: 65 “Street Types of Chicago Character Study,” 3: 49 “Strong Medicine,” article, by Steven M. Schwartz, 1: 4–25 Studebaker’s, 2: 68 Sugar Hill (musical), 2: 63 Suisse Aluminum, 2: 71

Index to volume 27 | 71

Swan Lake (ballet), 3: 56, 59 Swarthout, Donald M., 2: 63 Sympathy and Science (Morants-Sanchez), 2: 16 Symphonie Concertante (ballet), 3: 59 Symphony in C (ballet), 3: 59

T

Tallchief, Maria, 3: 54–65 Tenaments, health care for children in, 3: 21–39 Terrell, Mary Church, 1: 43 Terry, Walter, 3: 54 Texas Tommy. See Dorsey, Thomas Andrew T formation, 2: 65, 66, 72 “That’s Good News! Chicago and the Birth of Gospel Music,” article, by John Russick and Gwen Ihnat, 2: 22–37 Theme and Variations (ballet), 3: 59 “This Haven of Rest and Health: The Chicago Daily News Sanitarium,” article, by Cynthia Mathews, 3: 21–39 Thomas, Clarence, 1: 66 Thomas, Theodore, History Maker Aware for Distinction in the Performing Arts, 2: 61; 3:56 Thompson, Mary Harris, 2: 5–6, 8 Three First National Plaza, 3: 54 Tigerman, Stanley, 3: 58 Truman, Harry, 1: 58 Tuberculosis, 1: 12 Tugboats, 3: 45 Turner, Frederick Jackson, 1: 67 Tuskegee Institute, 1: 29 20 Million Sweethearts (movie), 2: 63 Typeracing, 1: 45, 46, 47, 52 Typesetting, 1: 44–53

U

Unitas, Johnny, 2: 69 United Airlines Office Building (Elk Grove), 3: 54 United Hebrew Relief Association (UHRA), 1: 7, 9, 10, 12, 15 United Hebrew Trade Union (UHTU), 3: 17 United States Army Corps of Engineers, 3: 51, 53 United States Marine Hospital Service, 3: 51 United States Sanitary Commission, 2: 40 University of Chicago, 2: 15 board of women at, 2: 71 U.S. Naval Academy, 2: 62

V

van der Rohe, Mies, 3: 57 Van Hoosen, Bertha, 2: 15 Van Vechten, Carl, 2: 63 The Vanishing Hitchhiker (Brunvand), 3: 3 Vargas, Getulio, 2: 66 Visiting nurses, 2: 20 Visiting Nurses Association (VNA), 2: 12, 14–15

W Wabash Avenue Bridge, 3: 53 Walsh, Mary, 2: 16 Waltham, Massachusetts, Nurses’ Training School, 2: 4 Ward, Mrs. Montgomery, 2: 15 Washington Park, 2: 41 Washington Redskins, 2: 69, 70 Waters, Ethel, 2: 63 Weese, Harry, 3: 58 Weinger, Bernard, Jewish Community Center, 3: 19 “Welcoming Jewish Americans,” article, by Elliot Zashin, 3: 4–19 Wells, Ida B., 1: 27–29, 38, 40, 41, 43 Wells Street Bridge, 3: 45, 50 Welsh-Ryan Arena, 1: 70 West Ends, 2: 50, 52, 55, 57 Western League, 2: 53 Western University, 2: 63 West Side Ball Park, 2: 40, 41, 52 Weyerhaeuser, Charles W., Award, 1: 68 White, Walter, 2: 63 White City, 1: 31, 32, 38, 40, 43 White Giants, 2: 59 72 | Chicago History | Spring 2000

White House, 1: 70 White Stockings, 2: 40. See also Chicago Cubs Whitings, 2: 40, 45 Wild Cats Jazz Band, 2: 26 Williams, Doug, 2: 69 Williams, Fannie Barrier, 1: 37 Williams, Hank, 2: 36 Williams, Robert, 1: 13 Wirth, Louis, 1: 15 Wisconsin, University of, at Madison, 1: 69, 70 “Wisconsin’s Finest: Interviews with William Cronon, Abner Mikva, and Patrick Ryan,” Making History, article, by Timothy J. Gilfoyle, 1: 54–72 Wise, Zorita, 1: 56 WMAQ, 2: 71 Woman’s Hospital Medical College, 2: 4, 8, 9, 15. See also Woman’s Medical College of Chicago Woman’s Medical College of Chicago, 2: 15. See also Woman’s Hospital Medical College Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, 2: 5, 6 Women as delegates to American Medical Association convention, 2: 10 in gospel music, 2: 27, 31–33, 63 in medicine in Progressive era, 2: 4–21 in music, 2: 60, 63–64, 66–69, 71–72 in printing industry, 1: 53 at World’s Columbian Exposition, 2: 13 Women Physicians and Training Schools for Nurses, 2: 13, 14 Women’s Board of the Lyric Opera, 2: 71 Women’s Hospital Pavilion, 2: 13 Worcester, Alfred, 2: 4 Workers Institute (WI), 3: 17 World’s Columbian Exposition, 1: 26, 27 African Americans at, 1: 27–43 architecture at, 1: 31, 40 and chocolate production, 1: 3 colonial exhibits at, 1: 31, 33–34 Euro-American women at, 1: 27 Haitian Pavilion at, 1: 27, 30, 31, 38, 40, 43 homeopathic headquarters at, 2: 8 Midway Plaisance at, 1: 31, 42 Negro Day at, 1: 43 women at, 2: 13 Women’s Building at, 1: 37 Women’s Hospital Pavilion at, 2: 13 World’s Congress Auxiliary of the Chicago World’s Fair, 1: 34, 37 World’s Congress of Representative Women, 1: 37 World’s Fair Puck (magazine), 1: 34, 35, 36 World Trade Center, 3: 61 Wright, Frank Lloyd, 3: 45 Wright, George, 2: 56 Wright, James, 1: 63 Wrigley Field, 2: 69, 70

Y

Yates, Sidney, 1: 70 Yesterday’s City: “The Golden Age of Chicago Baseball,” by Ray Schmidt, 2: 38–59 “The Marseilles of Lake Michigan,” by Theodore J. Karamanski, 3: 40–53 “The Race is to the Swift: The 1886 National Typesetting Championship,” by Walker Rumble, 1: 44–53 Young, Robert, 2: 64 Young, Samuel H., 1: 62 Young Americans, 3: 15 Young Men’s Hebrew Charity Association, 1: 12 Young Men’s Hospital Association, 1: 12

Z Zashin, Elliott, “Welcoming Jewish Americans,” 3: 4–19 Zimmerman, Paul, 2: 69 Zombie, 2: 63