Well what do you know, we've done it! Made it through an entire year of history, events, ignomy, corruption(lots of corruption), and more stuff about our fine city than you thought you'd ever learn. As of this writing, this blog has 5,744 pageviews, and I'm thankful for every single one of them. This blog will continue into 2014, but all of my reflection/opining/future plans will be delivered in another entry once we hit the New Year. For now, lets put our learning caps on for the final time in 2013 and read in the New Year with one more entry.
Atlanta has the Peach Drop. Eastport, Maine drops a sardine. New York City drops a giant ukelele(no, really, they do). There's even a gay bar in Key West that drops a giant ruby red slipper with a drag queen inside. But what makes Chicago unique for New Year's? Well, a few things.
The biggest thing that sets us apart is the penny rides on the CTA. For several years now, the Chicago Transit Authority has given Chicagoans an ultra-steep discount on fares, and let the citizens of the city(and anyone with a transit card)ride the rails and buses for the grand total sum of one single penny. The only catch here is that the program doesn't run all day on New Year's, but only from 10 PM-4 AM. If you're headed out before that, then you've still gotta pay the full fare. The past few years, Miller has upped the ante, and sponsored the entire program, so that not only are the rides still 1 penny, the rides are now straight-up free. The same timing regulations still apply though.
Other than penny rides, you can also indulge yourself in elegant parties at the swankiest places in town. Some of these outings include a party at the Hyatt Mag Mile, the official Playboy Party at the Hard Rock Hotel, a big hoedown at the Intercontiental, and of course, the mega-blowout at the Palmer House Hilton. Needless to say, there are many ways to have a world-class New Year's in our world-class city. And if you party way too hard and need some food to pep you up, I've got a solution for that too.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
Day 364: Tragedy at the Theatre
December 30, 1903. Christmas has come and gone, and Chicago is ready to ring in 1904. On that day before New Year's Eve, perhaps the society ladies are out shopping at Marshall Field. Perhaps they have their kids in tow and want to see a show on the stage. Perhaps they decide to go see Mr. Bluebeard at the new Iroquois Theatre. Perhaps they have just made a fatal mistake.
The Iroquois Theatre opened in November of 1903 to rave reviews. One such critic even went as far as to say that the Iroquois was "the most beautiful [theater] in Chicago" The Theater was purposely built at 24 W. Randolph in order to take advantage of the crowds that would stream in from the Loop Shopping District(which was a big deal even at the beginning of the 20th Century). At its opening, the theater branded itself as "Absolutely Fireproof", even though there were some pretty big holes in that declaration, like the fact that the editor of a prominent fire magazine had toured the theater and noted the lack of proper ventilation, exposed woodwork, and lack of exits; or the fact that a CFD captain had made an unofficial visit, made his concerns(that the only piece of fire-fighting equipment at the theater were 6 boxes of a bicarbonate-based compound called Kilfyre) known, and was promptly swept under the rug. Not just that, but the theater had several architectural hazards, such as gates that blocked off the stairways during shows, confusing exits, a faulty fire curtain, and other hazards. So let's see, we've got a theatre that could also double as a fire trap, which is chock full of women and children. Nothing bad is going to happen here, right?
Back to December 30. The performance of Mr. Bluebeard is going as planned, and the second act is just underway. The time is 3:15 PM. All of a sudden, a light shorts out and sparks a fire. Attempts to extinguish the blaze with Kilfyre are in vain when the flames shoot up into the fly gallery and ignite a large amount of stored props. The fire curtain is then attempted to be lowered, but that process fails. At this point, an actor by the name of Eddie Foy rushes out onstage and tries to calm the throngs of people there. While Foy is being a hero, multitudes of panicked theatre-goers are desperately trying to flee the conflagration. Those who found the fire exits were stymied, since the exits were secured by a bascule lock(and if you're saying to yourself "what the hell is a bascule lock?", well that's exactly the point. Not many people knew how to operate it, which made it a despicable choice for an emergency door.) Some of the doors were opened regardless, but the vast majority of patrons were trapped. The actors on stage initially were doing just as bad, until somebody found the west stage door. After the door opened, all of the stage crew and actors were able to escape(as a consequence, there was only 1 fatality amongst that group out of more than 300 performers), but the escape also let in a blast of cold air, which generated an immense fireball. As all vents were closed, the fireball was pushed out into the house, where it incinerated everything and everyone in the upper two tiers of the audience. Those who escaped the fireball had to contend with the inconvenient fire escape doors. Those who managed to get out the doors faced one final hurdle, the Theater's unfinished fire escape ladders. Patrons were forced to jump from the unfinished escapes, which cost several people their lives.
When the smoke cleared and all the bodies were accounted for, 605 people were officially listed as dead(that number could be even higher, as some bodies were removed from the scene before they were counted). Think about that for a second: 605 people. That's more than DOUBLE the amount of people who died in the Chicago Fire.(of course, that's still more than 200 fewer people than can drown in 18 feet of water, so I guess its all relative). In the aftermath, there was a public uproar, fielded by such men as Mayor Carter Harrison Jr. The site of the Iroquois was razed to make way for a new theater, which came down in 1926 to make way for the Oriental Theatre.
The Iroquois Theatre opened in November of 1903 to rave reviews. One such critic even went as far as to say that the Iroquois was "the most beautiful [theater] in Chicago" The Theater was purposely built at 24 W. Randolph in order to take advantage of the crowds that would stream in from the Loop Shopping District(which was a big deal even at the beginning of the 20th Century). At its opening, the theater branded itself as "Absolutely Fireproof", even though there were some pretty big holes in that declaration, like the fact that the editor of a prominent fire magazine had toured the theater and noted the lack of proper ventilation, exposed woodwork, and lack of exits; or the fact that a CFD captain had made an unofficial visit, made his concerns(that the only piece of fire-fighting equipment at the theater were 6 boxes of a bicarbonate-based compound called Kilfyre) known, and was promptly swept under the rug. Not just that, but the theater had several architectural hazards, such as gates that blocked off the stairways during shows, confusing exits, a faulty fire curtain, and other hazards. So let's see, we've got a theatre that could also double as a fire trap, which is chock full of women and children. Nothing bad is going to happen here, right?
Back to December 30. The performance of Mr. Bluebeard is going as planned, and the second act is just underway. The time is 3:15 PM. All of a sudden, a light shorts out and sparks a fire. Attempts to extinguish the blaze with Kilfyre are in vain when the flames shoot up into the fly gallery and ignite a large amount of stored props. The fire curtain is then attempted to be lowered, but that process fails. At this point, an actor by the name of Eddie Foy rushes out onstage and tries to calm the throngs of people there. While Foy is being a hero, multitudes of panicked theatre-goers are desperately trying to flee the conflagration. Those who found the fire exits were stymied, since the exits were secured by a bascule lock(and if you're saying to yourself "what the hell is a bascule lock?", well that's exactly the point. Not many people knew how to operate it, which made it a despicable choice for an emergency door.) Some of the doors were opened regardless, but the vast majority of patrons were trapped. The actors on stage initially were doing just as bad, until somebody found the west stage door. After the door opened, all of the stage crew and actors were able to escape(as a consequence, there was only 1 fatality amongst that group out of more than 300 performers), but the escape also let in a blast of cold air, which generated an immense fireball. As all vents were closed, the fireball was pushed out into the house, where it incinerated everything and everyone in the upper two tiers of the audience. Those who escaped the fireball had to contend with the inconvenient fire escape doors. Those who managed to get out the doors faced one final hurdle, the Theater's unfinished fire escape ladders. Patrons were forced to jump from the unfinished escapes, which cost several people their lives.
When the smoke cleared and all the bodies were accounted for, 605 people were officially listed as dead(that number could be even higher, as some bodies were removed from the scene before they were counted). Think about that for a second: 605 people. That's more than DOUBLE the amount of people who died in the Chicago Fire.(of course, that's still more than 200 fewer people than can drown in 18 feet of water, so I guess its all relative). In the aftermath, there was a public uproar, fielded by such men as Mayor Carter Harrison Jr. The site of the Iroquois was razed to make way for a new theater, which came down in 1926 to make way for the Oriental Theatre.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Day 349: Robert May's Christmas Carol
As the late 1930s dawned, Montgomery Ward had established a regular practice of giving away children's coloring books for Christmas every year. The usual route ahd been to acquiare the books from a third party. However, the drive for thriftiness inspired the powers that be, and so they decided that the 1939 book would be produced in-house. For this task, the company turned to Robert May, who wound up writing a work based upon the concept of a reindeer with a red nose, that at first faced adversity but was then accepted into the inner circle of the reindeer. When May completed his assignment, he had a poem that was set in the same meter as "Twas the Night Befroe Christmas", and Montgomery Ward was left with a massive hit. In fact, the store gave away more than 2.5 Million copies of the story in the very first year that it had come out.
A few years later, May's brother-in-law composed a song from the words in the poem, turning it into a song, which was turned into a much-acclaimed hit in 1949 by Gene Autry. In 1964, the tale and song took on a new level of fame when the stop-motion Rudolph film came out that year. Over the years, Rudolph has become an integral part of America's Christmas traditions.
However, one more thing. Rudolph's red nose almost ended his life before it began. When May's first drafts came before Ward's people, the character was rejected due to the fact that a red nose was a metaphor for chronic alcoholism at the time. However, May managed to make Rudolph 'cuter', and saved the day for us all.
A few years later, May's brother-in-law composed a song from the words in the poem, turning it into a song, which was turned into a much-acclaimed hit in 1949 by Gene Autry. In 1964, the tale and song took on a new level of fame when the stop-motion Rudolph film came out that year. Over the years, Rudolph has become an integral part of America's Christmas traditions.
However, one more thing. Rudolph's red nose almost ended his life before it began. When May's first drafts came before Ward's people, the character was rejected due to the fact that a red nose was a metaphor for chronic alcoholism at the time. However, May managed to make Rudolph 'cuter', and saved the day for us all.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Day 335: The Day that Chicago Cried
December 1, 1958 dawned as a Monday like any other. Thanksgiving had just occurred the previous Thursday, and families were busy making preparations for Christmas, which was merely 24 days away. However, events would transpire that day that would irreversibly alter the lives of all those affected. Our Lady of the Angels was a Catholic parish complex that featured a school, church, rectory, and convent. The school had been built in 1910 and had undergone numerous renovations, but was also grievously non-compliant with 1958 fire codes. However, the school was given a passing grade anyway thanks to a grandfather clause the exempted the school from meeting all of the requirements. As it stood on that fateful morning, the school didn't have a connected fire alarm, the sprinkler system was nonexistent, there were only two fire alarms in the whole building, only one fire escape for the whole building, and all of the fire extinguishers were mounted seven feet above the ground. Add the that the school's English Basement and high ceilings, and the second floor windows were more than 25 feet off the ground. All told, the students ad teachers of OLA were sitting on a powder keg. And that keg was about to blow.
About 45 Minutes before the end of the school day, some errant papers stacked up in the basement caught fire and started smoldering. This went on for around 20 minutes until it was noticed by two eighth grade girls, who then notified their teacher, who promptly readied her class to evacuate the building, but when the teacher opened the door, the smoke proved to be impassable. Meanwhile, the school's janitor saw flames rising from the building, and rushed over to the rectory so as to alert the clergy staff to call the fire department. After that, the janitor rushed back into the school to begin an evacuation. Soon afterwards, the fire department finally showed up and started the tough task of rescuing the 330 souls who were still stuck inside. This task was complicated by the fact that the frenzied kids were both trampling fellow students and jumping from the second story, often resulting in their deaths and maimings.
When the smoke finally cleared, 92 students and 3 nuns lay dead. But that wasn't the only effects. Immediately, Pope John XXIII sent his condolences from the Vatican. The funerals for the victims were held in a National Guard armory in Humboldt Park, as all of the local churches were too small for the sheer magnitude of mourners. The fire truly touched a nerve across the country. On December 5, The Chicago American published the names and pictures of the victims on its front page, in one of its most infamous covers:
Additionally, LIFE magazine ran an issue about the fire on December 16, which produced the most enduring image of the tragedy:
After the fire had been extinguished, the firemen were taking the victims out of the school. Photographer Steve Lasker was standing outside of the school when firefighter Richard Scheidt emerged carrying the body of John Jajkowski Jr., a 10-year old boy who had one day hoped to be a priest. The photo instantly became THE iconic moment from the fire, and has even spawned some pop culture references, in outlets as varied as Planet 51 and Toy Story 3. Additionally, the Los Angeles Fire Department released an informational video in 1960 titled Our Obligation, which was extensively modeled off of the OLA fire, even down to the iconic shot of the young child's body being carried out:
It is clear, that even today, 55 years later, the OLA fire still casts a large shadow over the history of Chicago.
About 45 Minutes before the end of the school day, some errant papers stacked up in the basement caught fire and started smoldering. This went on for around 20 minutes until it was noticed by two eighth grade girls, who then notified their teacher, who promptly readied her class to evacuate the building, but when the teacher opened the door, the smoke proved to be impassable. Meanwhile, the school's janitor saw flames rising from the building, and rushed over to the rectory so as to alert the clergy staff to call the fire department. After that, the janitor rushed back into the school to begin an evacuation. Soon afterwards, the fire department finally showed up and started the tough task of rescuing the 330 souls who were still stuck inside. This task was complicated by the fact that the frenzied kids were both trampling fellow students and jumping from the second story, often resulting in their deaths and maimings.
When the smoke finally cleared, 92 students and 3 nuns lay dead. But that wasn't the only effects. Immediately, Pope John XXIII sent his condolences from the Vatican. The funerals for the victims were held in a National Guard armory in Humboldt Park, as all of the local churches were too small for the sheer magnitude of mourners. The fire truly touched a nerve across the country. On December 5, The Chicago American published the names and pictures of the victims on its front page, in one of its most infamous covers:
Additionally, LIFE magazine ran an issue about the fire on December 16, which produced the most enduring image of the tragedy:
After the fire had been extinguished, the firemen were taking the victims out of the school. Photographer Steve Lasker was standing outside of the school when firefighter Richard Scheidt emerged carrying the body of John Jajkowski Jr., a 10-year old boy who had one day hoped to be a priest. The photo instantly became THE iconic moment from the fire, and has even spawned some pop culture references, in outlets as varied as Planet 51 and Toy Story 3. Additionally, the Los Angeles Fire Department released an informational video in 1960 titled Our Obligation, which was extensively modeled off of the OLA fire, even down to the iconic shot of the young child's body being carried out:
It is clear, that even today, 55 years later, the OLA fire still casts a large shadow over the history of Chicago.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Day 339: Constable Quinn
For decade upon decade, Chicago has been under the watchful eye of the Chicago Police Department. From serving as security at countless events, to guarding commuters in the summer of 2011 when Flash Mobs had their flash in the pan, to their prowess at "preserving disorder" demonstrated in 1968, the men and women of the CPD have more than earned a place in Chicago's history many tomes over. But as we all know, being an officer of the law can be dangerous, and close to 500 police officers have made the ultimate sacrifice over the last 160 years. This entry is about the very first one of those brave souls, as well as the quest to properly remember his sacrifice.
160 years ago TODAY, on December 5, 1853 9th Ward Constable James Quinn passed on from this life after being savagely beaten by a pair of thugs. He was serving an arrest warrant 3 days earlier in what is today known as Streeterville(or thereabouts) when he was beset by a hail of kicks and punches. Quinn succumbed to his wounds 3 days later, and a posse of 26 cops went back to arrest Quinn's attackers. They wound up getting a multi-year prison sentence, Quinn's case was covered in the pages of the Chicago Democrat, and then the whole thing was promptly forgotten for nearly 150 years. Eventually, a different officer was given Quinn's dubious honor.
In 12002, one of Quinn's descendants(a section chief in the DEA) was doing some genealogical t99osrch when he found a long-forgotten letter awarding Quinn's widow compensation for her loss. After some more detective work, Quinn's legacy was verified by a group from the Chicago History Museum. However, there is still one more unfinished chapter in the saga of Constable Quinn. There is a memorial wall to all the officers who died in the line of duty near the office of the Police Superintendent. According to an opinion piece that ran in this past Sunday's Tribune, Quinn's star is out of place on the wall. The paper is urging Superintendent Garry McCarthy to rectify the situation. We will see what happens to resolve this tale.
160 years ago TODAY, on December 5, 1853 9th Ward Constable James Quinn passed on from this life after being savagely beaten by a pair of thugs. He was serving an arrest warrant 3 days earlier in what is today known as Streeterville(or thereabouts) when he was beset by a hail of kicks and punches. Quinn succumbed to his wounds 3 days later, and a posse of 26 cops went back to arrest Quinn's attackers. They wound up getting a multi-year prison sentence, Quinn's case was covered in the pages of the Chicago Democrat, and then the whole thing was promptly forgotten for nearly 150 years. Eventually, a different officer was given Quinn's dubious honor.
In 12002, one of Quinn's descendants(a section chief in the DEA) was doing some genealogical t99osrch when he found a long-forgotten letter awarding Quinn's widow compensation for her loss. After some more detective work, Quinn's legacy was verified by a group from the Chicago History Museum. However, there is still one more unfinished chapter in the saga of Constable Quinn. There is a memorial wall to all the officers who died in the line of duty near the office of the Police Superintendent. According to an opinion piece that ran in this past Sunday's Tribune, Quinn's star is out of place on the wall. The paper is urging Superintendent Garry McCarthy to rectify the situation. We will see what happens to resolve this tale.
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