Chicago History Fall/Winter 1988-89

CHICAGO HISTORY ..

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CHICAGO HISTORY-

_ _ __T_h_e_M_agazine of the Chicago Historical Socie~---

EDITOR

Fall and Winter 1988-89

R L'SSEl.1. Ll·.\\'IS

Volume XVII,

umber 3 and 4

ASSOClATE EDITOR

M Ec M oss ASSISTANT EDITOR AIE!i\ Z AK EDITORIAL ASSISTANT

co

TE TS

M AKGAR£1 W EL5II DESIGNER

4

B11.1. V.\;-,; NI~l\\'ECt';-;

TI~IOTHY B. SPEARS

PHOTOGRAPHY

Jo1-1:-- A1.ornso:--

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Footnoted manuscripts of the articles appearing in this issue are a,ailable in the Chicago Hi,toncal ')ocie1y\ Publications Office.

Co1ec B) conspm11g to throw the 1919 \ \orld Smes to the Crnrmnail Reds, these eight U11rago \\'hite Sox playn mmred themselt1<·s a promi nent place 111 baseball histo') for what bernme known as the Black SoxSamdal.

Black Sox ROBERT

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ISS:-S: 0272-8540 Article, appearing in this journal are abstracted and indexed in HtJtoncal Abstract.\ and Ammra: I fotOT) and Lzfr.

White Hot Jazz B CRTO:-- W. PERETTI

j AY CK.-\\\'FOKD

Cop) righ1 1989 b1 1he Chicago His1 01ical Socict\ Clark ')1ree1 at :-S:orth ,\venue Chicago, II. 60614

A Grip On the Land

I. COLER

Smoldering City KARE:-- S AWISLAK

DEPARTMENTS

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From the Editor

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Yesterday's City

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Index to Volume XVII

Chicago Historical Society OFFICERS Bryan S. Reicl,Jr. , Tremurfr Philip D. Block III, Chairman Mrs. Newton N. Minow, Secretmy Philip W. Hummer, Vice-Chaimwn Stewart S. Dixon, Immediate Past Chairman Richard H. Needham, Vice-Chairman Ellsworth H. Brown, President and Director

TRUSTEES Phil ip D. Block m Laurence Booth l\lrs. Emmeu Dedmon Stewart S. Dixon Philip W. Hummer Edgar D.Jannotta Philip E. Kelley W. Paul Krauss Mrs. Brooks McCorm ick

William J. McDonough Robert Meers Mrs. lewton N. Minow Richard H. Needham Potier Palmer Bryan S. Reid,Jr. Edward Byron Smith,.Jr: Dempsey J. Travis Mrs. Abra Prentice Wilkin

LIFE TRUSTEES Bowen Blair Cyrus Colter John T. i\lcCutcheon,Jr: Andrew l\.lcNa lly Ill Mrs. Frank D. Mayer Gardner H. Stern Theodore Tieken

HONORARY TRUSTEES Eugene Sawyer, Arting ,\.layor, City of Chicago Walter C. Bartholomav, Presidmt, Chicago Park Distn'rt

The Chicago Histo1;cal Society is a privately endowed institution devoted to collecting, preserving, and interpreting the history of the city of Chicago, the state of Illinois, and selected areas of American history.

It must look to its members and friends for continuing financial support. Contributions to the Society are tax-deductible, and appropriate recognition is accorded major gifts.

Membership Membership is open to anyone interested in the Society's goals and activitie~. Classes of annual membership and dues are as fo ll ows: Individual, $30; Family, $35; Student/Senior Citi,en, $25. Members receive the Society's quarterly magazine, Chicago History; a quanerly newsletter, Past-Times; a quarterly Calendar listing Society programs; invitations to special events; free admission to the building at all times; reserved seats at films and concerts in our auditorium; and a 10 percent discount on books and other merchandise purcha eel in the Museum Store.

Hours T he Museum is open daily from 9:30 A.M. to 4:30 P.M.; Sunday from 12:00 NOON to 5:00 l(M . The Library and Manuscri pts Col lection are open Tuesday through Saturday from 9:30 A.M. to 4:30 P.M. All other research collections are open by appo intmenL The Society is closed on Christmas, New Year's, and Thanksgiving da)S. Education and Public Programs Guided wurs, slide lectures, gallery talks, craft demonstrations, and a variety of special programs for all ages, from preschool through senior citizen, are offered.

Admission Fees for Nonmembers Adults, $1.50; Children (6-17), 50¢; Senior Citizens, 50¢. Admission is free on Mondays.

Chicago Historical Society

Clark Street at North Avenue

Chicago, Illinois 60614

(3 12 ) 642-4600

FROM THE EDITOR A CBS television crew recently shot scenes on location in Washington, D.C., for the four-hour miniseries "Guts and Glory: The Rise and Fall of Oliver North." David Keith, who portrayed the former marine colonel, commented : "It's like being right on the cutting edge of history." "Guts and Glory" is an example of the historical docudramas that have become a common part of television programming during the last fifteen years. Sometimes sacrificing accuracy for dramatic effect, their broad, popular appeal underscores a central feature of our contemporary view of history: we have largely forgone written history in favor ofa visual one that we learn from photographs, television, and film.

The invention of photography in 1839 revolutionized the way we look at the world and challenged the primacy of the printed word as historical record. Faith in the truthfulness of the camera image shaped tl1e perception that photography was the ultimate, unbiased record of reality-a factual description of the world that painting, drawing, or the written word could not accomplish. Used as documentary evidence, photography, like the printed word before it, became a powerful agent of social change.Jacob A. Riis's How the Other Half Lives, a study of slum conditions in New York City in the late 1880s, and the Farm Security Administration photographs made during the Great Depression are two examples of efforts to shape public opinion and stimu late social change through the visual evidence of the photograph. In this century, film and te levision, as extensions of photography, have entered the realm of histo1ical record.

Although our world is inundated with visual images, few of us have faith anymore in the ultimate truth of the photograph, and we realize that films and television programs are creations of directors and screenwriters, among others. In each case the camera records not only the subject but also a point of view. As with written history before it, visual history is never a fixed fact but is always dependent on the interpretation of whoever records it.

While visual history may not have proven to be more reliable than the written word, it nevertheless has the potential to be a more powerful force. Television has the unique ability to bring an event-such as Oliver orth 's Congressional testimony-as it unfolds into millions of homes simultaneously. Yet North's story was told soon thereafter in a docudrama. In television, truth and fiction, event and drama quickly fuse; more than any other medium, it shapes our national collective consciousness.

Television and film have a great potential to give us a new sense of our history. The fast pace and dynamic imagery of visual history make it more provocative, more engaging, and more accessible to a mass audience than wtitten history has proven to be. And because television and film are moving history into a wider arena, history must necessarily incorporate the responses and views of the new larger audience it reaches. Never before has the potential been greater for a more multi-dimensional and multi-cultural history-a more enlightened history of America.

Although the potential is present, the incentive to create this kind of history seems to be lacking. With few exceptions, our visual history is limited to one pointofview:white middle-class Ame ica. Most recently, the outcry by blacks over the portrayal of the civil rights movement from an all-white perspective in the film Mississippi Burning has brought the iss1,Le ofour impoverished one-dimensional visual history and tl1e power of the visual media to the forefront of national debate.

American commonly believe that history is a firmly established field that simply moves ahead habitually accumulating and interpreting data. Yet there is the promise ofa new kind ofhistoryachieved through visua l media-that can arise in our time. To allow for a history of multiple points of view may be our greatest contribution, for those who conrrol our history shape our national destiny.

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A Grip on the Land

by Timothy B. Spears

To nineteenth-century Americans the traveling salesman symbolized the freedom and adventure of the open road, but in reality a salesman's life was not easy.

To deal with its hardships, he developed a unique set of skills and a personal sense of landscape.

I have enjoyed life at the rate of nine knots an hour since I left you and if l had no 1,¡ife or wanen 10 think of, to love, and Lo care for, the itinerancy would be the

-life for -me.

John Kirk Lo his wife, March 3, 1853

I will start you into buisiness. As I don't think you will

ever want to ware your life out braking those clay clodds in the summer & freasing in the winter. I ha\'e maid plent)' of money since l'\'e bin off the farm & don't have to work half so hard .... Corne out and sec the World.

William Hutton asking his brother Lineus to join him on the road a a salesman, October 11, 1884

What strange, enchanted land lay beyond Jasperv ille or west of Brownville? What smal ltown boy did not feel a "savage tug" at his heart and look with "big hungry eyes" as the traveling salesmen boarded the afternoon local? "Oh! to step briskly along as did that little round man with grip in his hand!" Written in 190-l for the Chicago journal Agricultural Advertising. Sherwood Anderson's nostalgic recollection of the commercial traveler evokes a life of glamour and adventure that rural Americans envied, scorned -and imagined . As the nation's transportation network expanded in the late nineteenth century, the commercial traveler, or "drummer," gradually became a familiar figure on Main Street. Gripsack in hand, sample trunk by his side, he epitomized the ability to cut a broad path through life for novelists,journalists, and re Liess boys across the nation.

Timothy B. Spears is a doctoral candidate in the history of American civilization at Harvard University.

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Recalling the first drummer he saw as a child in his nineteenth-century country village, Earl Denham described the romantic vision that explained why he became a traveling salesman.

"I-le wore a derby," Denham reminisced, "spats, fancy vest, stri peel trousers, nose glasses, patent leather shoes, and carried a cane which he kept twirling around his finger all the time he was seated." Surrounded by boys, clerks, and loafers, the traveling man made the general store his headquarters while he dispensed jokes and wisdom from the world outside Den ham's inland village. "I-le seemed to know all the news of the clay, and was the first real I)' conversant man I had ever come in contact with." Despite the villagers' inveter;:ite suspicion of"cit) slickers," the drummer soon had them laughing and joking with him. Having won his audience, he could begin to sell his goods. There he sat, twirling his cane, the representative ofan unbounded \\'Oriel-ready to "make'' another town.

The commercial tnl\'eler was different from other itinerants who traveled the byways of America during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. L1nlikc peddlers and doorto-cloor salesmen, he sold onl} to retail merchants. Although . ome traveling men represented manufacturers, most sold for wholesale ''.jobbing houses." And while some specialiLccl in a "line," others carried an assortment of products. On the whole , commercial travelers sold a wide range of dry goods, including hardware , clothing, jewelry, drugs, groceries, and even liquor. Moving from one town to the next, and within each town from one customer lo

The q11in/e;s1'11//al dmmmer, H.11.ssell County, Kansas, c. /900.

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 another, drummers promoted the newest products and pushed the latest urban fashions. In villages far from railroad lines, drummers were true "ambassadors of culture." There, selling the products of an expanding consumer culture, drummers "made towns" in ways that no other itinerant could.

"In making the towns we have laid out," James Eaton's employers, the Chicago cutlery house of Jewett and Butler, wrote him in 1864, "we think you will make them the easiest to take one after the other." Among traveling men, "making" became a verb form with a specific transitive meaning. Like "canvass," whose obscure Engli h origins converged with "hawking"-the capture of birds in a canvass net-"to make" anticipated a new tatus. For while canvassing means to seek, solicit, and finally LO secure a pledge, making connotes the commercial conquering of a place and anticipates its new condition-as sold. ln usage, howeve1~ commercial travelers refen-ed to making towns casually as they described their daily activities. A salesman from Iowa who began

jokes helped lhe dmmmer break lhe ice with polenlia/ buyers.

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trave ling in 1872 recalled that "the first town I made was Mon-ison , Illinois." The 1893 manual How 'lb Become A Commercial Traveler, Or The Art Of Selling Goods contained a chapter entitled "Making Country Towns." By 1914 the term had gained wider acceptance but without losing its special meaning. Describing his trip Lo Battle Creek, Michigan ,Julian Street reported in Abroad At Home that a woman selling newspapers and candy in the depol mistook him for a traveling man. When she asked him what "line" he traveled in and what town he was "making next," Street struggled to co nvince her he was really a writer.

More than the changes that followed in the drummers' path , the phrase " making towns" refers to how commercial travelers viewed the landscape through which they moved. It describes the aggressiveness they brought to the business of selling goods, and tl1e improvisational spirit that shaped their movement from place to place. Despite the hardships that accompanied constant travel , and even because of them , commercial travelers gained a special understanding of the road and a unique vision of it. [t was this view, one created and made through the vicissitudes of travel, that impressed Sherwood Anderson and won the drummer an attentive audience.

Drummers first struggled to w,n the confidence of customers in the 183Os when, as clerks for Pearl Street jobbers, they com bed New York hotels soliciting the trade of country merchants who were in the city to bu y. There on Pearl Street, New York's commercial hub, the term "drummer'' entered the American \¡ocabulary. But Pearl Street drummer did not literally beat a rhythm to "drum-up trade" as peddlers apparently once did. "Drumming in a mercantile sense," Asa Greene explained in The Constellation in 1832, "co nsists in fastening upon every man , whether stranger or otherwise, who labors under a suspicion of having come to the city to purchase goods for the country market." Greene's sketch ultimately became part of his detailed, satiric novel about New York's mercantile world, The Perils of Pearl Street, published in 1834. More than just describing early nineteenth-centu1-y business practices, Greene's tale augured a century of creative salesmanship that required drummers to "be all things to all men, in order to gain some."

As the nation's commercial network grew and city

A Grip on the Land

J,ong train rides gave dntmmers a chance lo disczm cuslllmers and hotels and lo swap lhe latest stories. Painting by Archibald Willard, 1885.

drummers became commercial travelers, the gist of Greene's story remained intact. In "fastentng" on retail merchants as they traveled from place to place, drummers continually demonstrated their ability Lo improvise-and sell goods.

The revolution in transportation and information systems brought important structural changes in the way wholesalers did business. By 1870 the nation's railroad companies had built 70,000 miles of track, the essential framework of a system that by 1900 encompassed 200,000 miles. Due prim a rily to the tremendous consolidation of railroad systems, but owing also Lo the concomitant growth of the telegraph, wholesalers could receive order and ship goods with far more speed and in much greater volume than e,¡er before. l\ot only did the market expand, but b; the 1870s most wholesale merchants had become jobbers and, taking title to the goods the)' sold, began pursuing the trade of retail storekeepers. Yet while the old Pearl Street jobber had purchased his goods at auction or from importers, postbellumjobbers increasingly

bought directly from manufacturers. New ways to travel and do business, "speed and regularity," made buying from manufacturers easier and eliminated other middlemen. In the creation of this new market economy, the drummer played a vital role. Venturing forth from cities to greet merchants who had once traveled to market to buy goods, he became a commercial traveler, a symbol and representative of the nation's emerging consumer culture.

A steady rise in the number of commercial travelers reported in the censuses between 1870 and 1900 accompanied the growth of the transportation and industrial systems. In 1870-the first time the occupational class "commercial traveler" appeared in the census-the government listed 7,262 commercial travelers working in the United States; by 1900, the total exceeded 90,000. Partisan sources calculated much more generously. The Society of Commercial Travellers estimated in 1869 that some 50,000 salesmen were "co nstantly travelling by night and by clay over all the threads of the immense network of 7

A Grip on the Land railroads of this vast country." Fourteen years later, the Commercial Travelers Magazine reported that "in round figures, 200,000 ... are maintained at an average cost to their emp loyers of $3,000 eac h , including sa laries and road expenses, or an aggregate of $600,000,000." By the end of the century, according to the testimony g iven by the president of the Commercial Travelers' National League before the Industrial Commission on Trusts and Combinations in Washington, D.C., 350,000 commercial travelers did business in the United States.

Commercial travelers representing eastern hou ses closer to estab lish ed manufacturers and importers dominated the market in 1870. In keeping with the mercantile traditions of Pearl Street, ew York C ity houses led the way, employing twice as many salesmen as Chicago, Cincinnati , and St. Louis firms comb in ed. "The mode of selling in those clays was simple and direct," wrote Edward P. Briggs, a New York hardware salesman.

"There were comparative ly few sa lesmen on the road and they on ly stopped in the cities and large towns." With little competition, the traveling man "had on ly to call upon the merchant and announce that he was willing to sell him and show him his samp les to receive an order."

1ew York's domination , however, ended with the expans ion of the railroad network and the tremendous growth of industry. In 1870, readymade suits, like so many consumer durables, had on ly just appeared in stores. Ch icago had not yet burned in the Great Fire of 1871, let alone become, as Theodore Dreiser described in his novel , Sister Carrie, set in the 1880s, "the giant magnet" to whose "vast wholesale and shopping district" the "uninformed seeker for work usually drifted." Complacency, one traveling man suggested, contributed to New York's loss. Buying in small lots and selling only on demand, New York jobbers enjoyed the luxury of uncrowded stock she lves and a public who expected only what merchants offered. When new western firms took a~vamage of high-volume manufacturing, they bought in mass quantitie and old for le s. Unable to compete, New York whole alers called in their travelers, many of whom had been losing money. '/rade magazrne1 o/JPml mjonnation about life 011 the road (left). This dapper drwnmn¡ (right) appeared in Success Magaz ine.

In Chicago, Marshall Field & Co.'s 1876 battle with ew York's powerful dry goods firm A. T Stewart, and later with H. F Claflin Co. and john Wanamaker, exemp lifi ed the scramb le for western markets and dramatized Ch icago's growing commercia l power. Field withstood A. T. Stewart's raid on his sa lesmen and H. F C lafl in's price-cutting Lo remain Ch icago's lead ing wholesa ler, but not without learn ing a lesson. Shortly after the confl ict with Stewart ended, Field in creased his firm's traveling expe nditures and its reliance on sa lesmen. Traveling men who visited isolated towns and vi llages throughout the Midwest offered country merchants not just the

~l.\Y, 1903

The travellnâ&#x20AC;˘ man

9

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

The A. Sahs and Co. trade carrL1 011 these two pages show how a sucassful sale and cmnplele nlltomer 1atisfaclion are arhiei!/'d.

famous Marshall Field name, but sen'ice and valuable advice. The commercial traveler who informed retailers on the latest fashions and counseled quick "turn around" improved customer relations and reinforced Marshall Field & Co.'s claim on the region.

Some commercial travelers claimed creditand more-for the nation's expanding market. By promoting trade and mo\'inggoods, the tra\'eling salesman guaranteed that the latest fashions and most recent in\'entions would be "diffused 0\'Cr the continent." According to Alexander Belcher, the author of What I Know About Commercial Travelling (1883), commercial travelers swept the continent by train, stage, steamboat, or wagon-as pioneers. He predicted that visitors to the "remote t pan of our ci\'ilization" where "vil lages spring up as ifby magic" would find the traveling man with his samples "pushing for an order." Salesmen traced their lineage to prehistoric times and the Old Testament, asserting that as ambassadors of commerce they had always played a crucial role in "the fonnalion of ocial neighborhoods." And in the United Stale. , the Official Souvenir of the 1896 Commercial Travelers' Fair held in New York City assured its readers that commercial travelers knit "the bonds ll'hich unite a patriotic, loyal and liberty loving people.''

The authors of such grand rhetoric praised their profession and, perhaps more importantly, promoted the commercial, industrial network they depended on . The "modern Knight errant" who co nfronted a "ll'ilderness of possible customers" with "one eye upon his Railway Guide and the other upon his sample chest" cut a romantic figure for those who literally, or in 10

fiction, followed his path. A trailblazer of sorts, the commercial traveler encouraged the growth of his profession and hence the vitality of American culture. As Linus P. Brockell emphasized in The Commercial Traveller\ Guide Book (1871), the "system" of commercial traveling integrated three elements-railroad, product, and customer-and insured that "the farmer boy on the plains ... or the miner in the Rocky Mountains may, and often docs, possess as delicate an aesthetic taste ... as the more practised artist in the cit}'.'' Brockett was among the commercial visionaries who trumpeted that drummers would make and remake American culture.

Welcome though such a system may have been to jobbers, salesmen, and boosters of interstate commerce, others saw commercial travelers as "runners," "bummers," or "guerillas." Throughout the late nineteenth century, state legislatures, city and town councils, and village trustees responded directly to the increasing number or traveling men with license laws that limited if not crippled the commercial traveler's ability to do business. Exercising their "police power" with a ,¡engeance, legislators regulated the economy, guarded public morality-and made mone}'whcn they taxed the mm¡cments of commercial tr,l\"elers. Drummer laws typically required nonresidents "selling goods by sample" to purchase licenses at the state, county, or municipal levels.

For instance, drummers working in Montana in 1879 paid $25 for every county they entered, \\hile in Georgia an 1873 law made all itinerant merchants, whether they sold "by sample or othern¡ise," pay no less than $50 per count). \\'here authorities enforced them, license laws became obstacles that salesmen could hardly ignore,

A Grip on the Land

Some traveling men did ignore such laws, refusing Lo pay for licenses and doing business warily, looking over Lheir shoulders for "spolters" paid Lo caLch offenders. OLhers foughL the licenses in court, hoping LhaLjudicial review would correct Lhe discriminaLing laws. In 1887 Lhe Supreme Court sLruck clown legislation impeding a drummer's Lramc in Shelby CounLy, Tennessee, when Chief JusLice Joseph Bradley declared Lhat "in the maLLer of inLersLate commerce Lhe United States are but one country." Traveling men welcomed Lhe decision as justice long expected, yet Bradley's mandate merely confirmed existing faCLs. In spite of opposition- or raLher because of iL-traveling salesmen made the road their own.

Yet as one old drummer stressed in a po.em written in the 1880s, moving from place to place often lacked the romance typically associated with travel-it was hard work. In "Lamentations OfThe Traveling Man" he wrote: Our cm ploycrs expect us to sell lots of goods, In t0\\'nS that are lone!)' and far in the \\'ood,, We travel on freight trains, we clri,e in a hun1 , Expenses foot up and we get in a Ou17:;

a trip to Kentucky in the spring of 1875, William White disabused his brother of any romantic notion he might have had about life on the road.

"This traveling business is awful hard work," he complained. "One is obliged to work all the time.

Gel into a town at 7 o'clock in the evening and have Lo go round and see cuslomers and Lalk wiLh them all Lhe evening in order to prepare Lhe way for tJ1e morrow."

White's reaction to his first days on Lhe roadin a buggy-echoes the writings of traveling men who rejected the idea that "seeing the country, viewing magnificenl cities,'' and "speeding along at sixty miles an hour over the rails" made their lives enviable. "Everything becomes insipid," Virgil Wright warned his friends, "excepL the desire to be at home with your family and friends." Making towns dulled Edward Clark's love of Lhe midwestern landscape in the early l880s when he traveled back and forth over the same roads without being able to enjoy Lhe scenery. Writ'ng in Lawrence, Kansas, he wistfully imagined LhaL "three months from now the eyes of the Lraveller as he speeds across these broad plains will be greeted by magnificent fields of golden grain slrelching on either side as far as the eye can reach." Clark was careful to exclude himself from such a privileged sighL, for he undersLood he would probably have business elsewhere. He settled instead for a more realistic anLicipation, the knowledge that by Sunday he would be at home with his family. His stay there would be short, as he expected to begin a trip the following week to Illinois, "and by the time I have completed Lhat, I must needs repeat the one which I am now about completing." The ironies of commercial traveling persisted as men like

Our samples are hea,·), the charges are high, \'Ve have no redress, the money must Oy, An itcmi,ccl expense account the)' always expect, And if 11 runs light, they're sure its correct.

Ti·aveling men entertained few illusions about the demands of their work. Poor tra,·el conditions, ,eed) hotels, late nights, and the constant threat of sickness often made commercial traveling anything but a pleasure. Even before the ~alesman began to sell his goods, he had expended much of his en erg). Returning to Cincinnati after II

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

I AM COMING!

Look out for

.Jlhonf \VJTB A FCLL LINE OF

COFFEE, SPICES, TEAS , & c.

H. B. NEWHALL, 76 Broad Street, Bosto11.

A calling card like this announced thR impending arrival of the drum.mer on his rounds.

Clark learned to enjoy the world at sixty miles an hour, but had neither the time nor the opportunity to savor it. As regular as the seasons, 1vork made demands on traveling men , and disregarding "ties of affection or trust" required them to "resume their business relations" when they least wanted to. So occupational duties bound the commercial traveler to the city and to his wholesale house, not to his home.

Thus the drummer traveled to sell, finding success only through a curious blend of commercial and physical skills. As a "knight of the grip," his intimate, specific knowledge of physical tasks li nked him to an older world of work and separated him from more gentee l, sedentary occupations. Whether he was haul ing sample 12

trunks off a wagon bed, hurrying through a railroad depot, or gesturing as he displayed his wares to a merchant, the salesman remained surrounded by things that, if he wished to succeed, he learned to master and manipulate. Though he relied on telegraph operators and crack trunk lines, the drummer who made towns in the 1890s still profited from knowing how to drive a team of horses and handle a hitching weight.

Subject to a demanding employer on one side and a suspicious public on the othe1~ drummers suffered as middlemen oft.en do-as ones besieged. "You must canvass them thoroughly," James Eaton's employers commanded when sending him a list of towns to make and merchants to see. "Se ll all tho e that will Pil-Y when they get the goods." Eaton's foray into Illinois, made by wagon in the spring of 1864, exemplifies the conflicts traveling men continually confronted. Although he traveled from place to place in apparent freedom, no traveling man rode for free. Informing Eaton that he had been seen driving the horses too hard , his employer angrily asked, "How is this?-You must remember that if you abuse those horses you abuse the owner." Getting the trade at this time sparked battles on two fronts: it meant satisfying ever more demanding employers and convincing a nascent nation of consumers to buy.

Salesmen who lacked concrete knowledge of a region's geogrnphy, as Simon Skidelsky did in 1889 when planning a trip to western Pennsylvania and Ohio, could consult "every folder of every railroad in existence." After compiling his list of towns with the help of the guides, Skidelsky "mapped out" his "route." For novices, these route plans were indispensable. One New York employer instructed his new salesman to visit all the "principal cities" on the Hudson River and along the New York Central Railroad to Buffalo and Lockport. "Take a map," he advised, "and write down your list of cities, allowing sufficient time in each to call upon all the dealers whom you make think will use our line of goods."

City directories, travel guides, and Dun's credit reference books helped salesmen make such lists and revealed the burgeoning strength of the nation's "inland imagination."

George \ on Brown sold paclwgedfood products in Minnesota around 1910.

A Grip on the Land

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A Grip on the Land

Sa!,,mn, g,,"'" e, V,, l>rt"mi H ' /895. Photograph by Horace S. Po:;.el, Cnpple Creek, Colorado, :,<;°".

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Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

POEM OF

DER DRUMMER.': Jly CIU8. fi'IIAISCI8 ADA)l8,

Wlw stovs nt tier best hotel, Urnl t.,1kcri his Oyste1·s on lier shell.

1r11,t m!t 1ler ln<llcs cuts n swell?

Der Dr11m111,·r.

Who vit, it c"mes Jnto niy stor~, ·r111·ow~ <lo\\ n hls JHrnlllcs by de Jloor, Orn\ nC'Vl'1' fltopi; t,o ~hut dP floor?

Der Druurnwr. \\' ho dakos me IJy clor hntH1, und i:;n.v: " Tian:; l'l1ifft-1·, how you ,·ns to.,Iay ! " l 'lll l goc.,; for Bi~llt.':-,l'i rltt> a.vay:' ner DrmHllll'1·.

\Vlw spreads hi~ goo1ls out in a h·ice,

U111l ~ay~: .. ,Just lool.. vonce; sec how nice; Yon het, J',·e got !lcr bottom prleE,~" Der Drumnw,·.

Who punch my ribs, cnll me a sport, ~I)' olr\cst uaui.rhtcr d1fos to court; -.;ells g-oods d1CnJ1, be,~1,11s~ he's short?

Der DrumnH.'r.

\\'ho ,·arrnnts all ,le Goo,ls to soot l>t> ,·ustomct·s npon liis route, Uurl n .m dey comes ch!y islt no gout:> Der Drummer.

11·110 ,·alls by my house vcn f'sc been outl, Und dl'luk s my l>ecr, nud ea<la my krout, 1· nt1 kisses Ktt<l!'rlcna in cler Mo1ul?

Der Drumme1·. lVho, vcn he come1:1 ngin dis va.v, VIII l11•nr \'flt PhlJrcr fms to Slly; And mlrl tt lila<'k ll)e go avay?

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Der Drummer.

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THE COMMERCIAL DRUMMER.

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The rakish, sometimes disreputable image often associated with the dmmmer belied his difficult and exhausting lijf.

Repeated trips over the same ground distinguished veteran salesmen from novices looking at their territories for the first time. In 1892 T. H .

Young, a Chicago clothing salesman, described his first visits to several places in Iowa and Illinois in sequence, but without any regard for the overall unity of the trip. Unacquainted with particular towns, Young did what his more experienced partner told him to do and looked around on his own for a while. More an adventure in discovery than a seasoned run through a territory, Young's trip suggests that time and practice gave selling routes identities and alesmen the ability to see disparate elements as one piece.

Throughout the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, railroad networks shaped itineraries and frequently determined which towns a traveling man visited. From Jersey City 111 1887, Daniel Groh wrote to his brother in 16

Lebanon County, Pennsylvania, to stipulate which towns he should make on his trip east.

Both Groh brothers represented a Chicago stencil supply firm, and Daniel steered his brother away from towns he had already canvassed, thus suiting their combined interests. As Groh felt ure his brother would come the shortest waythrough Allentown or Easton-that left two choices: the Central Railroad of New Jersey, or the Delaware, Lackawanna & Western Railroad.

"There is also the Lehigh Valley R.R. running from Easton & Phillipsburg to N.Y.," he added, "bu t by that route there is only one town Flemington Junction 1,851 (the population] ·betwee n Phillipsburg and Bound Brook." Groh gave his brother a Ii t of towns to canvass and told him what kind of tickets to buy. With a population of 914, Rockaway "would hardly be worth stopping at but might pay." Acutely sensitive to

A Grip on the Land

Surrounded by their sample tn mks, salesmen exchange the latest yarns in a Virginia count1y inn in 1885.

th e parti cula r d e m a nds of busin ess trave l, Groh accompli sh e d in his d e tail e d le tte r wh a t th e a uth o rs of co mm e rcial guides did in th e ir lists a nd m a ps.

Sometimes-wh e n th e law a ll owe d it o r ra ilroad m e n co uld be pe rsu ad ed - trave ling m e n rod e o n fre ig ht tra ins. In a n e mpty ra il road d e po t, in so me "mu ch-to -be-co nd e mn ed " to wn , a trave lin g m a n mi g ht j o ll y a co ndu cto r o r inspecto r, pl eading to be a ll owe d o n th e loca l fre ig ht in stead o f th e regul a r passe nge r train three ho urs la te r. With luck, he might find himse lf in th e caboose, fini shing a ha lf-writte n le tte r, speeding o n to his ne xt to wn . Or if he was cove ring th e Texas fro nti e r in th e 1880s, he co uld j o in o th ~r drumm e rs "lying o ut o n th e sidings, d o ing with o ut m ea ls a nd ex ha usting o ne's pa ti e nce," wa iting fo r th e fre ig ht to d e pa rt. To pass th e tim e as yard m e n unl oad ed o r sw itch ed cars, th e d ru mme rs wo ul d wa nd e r o ff to sm o ke cigars, shoot cra ps, o r huntj ack rab bits until th e con cl ucto r bl ew th e whi stl e to ca ll th e m back. Eve n wh e n a trave ling m an did reach his d estin ati o n as 17

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

(0 CADIZ,

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Accommodations First Class.

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Satisfaction Guaranteed.

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AL. McFADDEN, Proprietor.

The Prn1>rietor linYin~ lwcn a tran,•lin~ man for tlli• pa:-;1 lt·n Yl'ars 111H.l, r:-.ta11ds tl1ornughly 11H.' want:-- of 1hi~ n.iUk c·la~._ of our dliz1·11..: c:ood 8ample Roo111s on Fir:,;t Floor. l: afr~. 'I ,~lO and ':.! 011.

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Hotels catering to drnmmers appealed to their need for convmience, sample rooms, and proximity lo the railroad depot.

planned, he did o at the train's convenience, often hustling in the middle of the night to find a hotel and store his sample trunks.

Traveling men knew that the built environment changed unevenly-quickly in some places, slowly in others, and in many places, not at all. Sample rooms-space reserved for salesmen to show products and meet customers-became 18

commo n features in m a ny hotels throughout late nineteenth-century America, for example, but they were by no means standard. As early as 1877, small-town hotels like the Fayette House in Fayette, Iowa , promised a free omnibus ride to and from the depot, a local stage line, livery servicesand "Good Sample Rooms." And in large cities like Chicago, where in the 1880s the Palmer

A Grip on the Land

The flotel Statler in Detroit provided several floors of sample rooms for commercial travelers to displa:y their wares.

House boasted four hundred sample rooms and hosted giant product fuirs, standardization-and modernization-seemed the rule. But not all towns were Chicago or even Fayette, Iowa. Sometimes, a traveling man could find no place to display his wares and greet customers. In towns like Plattville, the etting for Booth Tarkington's 1899 novel The Cmtleman From lndiana, "transient

trade was light": only the "occasional commercial travelers" stopped there. A "rickety omnibus that lingered" by the station took an hour to get to town, where the infrequent visitor checked into Plattville's only hotel, a gathering spot for locals, but empty most of the time. In such places, salesmen often improvised, as Victor Jacobs once d id in a small Texas town. Clearing out a space 111 19

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988- 89

N o.831.

fro nt of the ge ne ra l sto re, he ha u led o ut a co upl e o f fl o ur barre ls and a shu tter to create a co unte r.

"Th e n ," h e wro te, "I proceed ed to o p e n my trunks a nd to show my samp les in this improvised o pe n-air sampl e roo m , and , afte r a n ho ur's work, was th e lu cky possessor ofan o rde r:' Wh e re improvisatio n led to improve me n t, a nd sampl e roo ms o r o th e r se rvices a ppeared , the trave ling ma n see med a proge nito r of cha nge. But so me trave lin g m e n avo id ed th e Pl a ttvi lles, wh e re improve m ents fa iled to a ppea r a nd mod e rnity illumin a ted th e draw backs, h ead ing in stead fo r "e lectric- lig ht to wns" with co mfo rta bl e h o te ls a nd be tte r services. To pushing, hu rrying sa lesme n, accustomed to th e fas t pace of citi es like C hi cago a nd a "mod e rn" pe rspecti ve, so me sma ll tow ns a nd vill ages a ppeared read y to d ie.

Auth o rs of sales ma nuals, however, cauti o ned yo ung salesme n to ignore traveling me n who scorned <;making co untry tow ns" a nd urged th e m The romance of road life inspired a variety of literary interpretations, from this dime novel of 189 3 (left) to Stephen Crane's short story "The Bride comes lo Yellow Sky" (below).

1 '

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20

aud al tlte 11to11unt that Ilic old m,nt fdl down staiYS with the Dureau i",i lits arms, tlte old woma1t â&#x20AC;˘u:as c,1m,11:: 11p wtth /we, scuttltr of coal, and, of course''

A Grip on the Land to observe such cnt1cs carefu ll y: "you will find that they 'mount the trunk wagon' and drive to a country town whenever they think they can sell a bill." Hard-traveled journeys over muddy roads in creaking wagons constituted pioneer work in two ways. First, commercial travelers who made such journeys eschewed the relative comfort of railroad cars for more primitive conditions. Second, they frequentl y ventured into unfamiliar towns. Finding "new territory" was "pioneer work

of the hardest kind ," a veteran traveling man wrote. "It is not only a test of the manhood in a man, but a proof that he has the true elements of salesmanship in him ifhe makesgood."From this perspective, the acquisition of new customers meant success and that the salesman had courageously brought the products and virtues of modern American business to the hinterland.

Adept salesmen, eager to make towns and find new customers, switched from one mode of

The drummer's caricature is perhaps more Jcuni/iar than the drum.mer himself. This cartoon appeared in Judge in 188-1.

A DRUMMER'S EXPERIENCE IN A COUNTRY V ILLAGE.

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Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

A salesman for lhe Rockford Silverplale Company in Minnesola poses around 1900. Photograph by Cilbt'TI Ellestad.

22

A Grip on the Land

} 'ou will find ii lo 11our inluu l lo sec thf':

"MAXWELL" EXCLUSIVE LINE OF WALL PAPER FOR 1908 be/ore placing your orde r /or Foll and S p, fng Stock,.

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This post card served as a reminder from wallpaper salesman Elmer Long.

travel to another as conditions changed or when towns proved inaccessible by rail. Howard Peak made his first towns in Texas by horseback in the 1870s, and in 1883, a Chicago salesman, Henry R. Hamilton, endured the discomforts of stagecoach travel in Montana. In the winter of 1892, TH. Young traveled with his sample trunk from one Illinois town to another by rail , wagon , and sleigh. Occasionally, wagon or buggy provided more effective transportation than the railroad.

"I have driven across the country a good deal by team," Joseph Babcock wrote his wife from Fayette, Iowa , in 1876. "There has been a man with me selling boots & shoes from Boston and we hire a team together which makes it about as cheap as R.R. fare and pleasanter & quicker."

Indeed , as late as 1917, the National Salesmen's Training Association advised traveling men to hire a livery team when making smaller towns and to share the expense with another salesman .

Long rides by train or buggy gave drummers an opportunity to discuss customers, hotels, and travel experiences. As Wilbur Caste low joked in Only A Drummer (1903), salesmen were often "put wise in their home city by brother drummers" who knew more about the place than they did.

Yet if chance seemed to direct the traveling man's education, throwing in his way the profits of a Pullman car conversation or a temporary trav.e l arrangement, the rhythms of road life reminded him that circumstances did not arise fortuitouslr "I am put on the road to fight for te1Titory, to win territory and to hold it," a drummer declared in 1908. "I am see n to be an evolved pedlcr [sic)," a "modern specialist" whose "function" is "to sell continuously in a defined area ."

In making towns in the 1870s, a salesman did not

follow the dictates of a manager whose "graphic picture" of a sales territory was vastly different from his own , made up of"maps and tacks and geographically arranged card files with significant colors for the cards." However, the demands of making towns prefigured the pressures of twentieth-century sales practices. In 1895 an Iowa firm reminded its salesmen that "territory should be worked thoroughly; large, small and inland towns alike ." Although in A Supplement To The Oxford English Dictionary the editors claim "territory" evolved as a commercial term in the United States, they date its first appearance in 1900. The use of the word in the preceding advice manual and in Caldwell 's 1893 book How To Become A Commercial Traveler suggests that it was part of business vocabulary in the early 1890s and probably before. Territories designated by employers

THE GENTLE DRUMMER ASKETH A BRIEF RESPITE.

THE MAGIC

TALISMAN.

Salesmen f or W T Blackwell & Co. sold Durham tobacco.

23

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

The automobile reshaped the landscape of commercial traveling. These Kansas salesmen traveled more ronveniently rn 1924 than did their nineteenth-century counterparts.

placed limits on a traveler's geographical freedom, and drummers who bragged of making only the big towns on one side of the Mississippi contributed to the lore of commercial traveling at the risk of losing their jobs. Bordered by travel expenses, demanding customers, and competing salesmen, the open road offered ambitious alesmen experience-but only under certain conditions. Traveling men learned by experience and improvised as circumstances demanded but never forgot the commercial necessities that determined the Lime and the place of their good fortunes.

For wholesale jobbers, selling merchandise by sample meant an enlarged market and more customers, but to the drummer, commercial traveling brought a special understanding of the landscape. To the drummer a territory denoted more than his selling region. Even when he returned to the city-to organize bills, pack samples, or write customers-territory shaped a traveling man's business activities. It signified his

24

working world , an area that over the years, through seasonal trips and repeated sales, became a home of sorts. Familiarity made a single personal landscape of diverse features and regional differences. Customers, competitors, and acquaintances blended with topography and manmade features to become landmarks in their own right. All of these elements combined to create the drummer's special vision of the landscape and his intimate understanding of the road .

Fifty-two years after his first selling trip in Texas, Howard Peak Oew over his old territory. "l never appreciated its beauty until I visualized it from the air," he marveled over the area he had once taken a month to cove1~ "The highways, dotted with creeping automobiles, reminded me of bugs of the horseocade days, the cattle and horses appeared as mice, and the houses along the route were but children's play houses." Looking down, Peak mused over the changes that had turned a frontier landscape into a modern world

A Grip on the Land and had given his son the opportunity to teach salesmanship "by applied psychology," while his "pop is flying in an airplane." Modernity brought a new landscape and a new way of looking al that landscape, which nearly overwhelmed the older, more intimate view of the territory. Yet Peak recovered that vision Loo. Like a field whose grooves reveal bygone farming practices to those who know how to read them, certain landmarks on the Texas plains reminded him of his "yo unger days" when "buffalo roamed undisputed." As Peak let his fancies "p lay" over the panorama, he was recreating his own territory, not as an objective or graphic representation for all to see, but as a landscape of his own memory. Years after he had sold his first customer, Peak affirmed that making towns was an imaginative as well as commercial act.

From above, or from the twentieth century looking back, the know-how gained from rough commercial traveling dims in contrast to modern business practices, and "old-time" drummers strain, however nostalgically, Lo recapture its force. In 1915 salesmen continued Lo make isolated towns in wagons and buggies, but such practices appeared increasingl y archaic.

Younger, "modern" salesmen had entered the ran ks. Efficient, integrated corporations replaced older jobbing firms and streamlim;d their sales forces. Mail-order catalogs and advertising campaigns made marketing a specialist's occupation. Watchful managers, smaller sales territories, and later the automobile, reshaped the landscape of commercial traveling. By 1900, twenty years after "sa lesmanship" entered the American vocabulary, selling had become "scientific," and "drummer" a crude moniker.

Seen against a blur of telegraph poles, the "Chicago drummer" that Richard Harding Davis encountered on a westbound train in the early 1890s appeared almost picturesque. As George Ade or Theodore Dreiser depicted him"mashing" country girls and "four-flushing" small tow:n '~ays"-the traveling man was an i1Tepressible, though likeable, city rogue. As Sherwood Anderson portrayed him in Poor While or Windy McPherson, he represented the coming of mass manufacture or the lure of the big city-a whiff of the mythic land beyond Jaspe1-ville. These accounts and others-Arthur Miller's Dealh of a Salesman, the film The Music Man-give full

expression to a nostalgic, poignant image that lies deep within the American cultural memory. Traveling men , Arthur Miller has recently observed, "lived like artists, like actors whose product is first of all themselves, forever imagining triumphs in a world that either ignores them or denies their presence altogether." In fiction as in life , to applause and jeers, salesmen made and remade themselves and their territories, forever demonstrating their ability to command the imagination.

For Further Reading Some of the most interesting accounts of traveling life are autobiographical writings. See Edward P. Briggs, Fifty lfors On The Road (Philadelphia: Lyon and Armor, l9ll) and Howard W. Peak, A Ranger of Commerce Or 52 l1iars On The Road (San Antonio, Texas: Naylor, 1929). George Horace Lorimer, Letters From A Self-Made Merchant To His Son (Boston: Small, Maynard , and Co., 1902) is the semifictional, humorous story of a Chicago meat packer. Advice manuals for drummers include W. F. Main Company, Instructions And Hints To Salesmen (Iowa City: W. F. Main Co., 1895) and E. Caldwell, How To Become A Commercial Traveler, Or The Art Of Selling Goods (Syracuse: D. Mason, 1893). Also see the many commercial traveler's trade magazines such as Commercial Travelers Magazine and The Traveling Man. For an overview of nineteenth-century business enterprise see Alfred D. Chandler, The Visible Hand (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977) and Robert W. Twyman, History of Marshall Field (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1954).

III ustraLions 5, Kansas State Historical Society; 6, Smithsonian Institution. 88-15986; 7, Charles J. Cella, St. Louis; 8, The Library of Congress; 9, from Success Magazine, May 1903; IO, Smithsonian Institution, 88-15989; 11, Smithsonian Institution, 88-15981; 12, Smithsonian Institution , 88-15985; 13, Minnesota Historical Society; 14-15, Denver Public Library, Western History Department; 16, Smithsonian Institution , 88-15998; 17 top, from Frank Leslie's Illustrated Weekly, November 28, 1885; 17 bottom, The Library of Congress; 18, from The Architectural R ecord, Mny-June 1915, The Newbe!T) Libraq•; 19, Smithsonian Institution , 88-15988; 20 top, CHS Library; 20 bottom, from McClure's ,\1agazine, Februaq· 1895, The Newben-y Library; 21, from judge, June 14, 1884. The Libra1·y of Congress; 22, Minn eso ta Historical Society; 23 top, CHS, ICHi208678; 23 bottom, Smithsonian Institution , 88-15993; 24, Scott Collection, Kansas Collection, University of Kansas Libraries.

25

White Hot Jazz

by Burton W. Peretti

Restless and bored with 1920s middle-class society, a group of rebellious teenagers embraced Chicago s black jazz scene and became an important force in the creation of a national biracial musical culture.

The colorful heyday of Chicago in the 1920 the fast and dangerous milieu of Prohibition, Capone and his speakeasies, and the burgeoning black South Side-produced a definitive style of Chicago jazz: hot jazz that stepped up the tempo of the Mississippi Valley Dixieland style and encouraged explosive rhythm sections and intense interplay between trumpet, saxophone, and clarinet. Jazz sprang from black culture, a fusion of blues, spi1¡itual, and ragtime musical

traditions. But in Chicago in the 1920s, a group of rebellious white musicians became the first to incorporate the essential elements of the black jazz style into their own playing. "The Chicagoans," as they were called, were the first white jazz musicians to acknowledge the importance of the black contribution. Many of them accepted blacks as equals and embraced black culture during a time of intense nationwide racial segregation and prejudice. Clarinetists Benny Burton W Peretti is a doctoral candidate in his/Or)' al the Univnsity of Califomia al Herkeley.

jimmy McPartland 's cornet

Goodman and Frank Teschemacher, drummers Dave Tough and Gene Krupa, saxophonist Bud Freeman, cornetists Jimmy McPartland and Muggsy Spanier, pianists Art Hodes and Joe Sullivan, and many others worked to swing and syncopate their rhythms, harmonize in the blues tradition, and improvise collectively in the manner of black masters like cornetist Joe "King" Oliver, clarinetistJimmie Noone, and trumpeter Louis Armstrong. As revealed through their eloquent memoirs and oral histories, the Chicagoans were important cultural innovators.

Environment played a large role in leading the Chicagoans to embrace black jazz culture. Early twentieth-century Chicago was an exciting and innovative city, the home of functionalist architecture, a major school of realist literature, intense ethnic and political conflict, and business empires on both sides of the law. Trumpeter Max Kaminsky, a perceptive younger colleague of the Chicagoans who came to the city from Boston in 1928, spoke for many when he recalled "the

bursting feeling of life in the city, engendered by the hordes of young people who swarmed into Chicago by the thousands," making it "a wide-open, rip-roaring town , where cattlemen and hillbillies rubbed shoulders with poets and G men , tycoons and politicians, baseball players and B girls, racketeers and reformers." By 1900, in addition, Chicago had become engulfed in largescale suburban development. Wealthy and working-class suburbs inside and outside the city limits had been among the first in the nation to blend city comforts with rural spaciousness. But the suburban way of life dissatisfied restless adolescents from the start, and the white jazzmen were among those who rebelled against the stifling confines of their communities. As writer Ben Hecht recalled, young Chicago intellectuals during World War I "did not automatically plunge into the worlds of painting, music, and literature," but first, "plunged out of worlds," out of"the smothering arms of society." Some future jazzmen experienced the same kind of frustration that led Ernest Hemingway to flee what he called the "broad lawns and narrow minds" of suburban Oak Park. The Chicagoans would create music that expressed their approval of attitudes, behavior, and an that they found in the city.

A group of students at Austin High School, known as the Austin High Gang, would form the dedicated and talented nucleus of the white jazz community in Chicago . Austin was a largely German-American community on the Southwest Side, which had 74,000 residents by 1920 and continued to grow rapidly. Lawrence "Bud" Freeman, born in 1906, grew up in Austin, where

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

In s11burban Amlin, c. 1925 (from left), fronk 7eschemac/1n; j1mm1• McPartland, Dick McPartland, Bud freeman , and Ant)' Frcrman were rel11cta111 to be awakmed bejorf the weeknzd.

he and his brother Arny resisted prescripti\'e and intrusive neighbors. He recalled that [as] Leens, we were 1101 very ambitious in the wa) that most people think they're supposed to be, but 1·aLher we were ambitious about a way of life .... V\'c lived in a communiLy where neighbo1·s we1·e forc\'er butting into one another's business to the exlent of C\en a;king my father wh) his boys didn't go to work.

In a languorous manner, the Freeman boys fended off th is social pressure: ·~fter being brainwashed by the community, my father came into our room at seven one morning and announced, 'You boys are getting up and going out to look for jobs and amount to something like other people,'" to which Arny replied, "How dare you wake us up before the weekend!"

Jimmy McPanland claimed that his youthful behavior \\'as in part an angry rebellion against a lonely, disoriented childhood. In his Smithsonian oral history interview in 1973, McPartland provided a vivid recollection of his experience as an oft-punished inmate al the Baptist Orphanage

28

in Maywood, Illinois, where he lived from age six Lo age nine during his parents' brief divorce. "I really felt ... left alone" in the orphanage, he said, and even though his parents reconciled and remarried soon afterward, McPartland believed "that this [experience] ... affected me throughout my life somehow or other." He and his brother Dick took advantage of Austin's proximity to Chicago's Southwest Side (patro lled by Italian and Irish street toughs), became gang members who "st(ole] everything we cou ld get our hands on ," and landed in jail before they reached their teens.

Delinquency and alienation emerged on the North Side as well. Milton Mesirow (later known as Mezz Mezzrow), a saxophonist born in 1899, had grown up in the afnuent suburb of Sunnyside. In his memoirs, Mezzrow claimed that he was still living at home in his twenties, suffering from a vague restlessness, when he provoked an incident that cut him loose from his family. Angered by his sister's dislike of the black blues records he e1~joyed playing, he decided that he had to tum my back once and filr all on that hi net) [;nobbish , stuck-up. full of airs], killjoy world of my sister\ and move over to [blues singer] Bessie Smith's world of body and oul. ... (!]sneaked into the house and . tole my sister's Hudson-seal fur coat out of the closet, then l beat ii clown to the whorehouse and sold it to the madam for $150. With the dough I made fiir the Conn Music Company and bought an alto sax for cash.

The members of the Austin High Gang dropped out of high school before their senior yea1~ Bud Freeman told how he "had a difficult time in school because [he] was always thinking about music and couldn't wail to get home to play the music [on records]." Mezz Mezzrow claimed, "[I] took my public-school training in three jails and a plenty of poolrooms, went to college in a gang of tea-pads [marijuana dens], earned my Ph.D. in more creep joints and speakeasies and dancehalls than the law allows."

Many of the Chicagoans also rejected formal music training early in their careers. Music educators, who considered themselves the guardians of America's musical future, were among the most outspoken opponents of jazz in the 1920s.

Bud Freeman took saxophone lessons from

White Hot Jazz Jimmy a nd Di ck McPartl a nd 's fa Lh e 1~ who was a music teache r, bu t he "didn't like th e lesso ns" beca u se " th ey re mind e d [him] o f g r ammar schoo l." Th e Austin Hi gh Ga ng La ug h t Lh e mse lves Lo pl ay in strum e nts by re pl ay ing recordin gs co untl ess tim es, learning th e ir mu sic a nd co p yin g p assages fro m Lh e records indi vidu a ll y a nd co ll ective ly.

Outsid e th e imm e di ate circle o f Lhe Austin Hi gh Ga ng, rej ec ti o n o f form a l mu sica l e clu caLi o n was no t uni ve rsa l. Be nn y Goodm a n and hi s broth e rs, g rowin g up o n th e Near West Side, too k adva ntage o f publi c schoo l instru cti o n an d p riva Le lesso ns ea rl y in life. (H owever, as Free m a n po inte d o ut, yo ung Goodm a n "was no Lin vo lved in j azz" be fo re th e mid -1920s.) And yo ung black musicia ns o f th e sa m e ge ne ra Li on, suc h as j azz vio lini st Eddi e So uth , bass ist Milt Hinto n , a nd Lrumpe te r Ray Na nce, te nd e d Lo sLrivc (w ith th e ir pare nts' prodding) to obta in so lid mu sica l tu torin g earl y in life at th e C hi cago Co ll ege o f Music a nd e lsewh e re. Ma ny o f th ese mu sicia ns turn e d

to j azz o nl y a fte r Lh ey rea li zed thaL th e cl assi ca l mu sic ~,¡o riel did no t a ll o w blacks in its ra nks.

Th e C hi cagoans' pure pass io n fo r j azz (a nd everyLhing it stood fo r ) mad e up for th e ir lack o f forma l musica l e du ca ti o n .J azz hi sto ria n Ri cha rd H ad loc k has argue d th a t "no gro up o f jazzme n had eve r attacked music with mo re vigor a nd bravad o," th a n did th e C hicagoa ns . Me zzrow was un equi voca l (and Lypi ca ll y grandil o qu e m ) in hi s es tim a ti o n o f what hi s suburban fri e nds stood for.

T h ere was a revo luti o n simm e ri ng in C hi cago .. . . a co ll ecti ve ly imp rovise d nose-thumbing at all pilla rs o f a ll comm un ities, one big synco pa ted Bro nx chee r fo r the rig hteo us sq uares eYe1-yw he re .... T hey wa nted to blast every h ighminclecl citize n clear o ut o f his easy cha ir with the ir rarclclog growls a nd gull r-Io w howls, [a nd] jazz was the o nl y la nguage th ey co uld !incl to preac h the ir lire-eatin g message.

Oth e r Austin Hi gh Ga ng m e mbe rs agreed with Jim my McPa rtl a ncl wh e n h e said , "if it hadn't

AflPt 1,,aclung thnn:,elves 1az.z. by mimick111g recorrL,. the Austin H igh Gang began playing Clunese restaurants, lakeside resorts, and other venues seekingcht'a/J entntmnmmt. From left, frank Te,chemachn; J ,m /,anigan, Bud Freeman, j immy ,\lcPartland, Dave 'fough , Floyd O'Brien, Dave l\lorth , mid Dir/, ,\Jrl'artland, r. 1926.

29

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

I n 1929 several of the Chicagoans were playing with the Red NiclwL1 8a11d. From leji, seated: Max Kaminsky, .Joe S11/liva11, !'PP Her' 1-/.11.'iSell, /<Pd Nichols (with cigar), H ab Taylor; standing: ,\/n.z Mezuow, Bud Freema n, Dave Tough, Eddie Condon.

bee n fo r th e mu sic, I'm sure we a ll wo uld have becom e hoodlums." Buel Freem a n recall ed th a t ''.j azz music was a way o ut, [a way o f] findi ng freedom of e xpress io n . I may no t ha\'e th o ught o f it at th e tim e but now, in re trospect, I know."

Austin High stud e nts Free man, Jimmy a nd Dick McPartlancl , Fra nk Tesch e m ac h e r, Fl oyd O'Brien,Jim La niga n, a nd Da\'e North ,jo ined by th e ir Oak Pa rk fri e nd Dave To ugh , bega n th e ir gra m o pho ne-a id ed musical edu cati o n in 1922.

They liste ned to record ings of th e white ''.jan " bands of Art Hi ckm a n a nd Pa ul White m a n , wh o spec ia li zed m ostl y in synco pating popul ar a nd cl assi c tun es, a nd th e Di xie la nd-inspired e w Orlea ns Rh ythm Kings, a south e rn ba nd th at had co m e to Chi cago.

Non e o f th e Austin Hig h Ga ng had pl a nn ed o n a musi ca l career. "I was n't th a t interested in playing a n in strum e nt," Jimm y Mc Pa rtl a nd rem e mb e r e d . " No n e of us we re, rea ll y, see, because we had a ll pl ayed cl assica l things a nd o p e r as a nd stuff like th at," whi c h h a d no t inspire d th e m . •~ ncl wh e n we heard this j azz we flipp ed . Tha t was it." Not conte nt m e re ly to a pe records, th e boys a lso tri ed to d eve lo p th e ir creative pote nti a l. In McPa rtl a ncl 's wo rd s, "we neve r

32

wo ul d co py th e ir so los .. . . We m ad e th a t o ne of th e rul es we a ll had .. . . Yo u had to d o yo ur indi\'iclu a l so lo th e way yo u fee l." Th e boys pl ayed a t C hi nese res ta u ra nt s, la kes id e reso rts, co llege fr a te rniti es, a nd o th er reg io n a l loca les th a t so ug ht in ex pe nsive mu sica l e nterta inm e nt, a nd th ey ea rn ed gang sta tu s by using th e ir fi sts aga inst fra te rnity mem be rs wh o heckl e d th e ir pe rfo rma nces.

The Chi cagoa ns' musica l amb iti o ns le d th e m into pre \'i o usly un d iscove red ne ig h bo rh ood s, a nd th ro ugh ja1z they fo u nd a city full of new \·a lu es a nd new ways o f life. They beca me fasc ina te d with th e fas t-paced stree t life a nd th e remarka bl e e thni c mi x tu re. Mezz row bega n straying fro m Sunn ysi d e in th e 19 10s, wh e n h e rea li 1ecl tha t

th e streets o f C hi cago's North wes t Side were like a magne t to me .... T he sidewa lks we re a lways jamm ed , big ga m ble ,·s a nd rac ke teers, d ressed sha rp as a tac k, stru ued br with th e ir d iamo nd stickpin s, chi cks yo u h eard sto ri es abo ut wou ld tip up a nd dow n th e ave nu e rea l cool, the co ps to ured the ne ighbo rh ood in big Cadill acs fill ed with sho tg un s.

White H ot Jazz Me zzrow was a LtracLed to Lhe ri ch a nd caco ph ono us cul tura l sce ne of th e slree ts: All th e sights a nd so und s of the No rthwest Side, th e ba la la ika cho rds Ill )' fa th e r used to strum [th e Mesi rows we re Ru ssia n-J ewish immigra nts], th e lUnes we bl ew o n o ur mo uth o rga ns, th e ga ng fi g h ts a nd th e poolroo ms . .. Bow G iste nso hn a nd Mu r ph Ste inb e rg a nd Emil Burbac he r a nd th e co lo red boy Sulli van [a nd] th e squ ea ling g irl s .. . were a ll jumbl e d up in my head .

Jimmy McPa rtl a nd was fasc in a ted by th e equ a ll y di verse Wes t Sid e. He no ted , "we had everyo ne . . . a ll kinds- Po li sh , Ita li a n , Iri sh , Negro ... .

We we re to ugh littl e mo nkeys in th ose cl ays ."

In evitabl y, th e yo ung mu sicia ns di scove red th e So uth Sid e . Mo re th a n 60,000 so uth e rn bl ac ks had se ttl ed th e re during Wo rld War I, a nd th e area had beco me th e na tion's majo r urba n showcase fo r bl ac k mu sica l e nte rta inm e nt. George We ttlin g, a fl ed glin g tee naged drumm e r from When /c°lldie Condonfirll hea rd King Oliver'sja:a. band in 1924, he was hyjmotiud: ·· ... the music poured into us like daylight running down a dar/1 hole."

Calum e t C ity, rod e his bi cycl e through th e stree ts o f th e So uth Sid e a nd found easy e ntry into th e bl ac k caba re ts. Buel Free m an , disrega rding his fa th e r's wa rnings th a t bl ack ne ighbo rh oods we re d a ngero us, was o fte n g reeted a t th e Lin coln Gard e ns by th e d oo rm a n , wh o wo uld say, "I see yo u're a ll o ut h e re tod ay to ge t yo ur mu sic lesso ns!" Ma ny tee nage rs in th e C hi cago a re a d e pe nd ed o n stud e nts fro m No rthweste rn a nd th e Uni ve rsity o f Chi cago to se rve as th e ir cha pe ron s, taggin g alo ng whil e th e stud e nts sa tisfi ed th e ir own curiosity a bo ut So uth Side nig htlife.

Bl ac k j azz stru ck th e as pirin g white pl aye rs with th e fo rce o f a co nve rsio n . Mezzrow first beca me acqu a inted with bl ack instrum e mali sts in reform schoo l in th e 1910s, th e n bega n to frequ e nt the So uth Sid e. Th e re, he be fri e nd ed the g reat co rn e tist King Oliver. "I kn e w th at I was go ing to spe nd a ll my tim e fro m th e n o n sti cking to Negroes . . .. [ was go ing to be a musi cia n , a Negro musician , hipping the wo rld a bout th e blu es th e way o nl y Negroes ca n." For Me zzrow j azz was like "a geyser o f bo iling emoti o ns, ope ning a ll your wind ows a nd letting yo ur fee lings fl ood o ut in a rush a nd a roar, instin ct a nd spirit ta kin g over." In 1923 fiftee n- year-o ld Dave To ug h too k seve n tee n- yea r-o ld Buel Free m a n to th e Linco ln Ga rde ns to hear Oli ve r's ba nd , featuring yo ung Lo uis Arm stron g on se cond trumpe t. "I had neve r heard a ny mu sic so creative a nd e xciting as thi s ba nd pl ayed ," Freeman late r wrote, "and I rea ll y be li eve th a t hearing all thi s was th e grea tesL edu cati o n in musi c I've eve r had. I was no t o nl y hearing a new form o f musi c but was e xpe ri e ncing a wh o le new way o f life ."

A year la te r, gui ta rist Eddi e Co nd o n, a new a ni va l fro m rura l Illin o is a nd th e midweste rn ba nd circuit, we nt with Free ma n a nd McPa rtl a nd to hear Oli ve r's ba nd . "IL was hypn osis a t first h earing," Co nd o n wro te. "Notes I h ad never heard we re pee lin g o ff th e e dges a nd dropping through th e middl e ; th e re was a to ne from th e trumpe ts like wa rm r a in o n a co ld cl ay. Free ma n a nd McPanla nd a nd I we re imm o bili zed; th e music po ured into us like d ayli ght running cl own a dar k h o le." Hoagy Carmi ch ae l, reca lling his first visit fro m Bl oo mingto n, India na, in 1923, co nveyed the psyc ho logica l po we r of Olive r's swinging blu es wh e n he no te d th at "th e mu sic too k m e a nd had m e a nd it m ad e m e right."

Trumpe te r Willi a m "Wild Bill " Daviso n, ne wl y

33

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

The Chicagoans emulated King Oliver (second from left, standing), pictured lwre with his Dixie Syncopators in 1926. Traveling to the South Side to hear Oliver, they discovered a world where the fashion and behavior were c,s spontaneous as the music.

34

White Hot Jazz

35

Chicago Hi,story, Fall and Winter 1988-89 arrived from Defiance, Ohio, was swept up in the totality of the blackjazz experience. At the Sunset Cafe on Ca lum et Avenue and 35th Street in the late 1920s, Davison heard Oliver and Armstrong in an improvising contest where "they played about 125 choruses of 'Tiger Rag'-exchanging choruses . ... People went insane-they threw their clothes on the 0oor . .. it was the most exc itin g thing I ever heard in my life." Bud Freeman found in the black way of life, this freedom of spirit thal we whites didn't have ..

They were having a difficult time getting hold of money and they weren't ... allowed any or the privileges and life could be difficult for them, but when they were out in the night life ... theyjust appeared to be so free in spirit and so happ) .

Mezzrow, whose admiration was strongest of all thejazzmen, believed that

everything the Negro did ... had a swing lo it; he talked in rhrthm, his tonal expression had a pleasing lilt to the ea1; his movements were graceful. Was it this quality in him that made the while Southerners resent him so much, and \\'as this \\'h)' the)' kept hilll oppressed)

While their comments sometimes lapsed into mildly patronizing praise of' black "instinct" and "nat.urainess," their comm itm en t tojazz was a far more important indication of their respect for black culture.

The black and white musicians were only able to meet and play together on the South Side. The white Musicians' Local JO fcHhade blacks to perform north of 22nd Street, while the black Musicians' Local 208 was powerless to enforce a similar restriction against whites south of that line. Despite this musical apartheid, black musicians such as drummer Red Saunders told how

Black and while musicians could mix only on the South Side where, according to drummer Hed Saunders, "l'Vl'1)'body knew practically l'Vl'1")'body."

36

White Hot Jazz both groups of "musicians were pretty close together, everybody knew practically everybody:' Bassist Pops Foster rarely played with whites, but he fondly remembered that "we just got together for kicks. The colored and white musicians were just one" and even"[ went] out with the same girls."

Black musicians Earl Hines and Ralph E. Brown felt that the high white attendance al bl ack nightclubs and stage revues in Chicago and elsewhere inevitably began Lo erode racial barriers. In 1971 Brown recalled that in the 1920s "people mixed ten times more than they do right now" on the South Side, and that "white and black musicians have always been close." But perfect racial harmony was not achieved, even among the most talented jazz musicians. Memoirs show that some white jazzmen retained racist stereotypes, and some blacks became bitter about whites' use of black jazz techniques. Still, musicians of both colo.rs played, ate, relaxed, and laughed together, and were united by their common advocacy ofa challenging, intelligently conceived art that drew on their two musical traditions.

Many musicians adopted certain traits of black language and fashion. Mezzrow reported that Louis Armstrong's wordless scat singing on the 1926 recording of "Heebie Jeebies" started a widespread habit among white jazzmen of exchanging lines of the song ui:;on meeting, and_ it fueled their use of black ''.jive" in everyday conversation. The more overt nonconformists, such as Mezzrow and trumpeter Wingy Manone, often used and invented jive phrases, and they helped to popularizejive lingo in the late 1930s and 1940s. Many white musicians also adopted black jazzmen's strong interest in impressive apparel, a symbol of black optimism. Tn 1927 Josh Billings, a non musical friend of the Austin High Gang, designed a baggy eccentric suit (a forerunner of the zoot suit) that many musicians wore. Eddie Condon reveled in "twenty-dollar English hats, thirty-dollar shoes, and benchmade suits." White jazzmen shared black pianist Earl f-lines's belief that "appearance was almost half the battle."

Tn general, the jaZI culture in Chicago soon became a biracial celebration of expression and interaction: music, speech, and behavior were improvised on street corners, in clubs, and in other public places. It was also primarily a nocturnal culture, where, as Earl Hines described it, the

Bud Freeman, 1935.

musical and verbal bantering never stopped: In those days, we all worked seven days a week. There was so much going on that nobody paid attention to the time of day. You 'd go to work, get on the stand, go outside, get into all sons of arguments, go back, play again, and so on like that through the night.

The activities of jazzmen away from their instruments reflected the improvisatory and "swinging" qualities of the new jazz music and constituted an identifiable subculture of language, dress, and work habits. More than any other city, Chicago played host to the development of this subculture.

The Chicagoans' new thought and behavior reflected their fundamental rebelliousness and independence. Some of t'1_em had long held an omnivorous interest in all forms of artistic expression. While they dedicated their careers to jazz music, they continued to pursue a wide variety of cultural interests. Bud Freeman was certain that "if I hadn't become .. . a jazz musician, I would surely have become an actor, or maybe a writer or story teller or something." Max

37

White Hot Jazz

Left, renowned drummer Dave Tough 's foscination with the avantgarde and his burning desire to create music resulted in his explosive, improvisational playing. Photograph by Bill Collleib. Above, jimmy /1/cPartland drop/Jed out of Austin High to become a musician, but he devoted himself ¡¡religiously" lo his self-education os an adult.

Photograph by George /\'elidoJJ

Kaminsky, who arrived from Boston in 1928, sensed that "all the fellows in the Chicago crowd were on a genius kick ... [they would] stay up all clay [after long nights of playing] talking about writers and literature and painting and music and all the great ne1,¡ ideas that were in the air."

Kaminsky himself, "who up to now had seldom cracked open a book ... could see myself in them-they expressed all my feelings for me.

America was still so young and new then and we all had the feeling of wanting to do something great." Freeman agreed, recalling that he and his friends "were always going to the theatre, going to see films, always there was this constant music."

The ,passions of the Chicagoans could be quite exotic. The sax-playing brothers Boyce and Harve} Brown "were both interested in Yogi and Hindu philosophy," Art Hodes remembered; "in fact, quite a few of the leading hot musicians in Chicago had gotten interested in it, and there was lots of discussion going on."

Guided intellectually by the Austin High

Gang, white jazzmen came from all parts of the country to investigate everything Chicago had to offer in the form ofavant-garde art, theater, literature, and music. Cornetist Bix Beiderbecke of Davenport, Iowa, despite his tendency to pose as an anti-intellectual, was "a very profound man," Freeman recalled, "an educated man" with "a great regard for the theater, books, for anything artistic," especially European avant-garde music and the works of Marcel Proust. Although Freeman himself had quit Austin High to become a musician, as an adult he spent much of his spare time devouring paperbacks on many subjects, from travel literature to Zen philosophy. Significantly, among his happiest intellectual discoveries were the letters of Paul Gauguin, who expressed the resonant opinion that a life of artistic creation was above all a retreat from petty obligations.Jimmy McPartland, who did not finish his sophomore year at Austin High, arranged his own education . While traveling with Ben Pollack's band in the 1930s, McPartland would contact the deans of local colleges where the band had extended engagements, tell them about his particular educational ambitions, and ask for reading lists. Pocket editions of Plato, Shakespeare, and others consumed his free time. "I did it religiously.... I quit smoking, quit drinking for two years," he said. "Wild Bi ll" Davison, who earned his nickname by drinking, brawling, and battling unions and managers with unparalleled petulance, nevertheless managed to become (as historian Al Rose wrote) "a genuine scholar in American history, with a speciality in the Civil War, about which he knows absolutely everything."

On and off the nightclub stages, the intellectual of the white Chicago jazz scene sported attitudes and manners that combined irony, extravagance, and cool sensibility. No jazz musician seemed to possess these attributes more fully than drummer Dave Tough. According to those who knew him (Tough, who died in 1948, never told his own story~, he was a complex, energetic man. Bud Freeman considered him "the brightest and most humorous man I've ever known." Max Kaminsky found that he "did everything with immense, deliberate dignity," and Mezz Mezzrow felt that Tough "popped with spirit till he couldn't sit still." In the 1920s the drum set was a novelty in most bands, and Bud

39

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

Mn.1. J\lez.zrow, the most rebelliom of tht young musicians, wanted lo "blast eve') lughminded cillzen clear out of /us NIJ_l chair" with jaz.z.

Freeman argued that while many players were content merely to "get a noise out of a drum ," Tough got "a sound .... like another ... part of the harn1ony, another note. Dave ... knew more about this music than any drummer I had e\'er heard." Kaminsky argued that hotjazz was characterized by a "biting attack": "I guess we all got some of that bite from Dave Tough ... you had to play that hard , biting style to keep less experienced musicians playing in time." Freeman added that "I like to think that Dave Tough's great mentality made him a great drummer, because he was ... a sensitive artist, he knew about improvising, he knew about composition, he knew the music he was playing."

Perhaps in emulation of his father, "a highly educated, sensitive man" with a "poetic quality about him," Tough was interested in every aspect of the artistic avant-garde. With his friends he attended Stravinsky, Ravel, and Holst concerts.

He read modernist fiction, including that of his

40

former Oak Park neighbor Ernest Hemingwa).

Freeman recalled that "Da\'e Tough was one of the first people I ever heard speak about Hemingway. He idolized Hemingway." Similarly.

Mezzrow recalled that it was little Da"e who ga,e me a knockdown to ..

The American Mercury ... especial!) the section called 'Americana' where all the bluenoses, bigots, and two-faced killjoys in this land-of-the-free got a going-over they never forgot. That Mercury realh got to be the Austin High Gang's Bible .... [Editor H. L. Mencken's] words were practically lyrics 10 ou1 hotjau.

Tough combined a cool, somewhat doleful fus~ination with the arts and a burning desire to o-eate expressive musical sounds. He and Freeman often visited The Art Institute of Chicago while they were still in high school. "Upon seeing Cezanne's paintings for the first time," Freeman

White Hot jazz recalled, "I said that I wished I could say something about this magnificent work. Dave replied that that was the best thing I could ever say about it." Tough sensed that human modes of expression-language, art, and music-were separate and complementary. In this spirit, the Chicagoans would later aim to express themselves extramusically. Their memoirs show this, as do the abstract paintings of clarinetist Charles "Pee Wee" Russell (who gained a small measure of fame and fortune from his work) and drummer George Wettling, Tough 's protege, who studied painting in Tew York with renowned artist Stuart Davis.

Max Kaminsky believed that these men were typical ofall mid westerners, "isolated on that vast, empty prairie-land," who were "starved for culture, for art and music and architecture and learning." He viewed the musicians as Chicago "schoolboys," the product of "endless stretches of appallingly ugly, barren streets" who learned jazz, "holding on to it as something to believe in , something beautiful they were starved for."

Coming of age at a time when Chicago thirsted for beauty and the arts, white jazzmen such as Tough and Freeman became rebels who found fulfillment in radically new art forms and ideas.

While it lasted, the Chicago hot jazz fraternity was a warm , nurturing brotherhood that provided a stimulating transition from adolescent restlessness to adulthood and professional music making. Max Kaminsky recalled that "everyone [in Chicago] went out of his way to be encouraging," perhaps becau e "so few people knew about the music and those who did felt close to one another. After I'd take a chorus Tesch maker [sic] would shake his head unbelievingly and say 'What a tone!' " Bud Freeman "was so outgoing and enthusiastic that he was apt to rear back and laugh aloud from pure joy after taking a chorus."

The white jazz community in Chicago did not outlast the twenties. After 1928 municipal and federal governments began to shut down many mob-operated nightclubs and bars that old bootleg liquor, and the Chicago entertainment scene dried up with the advent of the Great Depression. Musical employment opportunitie in ew York City, Hollywood, and even Europe drew most of the jazzmen away from Chicago.

"The wind," as Mezzrow put it, "was being sucked out of the Windy City," and the saxophonist him-

selffled to New York and Paris in 1928. "Wild Bill" Davison tarried in Chicago until 1932, and Art Hodes was probably the only important white jazz musician who remained in the city throughout the thirties. In New York musicians such as Eddie Condon and Max Kaminsky worked hard to preserve the "Chicago style" with the help of sympathetic nightclub owners and hot jazz advocates.

The Chicagoans found a unique and creative way to channel their frustration and anger, as well as their curiosity and ambition, into jazz. Their musical escape from suburban values would be replicated by other young whites who turned to black music, to "bebop" jazz in the 1940s and 1950s, and to the rock counterculture in the 1960s and 1970s. The most important contribution the Chicagoans made as American artists, however, was to encourage the biracial musical culture that would eventually help many whites overcome grievous and fundamental prejudices.

For Further Reading Transcripts of interviews with McPartland, Freeman, Davison , and others are pan of the Jazz Oral History Project OOH P) at the Institute ofJazz Studies, Rutgers University, Newark, NJ. Autobiographical writings include Bud Freeman, 11m Don't Look Like a Musician (Detroit: Belamp Publications, 1974); Max Kaminsky and VE. Hughes,Jazz Band: My Life in Jazz (New York: DaCapo, 1963); Mezz Mezzrow and Bernard Wolfe, Really the Blues (New York: Carroll & Graf Co., 1946); Eddie Condon and Thomas Sugrue, We Called It Music: A Generation of Jazz (Chicago: Henry Holt and Co., 1947). For more on rebellion and creativity, see Ben Hecht, A Child of the Centwy (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1954) and Kenneth S. Lynn, H emingway (New York: Simon and Schuste1¡, 1987). An excellent jazz anthology is Frank Driggs and Harris Lewine, Black Beauty, White Heat: A Pictorial History of Classical Jazz, !920-1950(New York: William Morrow and Co., 1982).

II Iustrations 26-27 top, CHS Decorative and Industrial Arts Collection; 26-27 bottom, Frank Driggs; 28, Duncan P. Schiedt; 29, Frank Driggs; 30-33, Duncan P. Schiedt; 34-35, Institute ofJazz Studies, Rutgers University; 36, The Library of Congress; 37-38, Institute ofJazz Studies, Rutgers University; 39-40, photos compliments of down beat magazine.

41

-

Joe Jackson, 1915.

CHS, DN58,463a

-

By Robert I. Goler Walkins out of the Cook County Courthouse after testifying about his role in throwing the 1919 World Series before a grand jury on September 29, 1920, legend holds that veteran baseball player Joe Jackson was accosted by a newspaper boy: "Say it ain't so, Joe. Say it ain't so'. ' "It's so, kid :' Jackson replied. The grand jury investigation and the shock, disbelief, and sense of lost innocence Americans felt as news of the Black Sox Scandal spread across the nation changed forever the character of professional baseball.

Eight Chicago White Sox (later dubbed the "Black Sox" by the media) agreed to throw games during the 1919 World Series in exchange for money from gamblers who intended to bet against the heavily favored Chicago team. Chicago lost the Series to the Cincinnati Reds five games to three, and rumors of "the fix" quickly circulated. The following year, newspaper reports brought the story into the open, and the most famous scandal in baseball history received front-page coverage. The Office of the Commissioner of Baseball was established in response to these events, and though acquitted of charges in a court of law, the players were subsequently expelled from professional baseball.

This photographic essay examines the early years of baseball in Chicago and the history of the White Sox. It traces the Scandal from the World Series games through the trial, the efforts of the major leagues to clean up baseball, and the disgrace that plagued the expelled players for the rest of their lives.

_

___,. _ _

Robert I. Coler is curator of Decorative and Industrial Arts at the Chicago Historical Society. He curated the exhibition "Say it ain 't so, Joe": The 1919 Black Sox Scandal ;' on view at the Society throeyh/une 11, 1989.

Comiskey's Baseball Dynasty The White Sox were formed in 1900 under the direction of Charles Comiskey as a franchise of the newly formed American League. He called his team the White Stockings (not to be confused with the original Chicago White Stockings of the National League), which was shortened in 1902 to the White Sox. In its first year in Chicago, Comiskey's team won the league championship.

The following year a restructured American League was launched, and by 1903 the two leagues agreed to a year-end playoff, or "World Series'.'

In 1906 the Cubs and White Sox met in the World Series, the Sox winning the championship four games to two. The popularity of this intracity rivalry led to an annual city series.

Comiskey committed himself to remaining at the forefront of modern baseball. In 1910 he dedicated a new ballpark named for himself on Chicago's South Side and set out to build one of the strongest teams in the sport. In 1915 the White Sox acquired the rights to Philadelphia second baseman Eddie Collins and Cleveland outfielder Joe Jackson for $65,000 each, and Milwaukee outfielder Oscar "Hap" felsch for $12,000.

The White Sox had coalesced into a powerhouse by 1919. Managed by newly appointed William "Kid" Gleason, this was largely the same team that had captured the 1917 World Series Championship. But the Sox were also probably the worst-paid team in baseball; most players earned $6,000 or less for the season.

Comiskey was able to enforce his low salaries through the "reserve clause" in players' contracts, which prevented them from switching to another team without the consent of the owners.

Without a union, they had no bargaining power.

Most investigators of the 1919 World Series have noted that Comiskey's parsimonious behavior helped to bring about the Scandal.

-------'â&#x20AC;˘<-----

Charles Comiskey /ried lo discourage gambling in the ballpark.

Photograph by Barnes-Crosby, 1910.

44

Black Sox

45

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

Pa/Quinn

"The White Sox March," by T.

46

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Durand, 190?

Black Sox

James Callahan sets picked off at first base in the openins day same between the White Sox and the St. Louis Browns. April 12. 1912. Photosraph by Samuel Marrs. Below. the 1917 White Sox. Photosraph by R. W Sears.

47

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

Above, fans in New Yorks Times Square follow the 1919 World Series on a mechanical scoreboard.

From Harold Seymour, Baseball: The Golden Age. 1971. Right. Chick Candi/ is thrown out at second base in the filth inning ofgame one of the 1919 World Series.

CHS. SON 61. 95.

50

Black Sox

A National Spectacle: The 1919 World Series The Chicago White Sox were the finest American League team of the 1919 season . Their record of eighty-eight wins and fifty-two losses won them the American League pennant and matched them against Cincinnati 's National League champion Reds in the World Series. Nineteen nineteen marked the first lime the Reds had won a pennant in fifty years. The strong pitching arms of Ru be Bressler, Hod Eller, and Slim Sallee combined with steady hitting from third baseman Heinie Groh , outfielder Edd Roush, and first baseman Jake Daubert gave the Reds ninety-six wins and forty-four losses for the season.

As an experiment , the 1919 Series was extended from the best of seven games to the best of nine. Capacity crowds filled Chicago's Comiskey Park and Cincinnati's Redland field as these brawny, industrial, meat-packing midwestern rivals faced one another on the diamond.

Popular interest in the Series was very high , in part because it was the first national championship after World War I, and fans around the country followed the games closely in the newspapers.

Baseball, like most American sports, had been tied to gambling since its beginning. Gamblers often were present at ballparks, and the fixing of sames had been suspected long before the 1919 World Series. To discourage wagering on games, Comiskey painted a large sign proclaiming "No Betting Allowed In This Park'.' The Sox were favored to win the Series, but as the first game approached, heavy betting changed the odds in favor of Cincinnati.

--------'â&#x20AC;˘L------

White Sox manager William "Kid " Gleason hitting fungoes. 1919.

51

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

52

Black Sox

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53

"A Disastrous Drubbing" The Series opened in Cincinnati on October 1.

Temporary stands were erected along Redland field's outfield baselines to accommodate the unusually large crowds, while spectators watched the games from nearby roofs. The While Sox lost the first game in Cincinnati 9-1, prompting the New York Times to remark: "Never before in the history of America's bisgest baseball spectacle, has a pennant-winning club received such a disastrous drubbing in an opening game as the farfamed White Sox got this afternoon'.' Betting continued against Chicago for the second game, and to the delight of the home crowd, the Reds won that game as well.

The Sox won the third game handily on their home field, but Cincinnati rebounded and won the next two games at Comiskey Park. After returning to Cincinnati , Chicago won the sixth and seventh games to bring them within a game of tying the Series. On October 9, however, the Reds won again and took the championship five games to three.

--â&#x20AC;˘-Above left, Reds fans jam Cincinnati sRed/and Field hoping for a victory. Photograph by Marian Dossman. Above right. Heinie Groh slides into third base in the seventh innins ofgame one.

Right, Earle Neal is caught l!ying to steal second base during game two.

54

Black Sox

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The Scandal Erupts In September 1920, the Philadelphia North American published an interview with small-time gambler Billy Maharg describing the fixing of the 1919 World Series. These revelations in conjunction with accusations about other crooked games and dishonest players led to a Cook County Grand Jury investigation. On September 29, Eddie Cicotte, Lefty Williams, and Joe Jackson confessed their involvement in the fix before the grand jury.

According to various sources, eight White Sox players had been promised up to $20,000 each to throw games, and possibly the entire Series, to Cincinnati. Leading the nest of gamblers were Abe Attell and William Thomas "Sleepy Bill" Burns; the largest share of payoff money was fronted by New York's Arnold Rothstein. Chick Gandil, Swede Risberg, and Eddie Cicotte -each disgruntled over his low salary - appear to have been the ringleaders of the players.

Several of the players actually received money before the games began, but the remainder of the promised payoff never came.

The media played an important ._, role in the Scandal. In addition to making the first public pronouncements about the fix, reporters kept public attention focused on the Scandal throughout the complicated legal maneuverings. Among the most vocal were James Cuisenberry of the Chicago Tribune and Hugh Fullerton, a leading sports reporter for Chicago's Herald and Examiner, who spent nearly two years investigating the story. Reports in popular magazines and sporting newspapers led the call for reforms in baseball.

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Arnold ·'Chick'' Candi/ first base

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·'Shoeless' 'Joe Jackson outfielder CHS /CH, /9.569

57

Chicago History, fall and Winier 1988-89

Gambling had infiltrated other professional sports including boxing, horse racing. football, and wrestling long before the Black Sox Scandal. From the St. Louis Star, reprinted in The Literary Digest, October 9, 1920.

New Yorker Arnold Rothstein fronted the largest share of mane for the fix. From PIC. March 22. 1938.

Although this cartoon depicts America '.s national pastime as a sport with an untainted pas/, professional baseballs National League had weathered a series of belling scandals fifty years before the Black Sox episode. From the Chicago Tribune, reprinted in The Literary Digest, October 9, 1920.

58

Black Sox Fo11u IJIH

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This heated exchange between Charles Comiskey and gambler Billy Maharg, who had inside knowledge of the Scandal, preceded a Cook County Grand Jury investigation in September 1920.

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Tour wire :reoe1ved STOP It Heme to have tat• 1911 a yea.r to OOIDI forward. and. tell proballly a pa.rt of What 70u now. then cml.T after a &rand ~\11'1 had 1nv .. t11ated and I had. unoovered or wu about to unoover the real 11ru11h of the • 1tuat1on. STOP 1 &111 not buyin& ffiditnoe,the law do- • not pePli t 1 t u:r more 'hu U ;per111Ue JOU to 1a 11he da&Uap Hedi '94 to J'OU 'by :rourMlf 1a •• 4&11T PH• STOP II 70u are & au you will oo• 1lo OlUoa&o and uad.e1 oa'1l t1U. the Grand . .Jw::r the taou,u - , h•~ to o. . the &U1U1 and aoquU the 1nnooent s!OP mat fOIJ.a&a nou&)l to do th11 •1 thout beinl paid for 1 t l'f0P Wue auwer 1111 gpena1.

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59

The Trial The Black Sox trial opened on July 18, 1921, in the Cook County Courthouse. The prosecution charsed eisht White Sox players with "unlawfully, wilfully [sic]. fr9udulently, wickedly, corruptly, wronsfully, and maliciously" conspirins to deprive the public by means of a confidence same. In addition lo the players, several smalltime samblers and so-betweens were indicted.

Popular sympathy for the players was strons; some Chicasoans even offered their houses as surety for the players' bail.

A phalanx of lawyers was involved in the case. Perhaps the most noteworthy of them was White Sox lesal counsel Alfred Austrian from the firm of Mayer, Meyer, Austrian & Platt. Austrian worked closely with Comiskey durins the course of the Scandal to uncover the facts with the aid of private detectives. He helped obtain the confessions of Cicotte, Jackson , and Williams, and after the eisht players were indicted, he sousht to minimize the impact on Comiskey's and the team's reputations. Lawyers for the defense included Michael Ahearn, Thomas Nash, James O'Brien, and William J. Fallon; the principal lawyers for the prosecution were Hartley Replosle, Robert Crowe, and Georse E. Gorman. Judses William Dever, Huso friend , and Charles MacDonald heard the case.

Over fourteen days the jury heard testimony from Comiskey, Gleason , and several samblers, includins Mahars and Burns. A decisive moment came when the prosecution announced the disappearance of the players' confessions.

On Ausust 2, after deliberatins just two hours and forty-seven minutes, the jury acquitted the players on all charses. No other charses were ever brousht asainst any of those involved in the Scandal.

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Law and order took a bruisins durins the course of the Black Sox Scandal.

.______ Comiskey and Chicaso Cubs owner Bill Veeck. Sr. , were both called to testify at the trial.

Gambler "Sleepy Bill" Burns (risht. on witness stand). leslilied for /v.ro days on the fix. The trial ended on Ausus/ 2. 1921, with the acquillal of all eight players.

60

Black Sox

Chicago History, fall and Winier 1988-89

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Left to right, player-defendants Joe Jackson (seated, second from left), Buck Weaver, Eddie Cicotte, Swede Risberg, · Lefty Williams, and Chick Candi/ gather in the Cook County Courthouse with their attorneys (seated left and standins).

62

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63

The Commissioner System and Baseball Reforms The Black Sox Scandal changed forever the game of baseball. To improve the game's image, the major league team owners in 1920 appointed Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis to be the first commissioner of professional baseball. Landis had earned a reputation as a pugnacious and opinionated jurist. He first came to the attention of baseball owners when he forced the newly established federal League to settle its antitrust case against the National and American leagues in 1915. This ruling led to the federal League's collapse and helped to strengthen the control American and National league owners had over players.

As "High Commissioner of Base Ball;' Landis was given virtually unlimited authority over the sport, and he quickly moved to restore confidence in the national pastime by placing the indicted players on the ineligible list. Immediately after they had been cleared of criminal charges the next year, Landis expelled all eight players from professional baseball: "Regardless of the verdict of the juries, no player who throws a ball game, no player that undertakes or promises to throw a ball game, no player who sits in confidence with a bunch of crooked players and does not promptly tell his club about it, will ever play professional baseball!"

Investigations into the Scandal continued throughout the decade in response to suits begun by several of the expelled players over back pay.

In a Milwaukee suit, Jackson won more than $16,000, but the surprise appearance of his missing grand jury confession led the judge to dismiss the award. (Both he and teammate Buck Weaver ultimately settled with Comiskey out of court.)

Such events prompted Landis to continue his examination of corruption in organized baseball.

_

64

____,. ________

AU,'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

Landis scontroversial decision to ban the acquitted players from professional baseball brought chaffing from the press. Above. hom the New York Evening Po~t. January 28. 1927: below right. from The Literary Digest. August 20. 1921.

Black Sox

Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis was appointed baseball commissioner in 1920.

65

Chicago History, Fall and Winier 1988-89

66

What happened to the players Most of the players sought to distance themselves from the events of the 1920s. Swede Risberg moved to Wisconsin and worked a dairy farm.

Chick Gandil retired after the 1919 season and lived out his years as a plumber in California.

Eddie Cicotte worked as a same warden for the State of Michigan . After running a Chicago pool hall for several years, Lefty Williams left for California and operated a garden and nursery.

Hap felsch ran a tavern in Milwaukee. Even Joe Jackson -who briefly played semi-pro ball- returned to the quiet of his South Carolina hometown; at the time of his death, he was operating a liquor store.

Over the following decades, while minding his drugstore, Buck Weaver unsuccessfully requested Commissioner Landis to reinstate him in baseball.

Lons afterward he continued to petition Landis's successors, Happy Chandler and ford f rick, but each appeal was denied. One winter morning in 1956 on Chicago's South Side, he died of a heart attack.

Each year the scandal recedes further into the past. Edd Roush's death in 1988 marked the passing of the last of the 1919 World Series players. But historians will continue to examine those tragic days on the diamond seven decades ago for insights into American culture and the evolution of professional baseball.

Above left, Swede Risberg works his dairy farm in Wisconsin, c. 192 7 Left. Joe Jackson shares an ice cream cone with some young fans in his hometown of Greenville, South Carolina. in 1948.

On the following pages appears a poignant 1953 letter from Buck Weaver to Ford Frick, then commissioner of baseball, asking to be reinstated in the sport.

67

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

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Smoldering City

by Karen Sawislak

Though Chicago '.5 postfire reconstruction is often romanticized, this period of the city '.5 history was hardly devoid of gritty physical and ideological struggle.

The Great Chicago Fire began on the evening of October 8, 1871. Because the entire upper Mid.west was in the throes of a ¡nearly two-year-long drought, fires were no rarity in the city. One immigrant peddler later recalled that he felt no particular sense of alarm upon first hearing that part of the city was in flames; secure in the knowledge that "there was a fire every Monday and Tuesday in Chicago," he reacted to the first report of the Great Fire by yawning and going to bed.

But this fire, driven by a gale-force southwest wind, rapidly grew fur out of control. From its origins in a southern residential quarter, the fire swept north through the business district. The blaze made short work of the central city's mostly wooden buildings. Sterne structures fared little better; the intense heat pulverized limestone and marble. The fire next leapt the natural barrier of the Chicago River and destroyed thousands of North Side working-class homes.

As the night went on, and the magnitude of the fire became increasingly apparent, Chicagoans franticall y worked to save themselves and some of their possessions. The sleeping peddler woke up to a nightmare: the flames cast an eerie illumination upon the spectacle of the masses struggling through stifling clouds of dust, smoke, and cinders to the relative safety of the lake shore or the western prairie. More than twenty-four hours later, when the fire was finally extinguished by a fortuitous rainstorm, people began to take stock of the damage . One witness made a poignant assessment of the fire's impact: "The seeds of

Karen Sawislak is a doctoral candidate in history at Yale University.

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

Clutching bundles of their belongings, panicked residents fled the buming city through streeL5 clogged with horses. wagons. and peo/Jle. Nearly 300 lives were lost in the October 8 blau that deslroyed more than 18,000 stnictures in Chicago. Pencil sketch (above) by Alfred R. Waud, 1871.

72

permanent or temporary disease sown, the bodily suffering and mental anguish endured can never have statistical computation or adequate description ." Still, a few important numbers do indicate the scope of the disaster. Almost 300 people had died, and among the survivors, more than 100,000 of the city's approximately 300,000 residents were left homeless. In addition, the blaze leveled more than 18,000 buildings. The number of jobs lost is impossible lo estimate; thousands or citizens became unemployed because their places or work were destroyed. In the immediate af'Lermath of'the fire , Chicagoans faced terrible human and economic emergenc ies. The New York Tribune observed, "S ince yes terday Chicago has gained another title to prominence. Unequalled bef<)re in enterprise and good fortune, she is now unapproachable in calamity."

The stage was thus set for what would later be termed the "G reat Rebuilding." Though observers of the reconstruction often mythologized the process as a magical transformation from "a wilderness of piled-up bricks, stone, iron, and rubbish" into "the forms of symmetrical walls,

Smoldering City solid pillars, imposing fronts, and massive roofs," this period was hardly devoid of gritty physical and ideological struggle. The Creal Chicago Fire brought a Lime of enormous hardship and Lurbulem transition Lo the city-and no group felt these effects more than the working class. After the fire, Chicago's working-class residents were forced to confront major threats to their work, their homes, and their family life . !n th e first clays and months after the disaster, most workers and their families-a long with now-destitute Chicagoans from other classes-faced stringent standards for obtaining aid. Once reconstructing the city was well under way, laborers became embroiled in conflicts relating to wages and hours. These disputes tested the strength and efficacy of their trade unions. In addition, the city's enormous and largely working-class immigrant community mobi lized to contest laws it

perceived as direct attacks upon both ethnic culture and the rights of American citi1ens. To protect their traditions and their Constitutional freedoms, Chicago's immigrants turned to popular political action. During the first months and years of the postfire city, Chicago's working class engaged in two distinct types of activism. And as institutional expressions of the working class, trade unions and immigrar.t politics would certainly meet with two distinct types of experiences.

In the first clays after the fire , any thoughts of rebuilding came second to the immediate concerns of housing, feeding, and clothing the city's population. Because the fire received international news coverage, donations of money and goods began to flow into the city from all over the world. Mayor Roswell B. Mason decideclprodcled by civic leaders who did not want the incoming funds controlled by the notoriously

The first signs of commercial regeneration, such as this lunch wagon on Clark Str,et, appeared immediately after the fire in the rubble of thP Loop.

73

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

The courthouse and city hall owrlook construction shacks that sprang u/1 in preparation for the "G reat Rebuilding."

corrupt official city government-to turn over the administration of relief efforts to an established , independent charitable organization.

The Chicago Relief and Aid Society, a bastion of the city's upper- and middle-class reformers, had , since 1857, aided those among the "worthy and industrious poor" who found themselves, "through sickness or other misfortune," in need of "temporary assistance."

Before the fire , when the Society was aiding approximately 7,000 people every year~ an extensive bureaucracy attempted to ascertain whether an applicant was ind eed truly deser\'ing of assistance. This system and ideology seemed destined to change in the aftermath of the fire , which expanded the Society's caseload to 157,000 people in the course ofa ingle day. But though the Society's board of directors now confronted practically an entire city of apparently worthy poor, there was no new largess in the distribution of aid. Even in the face of such massive disaster, the Reli ef and Aid Society-ever fearful of creating

74

or perpetu a ting a perman e ntl y dependent clientele - maintained strict standards regarding those who received aid. The compassion e\'oked by the extent of destruction and personal loss never overwhelmed prefire charitable ideologies and practices. In the year and a ha! f that the Society performed fire reli e f, only the worth y poor -as defined and closel 7 monitored hy Society staff-were considered appropriate recipients of short-term aid.

Amid the shock and confusion of the first few days after the fire , the ReliefSociety decreed only one practicable rule: the hungry should be fed .

She ltering the homeless , due to the rapid onset of harsh late a utumn and winter conditions, also became a top priority. Since a ll remaining houses, schools, and churches were immediately filled to overflowing, the Society constructed barracks at five locations in the burned district. Once these life-threaten ing situations were brought under control, however, the Society concentrated on implementing a system designed

Smoldering City to force unworthy recipients off the dole.

The Relief Society was soon transformed from a relief entity into an employment agency, opening on October 16 in temporary quarters in the heart of the burned-out downto\\'n. Those traditionally considered neediest-women who headed families , the aged, and the infirm-could still expect aid . But getting Chicago workers back on the job would become the task of utmost importance; such efforts served to rebuild both the city's physica l structure and the prefire social order. Relief administrators quickly created a hierarchy of authority and bureaucracy to insure that the Society never did its job too well; leaving families with a certain amount of discomfort guaranteed tJrnt able-bodied men and women, in the words of a New York Times reportet~ would not be "so clemoral izecl ... by a few clays of idleness and gratuitous living that they stand aloof, and take no part in the pressing emergency now at hand ." According to the Society's records, more than 85 percent of those who lost their homes resided in the working-class, heavily German, Irish, and Scandinavian northern \\'arcls of the city-precisely the people \\'ho \\'ere, in the eyes of the Society's directors, most prone to falling into dangerous habits of idleness. Though Society officials and newspaper reports later admitted that people who refused to go to work were rare exceptions, in the first days aft.er the fire the press frequent ly portrayed the entire working class as a recalcitrant, shift.less group. The New l'Orh Tribune, for example, claimed that clue to "the evils of careless benefaction ... out of the immense numbers of houseless and unemployed not a tenth part of the needed force can be obtained."

Because of the supposed positive moral effect of a household, the Societ}' rushed to give families the materials to erect one-room wooden shanties of their own. According to the Tribune, this facet of relief work allowed people to once again "be surrounded by the sacred and conservative elements of famil}', of independence, of respectabilit} , and of individual responsibility \\'hich are so immense a moral force in the community, and without \\'hich a community has in it the seeds ofanarchr and dissension." !fan applicant did not have the skill to erect a home or the means to hire a carpenter, the shelter committee rendered further aid . But in fact, more than 90

Would-be looters were discouraged from ovemmning the city by strict guard patrols and harshly worded warnings on broadsides. Pencil sketch by Alfred R. Waud, 18'1 I.

percent of the 30,000 people who received material either built the house themselves or earned enough LO pay someone else to do it for them, a 75

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

RELIEF FOR CHICAGO The citizens of Rockford are requested to meet at

Brown's Ball,

Thi~ Tn~~~ay Ennin[, Oct. rn, '71, AT 7 1•2 O'CLOCK,

to devise means for the im-

mediate

RELIEF OF THE DESTITUTE Of Chicago, whose misfortunes appeal so loudly to our sympa· thy and benevolence. Let Every Man Come.

COOKED FOO A telegram from the Rockford Committee, to Mayor Bron. son, received this morning, reads as follows : " One hundred thousand people ar e on t he open prairi e, without food. Let every family that can spare a pound of meat or bread, give ·i t at once. Send nothing but Cooked .Food.'

8end contributions to Brown's Hall, day and evening.

T he Hockford Committee will return from Chicago this 1:vening, and report to the meeting to-night.

The Mayor of Chicago telegraphs this morning that people ,,f neighboring townR are r equested not to come ther e at present.

By Order of Relief Comm ittee.

Register P rint, R ockfo rd , I llinois.

When word of the fire victims' plight reached towns and cities th.rough.out the country and the world, donations offood, clothing, and other supplies poured into Chicago. Painting by Jules Emile Saintin, 1872.

76

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Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

In an effort lo keep parents and children togethe,; the Chicago Relief and Aid Society gave homeless families materia/J lo build themselves temporary one-room wooden shanties.

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development that must have pleased Society officials. Construction proceeded quickly; 3,000 shanties went up by the end of October.

The relief strategy of transportation-providing a one-way ticket out of Lown-exemplifies the Society's ability lo invest its role in the aftermath of the disaster with its own time-honored altitudes toward charity. Railroads had generously responded to the plight of Chicagoans by oITering them free rides out of the city. More than 6,000 people took advantage ofthi opportunity during the two weeks immediately after the fire.

But once again, Society officials cul off those they considered "undeserving persons," who had no good rea~on to leave the city, and were thus guilty of "imposing upon the generosity and good nature of the Railroad companies." As the New York Times noted in a report filed exactly one week after the flames died, "These passes are now carefully restricted lo the aged, sick, and feeble, to women and children, and Lo large families, it beingjustly held that there is employment enough in Chicago for all able-bodied men who are willing to work." As far as the Society was concerned, ifa man could work, he should stay in Lown to reconstruct his own life and contribute to the resuneclion of his city.

The Relief and Aid Society practiced what il 78

preached. Two divisions of the organization were specifically devoted Lo getting Chicagoans back to their labors: the EmploymenL Bureau and the Committee on Special Relief. Every able-bodied man or boy who applied for aid at a subdistrict office was given a ticket and sent over to the Employment Bureau. When the Bureau placed a man, he surrendered his ticket, which was then returned Lo the superintendent of the district where it was issued. But if the ticket never made it back to the district superintendent, it was taken, according to Society records, as "presumptive evidence that the bearer preferred Lo eat the bread of idleness rather than work for his own subsistence." If uch a man ever again dared to appear at Society offices, his claim was immediately rejected. Ironically, in the short run, his virtuous counterpart, who had dutifully sought and secured employment, often found himself and his family in similar dire straits. For as a letter to the editor of the Chicago Tribune noted, "the moment a man obtains work his rations are cut off." But because "no laboring man can draw daily his pay for labo1~" many Chicagoans endured a period of one or two weeks during which they had jobs but no income-and no access to relief. "It is not an uncommon thing," the writer went on to slate, "to see children

Smoldering City

Feeding !he hungry was !he Relief Sociely's top priority; slanding churches and schools became relief cenlers for !he distribution of ralions.

crying and begging for bread merely because Lheir futhers have found work." The Relief and Aid SocieLy clearly did not feel the need. to help anyone once they were seemingly equipped to he lp Lhemselves.

The Committee on Special Relief, a second employmenl division, disbursed aid in a differenl manner; rather than atTange a job, it provided the items necessary for self-sufficiency.

This commiLtee funded various projects, among them outfitting the offices of dentists and doctors, stocking grocery or dry-goods stores, and paying a fledgling establishment's rent for the firsL month . Though the Committee primarily served middle-class merchants and professionals, it also supplied tools to skilled workers such as carpenLers and bricklayers. Almost onequarter of Lhe Committee's funds went toward obtaining new sewing machines for women who had lost Lheir sole means of support in the fire.

Working women, along with r.he middle class, were indeed of special concern Lo the Society.

TO THE I General Relief Committee

Tho !lead Qu•rt.en or t ho 11re at the

CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, Cor. Washington &, Ann Sts., All of tho Public School Building&, as well u Churchee. a.re open for the shelter of persona who do not flnd olt.u 11-0COmmodation&. When food is not ro1md at sucb buildings it will be provided by the commlttev on

application at Head Quart.en.

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/\lore ilwn one-Lhird of Lite city's 300,000 residents-primarily of !he worl,ing class-lost !heir homes in !he Great Fire.

79

Chicago Hi,story, Fall and Winter 1988-89 The Society estab lished its own clothing factory to turn out garments Lo replace those lost in the fire; more than one hundred women were thus suppl ied with immediate emp loyment. Add itionally, the Committee provided many women with the furniture and the funds required to open boarding houses. This type of business was exception a ll y lu crative and important during the year after the fire as first the homeless , and then transient workers, patronized such estab lishm ents.

Hard work, the officials of the Relief Soc iety believed, would save Ch icago and the moral character of its citizens. For the first few months after the fire, eve11¡ worker cou ld not help but be highly virtuous, sin ce the initi al steps toward rebuilding the city involved an enormous amount of effort. For as the Lakeside Monthly , a loca l magazine , observed: "A fire does not sim ply destroy what is valuable; it leaves behind, and to be cleared away, much that is worthless."

As soon as the ashes coo led-which, due to the intense heat of the fire , took as long as a weekthousands of men and boys moved in to knock clown crumbling walls, reclaim usable bricks

and scrap iron, and daily clump 5,000 wagonloads of useless material into the lake . This process eventua ll y created approximately five acres of what is now Chicago's prime downtown lakefront real estate. Preliminary clearing continued under difficult conditions. Along with smoke, fog, rain, and cold , laborers battled an oppressive dust, which, according Lo the New York 7hbune, "powdered a ll until as white as millers." Because of late au tumn's short days, men remained on the job until long after dark. But in spite of these hardships- or perhaps because they served as constant reminders of the winter conditions soon to follow-work went forth with extreme speed . One 1-eporter marveled that the mass of "busy men, boys, and teams" was "working as energetica ll y as if the who le burnt district was to be restored before Chrisunas." Once the people demonstrated their willingness to work rather than co ll ect charity, newspapers changed their tune, and yesterday's lazy bums became today's heroic sons of toi I. Twenty clays after the fire, the Tribune offered the following tribute: ¡~11 honor to the brave men who have met misfortune by resolutely beginning the work of

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Real estate developers like W D. Kerfoot rushed to join the rebuilding of the bumed district, which extended west from Lake Michigan to the north branch of the Chicago River and from Taylor Street on the South Side lo Fullerton Avenue. Painting by W j. Burton, 1872.

80

A.1 soon as the ashes cooled, tlw11.1muls of men and boys began knocking down mtmbling walls, reclaiming scrap iron and brick1, and dumping thousand, of wagonload, of rubble into the lake. Photograph by Jex Bardwell.

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Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 reconstruction ... preferring to earn the bread and shelter they enjoy.... Labor and skill . . . in combination with energy and enterprise" would resurrect Chicago. By spring, the paper predicted, "the desolate places will be desolate no longer, and from the ashes will have arisen monuments of industry and faith."

In their eagerness to rebuild, however, Chicagoans did not wait for the arrival of spring.

Although the winter ofl871-72 was quite severe, outdoor manual labor did not cease. Special difficulties accompanied such out-of-season work.

Bricks, for example, had lo be kept dry, c1nd mortar kept warm. If the mortar froze before the bricks set, the wall would not stand solid. This problem prompted The Workingman'.s Advocate, a nationally circulated labor newspaper published in Chicago, to note that "the rapidity with which Chicago is coming up after the fire is as astonishing as the rapidity with which she tumbles down again." Several newly constructed four- and five-story brick buildings apparently failed to withstand a late December day's "gentle zephyrs," and, as a reporter wryly observed, "lie as flat in their cellars today as their predecessors did on the morning of the memorable October 9." In addition, winter conditions doubtless extracted a heavy physical toll from all workers. According to the metaphor-laden prose of the Lakeside Monthly, "Hannibal crossing the Alps, and Napoleon retreating from Moscow were mere skirmishes in comparison with the battle waged all winter long by Chicago builders." But due to the short working days, the limited number of workers, and high demand by employers, this winter work was, during its first one or two months, exceptionally lucrative.

The r<:_building of Chicago at first presented an unprecedented opportunity to both skilled and unskilled construction workers. But by electing to heed the Chicago Tribune's frequent "no extortion" pleas-aimed at all city workers and businesses-the building tradesmen refrained from exploiting the ituation. (The city's lumber and brick dealers, in contrast, asked so much for their stocks that builders generally found it cheaper to purchase and transport materials from merchants in Milwaukee and eastern cities.)

The bricklayers, for example, pledged "to work at ordinary wages" while reconstructing the city.

While altruism and community spirit certainly

84

influenced this decision, Andrew Cameron, the prominent union activist who edited the Advocate, also saw it as good strategy. Cameron believed that since many employers had also been ''.j ust as sorely stricken by the great calamity," they should not be immediately subjected to more pressures. If labor kept still until the spring, Cameron reasoned, the co mmercial climate would be so healthy that the increasing demand for skilled labor would cause wages to rise. Recognizing the probable consequences ofa pre mature push for higher wages, Cameron warned that "any false move al this juncture will only have the effect of flooding the city with foreign labor; and lessening instead of increasing the rate of wages."

Despite Cameron's caution, out-of-town labor - lured by hopes of steady jobs and high paydid stream into Chicago. This migration of between 30,000 and 40,000 people within a year of the fire so clogged the labor market that no one collected particularly high wag¡es. The city needed thousands of workers to attend to the massive job ofrebuilding, and the local , national, and international press publicized the city's need. The Tribune of October 28 addressed the desperate unemployed of ew York and other cities in calling for 500 stone masons, 2,000 carpenters, and any numberofplumbers, gas-fitters, and iron-workers willing Lo work through Chicago's winter at $4 Lo $5 per day. The article promised twice as many jobs in March. Further afield, the New >brk Times noted that "there is work for an army." As the construction industry in almost every other American city shut down for the winter, Chicago's rebuilding was just beginning. In the face of seasonal unemployment, moving to Chicago seemed highly favorable.

Some enterpns111g indi,¡icluals actively recruit.eel labor and skills for Chicago. William Bross, former lieutenant governor of Illinois and part owner of the Tribune, rushed from Chicago the clay after the fire to speak in several eastern cities. In his lectures , Bross asserted that the fire's leveling of the city had also leveled all class differences. He claimed that "a ll can now start even in the race for fame and fortune." At the climax of his performances, Bross de! ivered th is impassioned invitation: "Go to Chicago now! Young men, hurry there! Old men , send your sons!

Women, send your husbands! You will never

Smoldering City

William Bross, former lieutenant governor of Illinois and part owner of the Chicago Tribune, issued f ernenl invitatio,,s lo laborers in several eastern cities to allract a large work force for recomtruction.

again have such a chance to make money' " Bross's self-appointment as a sort of pied piper of Chicago was no doubt motivated by his wish to rebuild his beloved city. But a more cynical theory also should be noted. Bross, \\'hose antiunionism made him a special target or labor organizations in his campaigns for statewide office, may have deliberately attempted to flood Chicago 's labor market and thereby depress wages.

Workers rushed to Chicago quickly and in large numbers. The first people to arrive in search of fortune came from nearb)' cities; as the 7hbune noted one month after the fire, "men are currently coming in from all acijacent towns."

Later, in November, an Ohio newspaper plaintively reported that "another delegation of carpenters left Sycamore on 1onday for Chicago, and there are not enough lefi no\\' to keep Sycamore in repair." The next arrivals came from the East, California, Canada, and England. But unless a worker was one of the \'Cry first to reach

postfire Chicago, he could not expect to find employment.

Along with job shortages, housing was extremely limited, and rents were often astronomical. The Relief and Aid Society maintained a boarding house directory in connection with its employment bureau. But many out-of-town laborers had to settle for accommodation located far outside of the burned district, and as the Advocate noted on 1ovember 11, "it is not very agreeable for men to travel , in mid-winter, seven and eight miles to and from their work."

As early as Novembe1~ the Tribune reported that "More carpenters are applying than there is a demand for," and in late January, the Relief and Aid Society, fearful for "a city already overburdened with the destitute," issued a nationally circulated warning against traveling to Chicago.

Regardless of the warnings of the Relief and Aid Society, false testimonials exto lling Chicago's boundless opportunities added further il lusory appeal. Shipping lines and passenger agencies drummed up business by advertising the city's high salaries and plentiful jobs. Despite-or more probably because of-this artifice, such campaigns were apparently quite successful.

In March of 1872, under the headline "EMIGRATIO BY WHOLESALE," the Advocate reported that 400 bricklayers, direct from England, had arrived in the city. By April, "arrivals of batches of 25 or 30 unknown bricklayers, carpenters, and plasterers, especially from Old England," were "of daily occurrence."

But when English tradesmen began to arrive in late winter, any misconceptions "that a committee with a blue rose'tte would meet them at the depot and escort them to the job," as the Advocate sarcastically put it, were rapidly and brutally dispelled.

The task of rebuilding revived trade union activism in the city. Trade unions had operated in Chicago with varying degrees of success since 1852, when city printers had formed National Typographic Union Local No. 16. According to Illinois Bureau of Labor Statistics reports, iron moulders, tailors, stonecutters, shoemakers, carpenters, and cigarmakers followed the printers' lead, organizing during the 1850s and 1860s. In 1864-following the examples of Boston, New York, St. Louis, and Rochester unions-a General Trades Assembly was created to coordinate the activities of the 8,500 workers belonging to the 85

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

Positions for workers-p!,entiful at first, as shoum by this "laborers wanted" sign-filkd quickly as carpenters, bricklayers, and plasterers rushed to Chicago from American cities, Canada, and England.

city's 24 union lodges. But in spite of these impressive numbers, almost all Chicago unions of this period shared the same weakness; though their organizers harbored hopes of complete solidarity, they never managed to enroll every practitioner of their trade. Because of the aggressive leadership of Andrew Cameron, the city's trade unions did wield some political clout during the mid-1860s. In what initially appeared to be a major triumph of worker concerns, for example, the Illinois legislature passed the nation's first eight-hour law on March 5, 1867. This act, however, was somewhat toothless; it made the eighthour day operational only when no agreement existed to the contrary. A spectacular May 1 demonstration and week-lo_ng series of strikes and riots that paralyzed much of the city's industry did not persuade Chicago employers to adopt the eight-hour standard; as the Chicago Tribune commented, "the strenuous efforts were not anywhere attended with success." Perhaps in part because of this discouraging chain of events, by

86

1870 the General Trades Assembly had "d ied a natural death." But individual unions did remain intact; the city directory for the same year listed twenty-six labor organizations, seven of which were building trades associations.

The job of rebuilding after the fire greatly expanded the city's building trades unions.

Cameron and other labor leaders spurred enrollment by ceaselessly preaching the benefits of solidarity. "There never was a better opportunity presented to the mechanics of any city than is now present to the workingmen of Chicago," the Advocate' declared, "to practically illustrate the advantage and practicability of co-operation ."

Thousands of men joined the unions throughout the winter. Every weekly meeting of building trades organizations brought substantial numbers of new members onto the rolls. The Carpenter's and Joiner's Union, for example, added six new locals (nos. 2-7) in three months to accommodate a membership that soared from 500 to close to 5,000. And in March 1872, the unions resuscitated the moribund General Trades Assembly.

In a curious way, though far more people belonged to the trade unions than ever before, these organizations did not act aggressively to secure benefits for workers. On the contrary, most organization was a product of the sense that unionization was necessary to protect skilled labor from capitalistic threats. Surveying the situation in March 1872, Cameron concluded that "the re never was a time in the history of labor unions in our city when greater dangers threatened their ina ction- inaction which unscrnpulous employers are sure to avail themselves of, to their advantage and your injury, then at present." The enormous influx of workers and consequent oversupply of labor, union leaders feared, would send wages plummeting.

Many men never joined the unions; trades expanded so quickly that it was impossible to prevent workers from arranging private contracts that invariably undercut the unions' standard wage. In addition, substantial numbers of men with no constrnction experience chose to work temporarily at a building trade. In a letter to the Chicago Tribune, a builder castigated the "large number of incompetent contractors and property owners who are employing their own workers-tailors, shoemakers, laborers etc.,

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Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

Strikes and lockouts were particularly hamiful to wage earners, according to Mayor Joseph Medill.

in bricklaying, who cannot tell the difference between them and good workmen." Such bastardization of the trade went against all professional standards and took jobs away from the many legitimate artisans. Throughout the entire period of rebuilding, then, the explosive increase in the number of workers in Chicago forced trade unions to approach all activism from a defensive posture. Quickly realizing the futility of any early postfire dreams of extra-high pay or improved working conditions, the unions dug in to safeguard their members' "power to secure an honest day's wage for an honest day's work."

During the winter, while the trade unions prepared for the challenge of the coming construction season, popular political protest-the second form of working-class activism-made its first postfire appearance in response to a proposed municipal ordinance. In the November mayoral election held less than a month after the fire, Joseph Medill, Chicago Tribune publisher and long-time failed Republican candidate, finally swept to a landslide victory as the

88

standard bearer for the "Fireproof' ticket. Once in office, Medill took steps to fulfill his campaign pledge to reconstruct a flame-resistant city and pushed for the adoption of"fire-limits."

Inside these boundaries, the erection or repair of wooden buildings was to be prohibited. Arguments within the Common Council over the exact placement of the fire limits stalled formal action for approximately three months, during which time opportunistic builders rushed to erect wooden edifices in areas that would soon be legally off limits. Jn late November the Tribunein loyal support of Medill, now officially on indefinite leave of absence from his responsibi 1ities at the paper-observed that "unless the ordinance becomes a law within a very short time Chicago will be in as good a condition as ever fora conflagration which will astonish the world."

In mid-January 1872 such warnings were finally heeded, and newspapers reported that the Common Council verged on approving an ordinance that set fire limits encompassing the burnedout downtown and the entire North Side.

On the North Side, where most of Chicago's immigrant working-class population lived, the proposed ordinance set off a furor. On the evening ofJanuary 15, between 2,000 and 3,000 people participated in a torchlight parade from the orth Side to the temporary downtown city hall, where a Common Council meeting was in progress. Although this rally essentially addressed working-class concerns, leadership also came from the ranks of the more prosperous, and far less numerous, immigrant middle class. Headed

by Frank Conlan, a former alderman, and Anton Hesing, the influential publisher of the Germanlanguage daily Illinois Staats-Zeitung, marchers carried American and German flags and posters bearing such sentiments as "No fire limits after this calamite [sic]" and "Leave a home for the Laborer." With this protest, immigrants sought to protect their right to reestablish their prefire traditional neighborhoods. Hesing explained matters Lo the Tribune: "North Siders own only their little lots, and they don't want stores, but simply houses." "Fancy dwellings of brick" were fine, Frank Conlan asserted, for those who wanted them, "but let the fire limits on the North Side be where the people want them."

The January protest march thus defended an element of ethnic culture and further signaled

Smoldering City the immigrants' refusa l to re linquish what they viewed as their democratic right to self-determination. As Hesing stated succinctly, "these people cannot afford to build of brick, and they will not stand any law that compel ls [sic] them to."

This popular action proved quite effective.

Though the Tribune sniffed that "the majority of the 'procession' was composed of men who never owned a foot of ground, and neve r will, if they do not spend less money for beer and whiskey," flooding the meeting with hundreds of angry North Siders impressed Chicago's e lected officia ls. After a temporary recess to clear the council chambers-during which time "The Municipal Fathers" were, accord ing to a Tribune headline , "Forced to Seek Shelter in the Cloak Room " -the aldermen approved a revised plan that permitted the erection of wooden buildings under sixteen feet in height throughout much of the North Side.

In one sense, this protest was unnecessary because the fire limits were, for the most part, not enforced. The Tribune, on May 5, d ecried "tl1e flagrant disregard of the fire ordinance in all parts of the city," claiming that "Po li cemen walk by the illegal works, chat with the workmen, and never think of interfering to prevent violations ."

When a reporter asked the city emp loyee in charge of issuing building permits how people could procure a permit to build a frame house within the fire limits, the clerk simply shook his head and replied: "You ought to know how things work."

Early in the process of reconstruction, immigrant leaders learned that popular pressure, if applied through the right political channels, could safeguard working-class traditions against reform. This form of worker activism, doubtless empowered by its initial success, was a force during the season of reconstruction, and even came to dominate the city's political scene during the next muni cipal election.

With the arrival of the spring building season, memories of the winter fire ordinance protest faded, a nd trade unionists were doing their best to expu nge any lingering impressions of an unrul y and moblike working class. (Vague rum ors had circulated throughout the city that in mid-May the unions would mastermind a general strike.) On May 15, 1872, th e building trades associations staged an event designed to

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J Medill won the mayoral election of November 187 I on a pledge to rebuild a Jlame•resislant city /hat incorporated ''Jire•limits."

reca t middle- and upper-class perceptions of the working people. In the course of a massive parade and rally, Cameron and other union leaders tried to show Chicago that labor was a force of order, not discord, and asked only for fair wages. The parade and rally were absolutely peaceful. Nearly 6,000 men decked out in traditional union regalia (slightly makeshift, since most banners and costumes had not survived the fire) marched through downtown. The marchers then settled with thousands of other workers on a West Side lot to hear addresses by Mayor Medill and Cameron. About 30,000 building trades workmen skipped work to attend the Wednesday rall y, suspending construction in the city. The demonstration, Cameron later claimed, proved

89

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 LAij OR-

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Adversity between labor and management was heightened by employers who saw trade 11 nions as detrimental to their businesse.s.

"a disappointment only to those who had predicted or desired a riot."

It is difficult to see how any sort of riot could have been expected. On May 6 Cameron had gone to a board of police meeting to request an escort of forty mounted policemen (approved) and to ask for the police commissioners' participation (denied). In keeping with the trade unions' policy of defensive strategies, the labor assembly sent a message of conciliation and reason. Mayor Medill, for example, drew enthusiastic cheers at the end of a speech offering an ana lysis of economic relations. "Capital and Labor," he asserted, "are naturally partners; the one is the complement of the other. Labor without the aid of Capital, is naked, and starves.

Capital without the help of Labor, cannot increase, but decays." Strikes and lockouts, Medill believed, could never benefit either side, but a refusal to work was a particularly irrational undertaking for wage earners. He argued that in any "attempt to force Capital to surrender by the method of starvation .. . it is labor that starves first." To promote a harmonious process

90

of"rebuilding the cit)' with the utmost vigor and rapidity," Medill urged cooperation and arbitration. His address finished with a climactic plea for worker ad heren ce to the prevailing American middle-class moral standards: \\'ork steaclil)' at the best wages offered: practice econonl\' in personal expenditure; drink water instead of whiskey; keep out of debt; put )'Our surplus earnings at interest. until you ha\¡e enough to make a payment on a lot. build a cottage on it at the earliest clay possible, and thus be independent oflancllorcl; go with your wife to church on Sunday, and send your chi ldren to school. If you ha1¡e no wife, court some worthy girl and marry her.

If laborers "p ushed forward hopefully and perseveringl)'," Medill concluded, they could rise above their working-class origins a nd "become indepe ndent long before old age."

Following the mayor's speech, the assembly adopted a series of resolutions that mirrored most of Medill's sentiments. The trade workers called for written contracts between unions and

Smoldering City employers and for the creation of a board of arbitration, "half of which shall be selected by the employers, the other by the employees," to render binding decisions "in such future disputes as may arise." The demonstrators disavowed all violent coercion and expressed a belief that "moral suasion is more potent to secure the cooperation of our nonunion workmen than threats or intimidation." The resolves ended with a ringing defense of the honorable character of unions and workingmen. liwiting all nonunion men to ally themselves with their respecti,¡e trade organizations, the assemblage assured the city that "in union there is strength, their object being to ask nothing but what is right-to submit to nothing that is wrong."

While workers did not respond ovenvhelmingly to Medill 's plug for middle-class moral ism, Chicago trade union leaders constantly sought to gain the approval of the city's more prosperous citizens. The demonstration's highly ordered procession and the extra care taken to include visible symbols of authority, such as the mayor and the police commissioners, renect this concern. According to Cameron, Chicago's welfare depended upon the industry of its workers. But though laboring men and women were "as much interested in the city's prosperity as any other class," all they ever received for their trouble was "indiscriminate slander" at the hands of the upper classes. If the working class collectively displayed the virtues held near and clear by their social betters, however, "the most violent of their revilers" would be "co mpelled to pay homage to the dignity of labor." [n pursuit of this goal, Cameron could sound very much like ledill. In a March 1872 issue of the Advocate, for example, he set forth the following instruction for a worthy way of life: "Give the saloon as wide a berth as possible; establish a library and lecture room; talk co-operation, whenever you have a chance; act as though the success of the movement depended upon your 0\\"11 exertion, and depend upon it, )OU will become beuer men, beuer husbands, and beuer citizens." Cameron's notions about self-bellerment, not surprisingly, were suffused with the tenets of collectivism, a sentiment not at all apparent in Medill's preachings. But even though Cameron's standards of moral conduct differed from the middle-class version, union members did not necessarily find his

Derricks-large cranes used for hoisting and moving lumber and other heavy objects-were invaluable lo builders.

advice, let alone that of Medill and the middle class, to be particularly palatable.

For many immigrant Chicago workers, acceptance by the upper classes seemed less important than maintenance of their own ethnic traditions.

City unions were in great part composed of foreign-born workers; some trades, such as the stonecutters, " ¡e re almost exclusively German.

Chicago's trade unions, though heavily immigrant, ironically followed the leadership of men who badly wanted organized labor to be accepted by the city's mostly native-born middle and upper classes. The most prominent labor leaders therefore were not completely in tune with the aims and attitudes of much of the unions' immigrant rank-and-file. German, Irish, and other European-born workmen might well have welcomed calls for the primacy of religion, thrift, family, and responsibility, since all of these ,rere valued within their own ethnic communities. But these same immigrants would never agree to temperance. And as the season of reconstruction continued, this issue-the workers' right to drink whenever they pleased-caused immigrant tradesmen to turn away from union- led activity in favor of popular political activism.

91

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 Political activity aggressively confronted middleclass reformers. Tracie unionism, in contrast, was tactically guided by leaders who did not seem LO recognize that attempting Lo appease the middle class might not be the best way lo 1,¡in concessions for workers.

For the emire spring and summer, workers and employers apparently heeded the message sem forth by the May 15 rally. The Advocate reported in July, "everything seems Lo work harmoniously."

The Chicago Tribune estimated that between 25,000 and 30,000 building tradesmen , aided by 20,000 to 25,000 common laborers, toiled al work sites for ten Lo twelve hours per da)', six days per week.

In the course of such rapid rebuilding, Chicago became a showplace for all the latest labor-saving machinery. According Lo the 7hbune, "every appliance which the ingenuity of

man has devised has been brought into service."

Horse- and st.earn-driven elevators, frir example, meant that a crew of fourteen could do the work fonnerl)' clone by a hundred laborers. "Hoclcarrying." the report proclaimed, "is now a lost art." Derricks were invaluable to builders. The same article noted that even while "they occasionally fall and kill some hapless workmen or passerby, their immense utility to the general public counterbalances the damage to individuals, fatal though it be."

Construction always involved clanger, but one trad e-o ff for the unparalleled speed and new technological methods of the rebuilding process was th e loss of many workers' lives. Even "with forests of derricks, with the streets choked up with teams, 1rith huge stones and masses of iron dangling in the air all summer over the heads of pedestrians," the Tribune claimed that "scarcely

A carpenters' union strike in the fall of 1872, intended to standardize wages at $4 per day, ended in failure due to lack of support from the unemployed, from nonunion carpenters, and from union members who ignored the st,ike order. Photograph by Jex Bardwell.

92

Smoldering City more accidents ha\'e happened than occur in an ordinary season, and certainly no greater loss of life ." But the Advocate presented a \'ery different picture, asserting that "the number of deaths by accidentamongourworkmen has been frightfulsome clays as much as a dozen being killed or maimed for life."

While reconstruction proceeded without inteJTuption throughout the summer months, this did not mean that workers were entirely content. To the contrary, the postfire turmoil had created much bitterness within Chicago's working class. The question of housing and rent was a particularly sensitive issue. Landlords, taking advantage of the intense demand and short suppl)·, charged an a\'erage of 30 to 40 percent above prefire rates. That property owners did not hesitate to gain personal profit from the same misfortune that tradesmen had pledged not to exploit outraged many workers.

"A Mechanic'' angrily asserted in a letter to the

Chicago Tribune: Has not this \'c,-y fire been a pretext used by the moneyed elite to extort and almost rob the mechanics and laborers nfthe liule they may possess or gain:, Arc not they who own cottages and prate about losses by the fire grinding the ,·el)· life's blood out of the class thq most need to build them up b)' compelling them to pay out in rents more than double former rates, and yet ha\'e not doubled the wages of those they employ:.

The Bricklayers' Union attempted to alle,·iate this problem by organizing a worker-owned construction business to purcha e land and erect affordable housing. Though the Advocate ran a prominent ad\'ertisement for this "J\Iechanics' Building Company" from July through December, the ,·en tu re-perhaps clue to the hefty S3 per week demanded from each of the cooperatiYe's investors-never attracted enough members to buy or build anything. Formal working-class protest may ha,·e remained submerged for much of the season of reconstruCLion, but a city with a housing market operating under conditions "of oppressive injustice," in the Advocate's \\'Ords, could hardly be termed free of interclass tensions.

The uneasy peace between builders and workers finally began to disintegrate in the early fall of 1872, when first the carpenters, and then

the bricklayers, went on strike. The carpenters' union, though numerically strong, had been handicapped throughout the construction season by intratrade squabbles over apprenticeship requirements and association leadership. "Their very bickering," the Advocate reported, "made them an easy prey to their enemies." Bricklayers, stonecutters, and plasterers maintained stronger unions and received $5 per day; carpenters, only $2.50 or $3 for the same amount of labor.

Carpenters viewed this inequity as unfair; their craft required longer apprenticeships than any other building trade, as well as a more substantial and expensive array of tools. And carpenters went to work on a structure only after construction was fairly advanced. They hoped to capitalize on their specific skills being in far greater demand late in the building season than they had been during the spring and summer months. At a mass meeting on the evening of September 16, the union resolved to request from all employers wages of $4 per day and threatened to call a strike if this demand was not met in a week's time.

But even though the carpenters had delayed any action until, as the Chicago Tribune noted, "the lateness of the season and the large number of buildings now in carpenters' hands will enforce the demand," the high number of unemployed and nonunion carpenters in the city virtually guaranteed failure. The city's contractors, meeting the day before the strike was to begin, remained singularly unmoved by the union's threat. They were confident that the strikers could be easily and quickly replaced. The carpenters' association was weak and troubled, and many union members ignored the "order" of the strike and negotiated individual contracts with their employers. Other union men accepted conditional terms specifying that if they returned to work immediately, their employer must raise their wages should workers who continued to strike gain concessions. This sort of agreement undermined both trade solidarity and the very tactic of the strike. Only a few hundred of the more than 5,000 union carpenters who worked at sites where the owners were anxious to avoid even a temporary delay gained a boost in wages -and this by only fifty cents per day. But all other union strike activity ended in defeat within forty-eight hours. For the carpenters, then, the union offered no effective protection against

93

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 Chicago's glutted postfire labor market.

The bricklayers' strike, by contrast, was much more successful. Unlike the carpenters, who were striking to increase their wages, the bricklayers left their jobs to protest a pay cut. Claiming that the price of brick had substantially increased, on October 2 contractors reduced bricklayers' wages from $5 for ten hours of work to $4.50. The contractors immediately rejected the union's counteroffer of $4 for eight hours. Workers reacted to this pay reduction-clearl y intended , they belieYed, Lo increase the builders' profits at their expense-with extreme anger. As a result, on October 4 all union bricklayers stopped working. One bricklayer, writing in the Advocate, commented on what he saw as the hypocrisy of the situation: "Now mark their conduct in October with ours in May, and it is a poor rule that don't work both ways. 'Don't take advantage of Chicago's misfortune ,' was their watchword then.

'Don't take advantage of Chicago's misfortune,' is now our response to their demands."

In contrast to the carpenters' beleaguered organization, the bricklayers' union-earlier termed "extraordinarily earnest and aggressive" by the Chicago 7hbune-stood together against the contractors. With this strike, the union finally dropped the defensive posture of the past spring and summer and energetically confronted employers and nonunion workers. Pledges against violent intimidation were forgotten as gangs of strikers roamed the city to scare replacement workers off the job. On October 10 the police moved in to disperse a rowdy mob of 125 union bricklayers who had assembled to protest nonunion work at the site of the new McCormick reaper factory. The next day, city builders took steps to protect their replacement employees, serving notice that "if any man al work should be assaulted or intimidated, at work or elsewhere, on account of being at work," they would "employ private detectives to arrest the guilty parties, and have them prosecuted to the utmost extent of the law." But the union bricklayers had already managed to send a clear message; the New York Times¡noted that outside nonunion workers were afraid to step in as strikebreakers. The cooperative spirit preached by Medill and Cameron back on May 15 clearly seemed impracticable to this trade union.

The successful disruption of work, however,

94

did not automatically signal victory for the bricklayers. While the employers of approximately one-third of the union bricklayers acceded to the union conditions during the first two weeks of the strike, many other employers vowed to resist the demand for the eight-hour day "to the finish."

Perhaps fearing that any concession might rekindle the kind of activism surrounding the passage of the eight-hour law in 1867, the contractors "after lengthy debate . . . decided that it is better to stop all building operations until next year, rather than submit to the dictation of the strikers." Only in mid-November, at the very encl of the building season, did nearly all contractors agree to the eight-hour standard. By this time , the days were so short that workmen were unable to stay on the job for more than eight hours. But this strike, especially when compared with the carpenters' disastrous strike attempt the previous month , largely succeeded. The union essentially beat back the attempted pay cuts and secured a proportionally equal wage for fewer hours. It is important to remember, however, that the bricklayers never asked for any ne\,¡ benefits; their struggle revolved strictly around an effort lo defend the summer's standard wage against what was perceived as the contractors' avarice.

The bricklayers' strike was both the first and last notable display of union strength and solidarity in the immediate aftermath of the fire. As the 1872 construction season drew to a close, masses of men were thrown out of work, and the city's building trades organizations began to fall apart.

"In our city," the Advocate reported in January of 1873, "there are thousands of workmen idle at the present time ; not idle from choice, but from necessity. '~o work to do,' is what you hear from morning 'til night." In the face of such tenible unemployment, urvival took precedence over trade business, and most unions dwindled to a few faithful members . A January 10 convocation of the General Trades Assembly, for example, drew only four men , leading the financial secretary-the only officer who had bothered to appear-to suggest rather lamely that no more meetings be scheduled until the "thaw." Many among the army of workers who had streamed into Chicago now moved on to search for employment elsewhere. In mid-December an Advocate correspondent visiting city train depots "noticed many of our workingmen, especially

Smoldering City

As the 1872 construe/ion season ended, many workers lost their jobs, significantly weakening Chicago's building trades organizations.

stone-masons, bricklayers, and carpenters, taking their departure for states north, south, and east of us .... This general stampede indicates a large suspension of work on various buildings in _course of erection, and the general disinclination of builders to commence on new contracts." The early spring migration into Chicago was partially balanced by the early winter exodus. Still, thousands ofbuilding tradesmen had made a permanent move and now faced a jobless winter.

Even as trade unions dissolved and employment prospects became grim, many of Chicago's laboring people began to organize once again.

This time class conflict over an attempt to infringe upon immigrant traditions-and by extension, democratic rights-took place on a far grander scale. In the course of the battle, the two sides fought for control of the city government.

The temperance issue-the one plank in the reformist platform that the immigrant working class would not accept-triggered these events.

The initial catalyst for reviving ethnic political activism was, ironically, a unified city movement against crime. Toward the end of the great rebuilding, many Chicagoans became quite concerned about a crime wave sweeping the city. In

95

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In ti,,, .1/)ring of 187 3, /P111t,nm1ff rrjimn,,,-.,-/1rl'srnti11g thmiseivl's '" agPnt., of ( ;od, morality, and law mu/ m·dn-- df/.\hn/ hmd-011 with (;ennan a11d Irish i111migra11/.1 .1t'eki11g lo pmtffl liu'ir right lo drink liquor 1111 Sunday.

Smoldering City the immediate aftermath of the Great Fire, Chicago experienced a substantial rise in the numbers of homicides and robberies. (This phenomenon can probab ly be attributed to the transient nature of many who had been drawn to the city by its disaster.) On September 10, 1872, Henry Greenebaum, a banker and civic leader of German descent, spoke to the Chicago Tribune about h is plans for a massive anticrime rally: The people of all classes are thoroughlr aroused and in earnest. The feeling goes well beyond party, nationality and religion, and is shared alike by all good citizens. The Germans are particularly up in arms, and I would not be surprised to see 10,000 of that nationality alone at our meeting. The Irish are also with us, and will come in masses to the meeting.

The meeting, held at the newly rebuilt Board of Trade, attracted a mixed crowd. The assemblage unanimously agreed to demand swift capital punishment for convicted murderers and to create the Citizens' Committee of 25 "whose duty it shall be to aid the authorities in the prompt arrest, speedy trial, and sure punishment of criminals." But the proceedings hit a snag when someone raised the issue of Chicago's Sunday liquor law-a heretofore totally ignored 1845 ordinance that forbade any sale of alcoholic beverages on the Christian Sabbath day. Some believed the¡law should be enforced, and a rather loud argument ensued . Approbation mixed with condemnation as "Some hissed and some applauded."

Though antitemperance men succeeded in tabling the motion at the Board of Trade rally, the issue immediately leapt to the forefront at the first meeting of the Committee of 25 on September 30. In his testimony before the Committee, Mance! Talcott, the president of the board of police commissioners, attributed the great majority of illegal conduct to alcohol. He boldly asserted that "nine-tenths of the crime is brought about by drunkeness .... If you enforce your existing law against keeping open your saloons late on Saturday night and Sunday ... your rowdyism and shooting affrays would in a g1-eat measure cease." Henry Greenebaum, the chairman of the Committee, discounted Talcott's statements and instead attributed the crime problem to out-of-towners who had no intention of remaining in the city permanently. He went

on to warn, according to the Tribune, that "plenty of hard-working Germans went out with their families on Sunday, and they would consider it a great hardship to be deprived of harmless amusement." But Greenebaum's defense of the immigrants' right to drink fell upon unsympathetic ears, and zealous religious leaders and moral reformers seized control of the Committee. Within tl1ree weeks, the anticrime movement turned against the same immigrant workers who had rallied to its support.

The Committee of 25-reduced to twentythree when Greenebaum and Anton Hesing handed in their resignations-pressured Mayor Medill to enforce the Sunday closing ordinance.

Medill, trapped in a dilemma, stalled for time.

While personally sympathetic to the workingclass concerns, he knew that it would be pol itically fatal not to appease the highly vocal reformers, who presented themselves as the agents of Goel, morality, and law and order. Hoping to defuse the issue, Medill noted that ew York, Boston, and Brooklyn did not enforce their Sunday prohibition laws, and that the police force would be overburdened by any effort to monitor Sabbath clay drinking. He further asserted that the all-talk, no-action reformers offered no concrete assistance in this area. Medill comp lained to the Tribune, "I am unable to procure any promise of efficient aid, whether moral, legal, religious, or physical; their business seems to be to censure, but not to encourage and support the authorities." But these attempts to evade a decision did not put off the reformers. The Committee of 25, clue to intense public interest, expanded into the Committee of 70, and women's civic and religious organizations added their voices to the general clamor. By midOctober Medill could no longer resist the temperance lobby, and he gave the order for police enforcement of Sunday prohibition. October 20 took on a special significance for the city-it was to be the first dry day.

Chicago's immigrants reacted to Sunday prohibition with disbelief and hostility. Anton Hesing, in the Staats-Zeitung, angrily asserted that ''A saloon has the same right as a church, so long as it is quietly and decently carried on." A Chicago Tribune article describing the day ofa typical German-American, "Mr. Schmidt," provided a satirical but telling account of the threat of Sunday

97

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

The Great Rebuilding of Chicago was nearly complete two years after the fire.

prohibition to immigrant culture. "Mr. Schmidt," finished with morning church services, wande1¡ed over to his neighboorhood saloon, only to find that the door was locked and no business was being conducted.

He refuses to believe it. It is incredible. It is against religion . It strikes at the very foundation of belief. ... He asks himself whetherthe 1¡esult ofa long civil war, of the loss of 100,000 lives, has been that he, an American freeman, is deprived of the inestimable blessing of drinking beer on Sunday. Has free government come to this? Had he left a despotism abroad, where drinking was allowed, to come to a republic where it was not permitted?

In a somewhat impromptu and rowdy protest, North Siders marched behind a wagon loaded with kegs and freely dispensed beer. This spectacle, which flaunted the law by taking advantage of the technicality that beer had to be sold to be illegal, must have horrified the reformers; for all their attempted good work, potential drunks guilty of disorderly conduct now brazenly paraded through the city's streets. But since

98

brewers and saloon owners could not afford to give their stocks away, simple economics precluded any repeat of this sort of carnivalesque event. German and other immigrant workers soon concluded, with Hesing, that "there is only one thing to be done: determined resistance and firm union."

After the enforcement of prohibition, immigrant protest began to take a popular political form. On October 23 the Staats-Zeitung urged all of its readers to discount any other issues and vote only for those candidates who pledged to repeal the temperance ordinance in the upcoming aldermanic elections. On October 24 the city's German leaders assembled to discuss strategy. Two days later a delegation ofrepresentatives from that meeting called on Mayor Medill, who managed to send them away "satisfied with his position." But just as the Germans began their political mobilization among the working class, the temperance reformers took a temporary hiatus. During the winter, the Committee of70 went into dormancy. Medill, for the moment relieved of reformist demands, suspended enforcement

Smoldering City

of the Sunday prohibition ordinance.

In the spring the Committee of 70 emerged from its hibernation, and the temperance dispute heated up quickly. On April 28, 1873, the general superintendent of police, with Medill's apparent blessing, issued an order requiring all policemen to "e nter frequently on Sunday all places or rooms on their respective beats where they have good reason to suspect that intoxicating drinks are sold." In response to this dictatewhich, due to internal dissension within the police board, did not go into effect for a few weeks-German leaders held a mass meeting at the North Side Aurora Turner Hall on May 21.

The rally resolved to address the immigrant working-class grievances at the November municipal election . Speaking first, Hesing swore that through his vote he would "teach the Puritanical element that Sunday afternoon could be pleasantly and orderly spent." Other orators chose to transcend the specific issue of temperance in their appeals. Rudolph Thieme, a grocer, proclaimed: ''Here we are a hundred thousand German Americans like one man,

under the banner of freedom and order, determined not to secure beer on Sunday-but to overthrow the venal Strumpet which has occupied the throne of the Goddess of Freedom, and dishonored the Republic." Still other speeches compared the temperance movement to the nativist "Know-Nothing" movement, which had frequently victimized German and Irish immigrants. After the Saloon-Keepers' Union ceremoniously changed its name to the Union of Liberal-Minded Citizens, the meeting concluded with Hesing pronouncing the birth of the People's party.

Starting with e ight mass meeting organized on the evening of May 29, the People's party quickly gained momentum and supporters. This party, rooted in immigrant working-class activism, had the potential to muster enough votes to take control of the mayor's office and the Common Council. Many seasoned politiciansmostly Democrats thrown out of power with the ascension of the Republican-backed "Fireproof' ticket-began to ally themselves with the upstart political force. The most important figure to

99

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 jump on the People's party bandwagon was Daniel O'Hara. This controversial but very popular political boss, who already held the office of clerk of the criminal court, brought much Irish support LO the party.

As the part)' began to organize itself into campaign committees, the grocers, teamsters, stonecutters, and carpenters who had stood in the initial ranks of leadership began to be replaced by insurance brokers, lawyers, bankers, and merchants. Saloonkeepers, liquor merchants, and brewers-not surprisingly-maintained an especially constant and active role in party affairs.

Like many populist movements, the leaders of the People's party eYentually lost Louch with those who had originally sparked the effort. The People's party, through the influence of the veteran politicians, began to take positions on municipal issues of little or no concern to most immigrant workers. But opposing temperance always remained the campaign's central goal.

Municipal politics thus became a moral battleground.

Medill-probably because of the abuse he endured over the Sunday liquor law-decided not to seek re-election. When the "Fireproof" administration left the scene, a coalition organized under the slogan "Anything to beat the Hesing-O'Hara combination!" The "Law and Order" ticket-described by a contemporary commentator as "one of the stTangest fusions ... that has ever been recorded"-united nativist Americans from all classes, Democratic and Republican party politicians shut out of the People's party, and, of course, the temperance men.

But the "Law and Order" ticket b)' this time could do little to stop the People's party juggernaut. As election clay neared, immigrants e\'en began to appropriate traditional American institutions in order to gain political clout. Daniel O'Hara, the People's candidate for city treasurer, used his position with the criminal court to set up what the Tribune termed a "naturalization mill."

Processing more than 500 immigrants clail)'-all of whom swore that their"firsl papers" had been destroyed in the fire-O'Hara manufactured thousands of votes for his party. The People's part)' so effectively countered the reformers' attack on worker traditions that many perceived a tot.al reYersal of the cultural conflict that had triggered this political activity. The claim now JOO

A nationwide financial panic in 1873 brought Chicago's commerce and building to a halt, putting tens of thousands out of work.

arose that the immigrants \\'ere oppressing nati\'e-born Americans. In a reaction Lo the Staals-leitwig's publication of "appeals to the foreign-born population lo come out and nlte clo\\'n Puritanical Yankees" in nine different languages, the Chicago 7i-ibu11e accused the People's party of '¡German Know-Nothingism."

On election clay, the People's part)' ticket, headed by Harvey Colvin, swept Lo an easy victory. Colvin was an American-born compromise cancliclate picked atler Hesing's mayoral ambitions were clashed b)' a disclosure that he had arranged for the passage of an 1865 city ordinance that neued hi. Staats-leitwig more than $86,000 in public funds. \'oter turnout more than doubled that of the 1871 election, indicating the extent of working-class politici1ation. The clay after the \'ictory, the Chicago Tribune predicted a grim future for Chicago, lamenting that "the election pro\'eS that. the ignorant and vicious classes, added to the entire German vote ... have the po\\'er to govern." But the Staats-leitung, in a joyous celebration, countered " 'ith a far different \'iew of the electoral triumph. For the immigrants, the victory of the People's party was not a "subjugation of the Americans b)' a horde of foreigners," but a pure and simple "victory of honorable and true American citizens over a smaller number of American citizens."

The People's party had won-but the working

Smoldering City people did not control Chicago. Once in office, the new administration immediately suspended enforcement of Sunday prohibition. Still, though the People's party had secured the working class's right Lo drink, it could not insure its right to work.

By December of 1873, the postfire working-class experience had come full-circle as the Relief and Aid Society once again assumed a prominent role in city affairs. By this time, a nationwide economic collapse had brought Chicago's commerce Lo a near--halt, and tens of thousands were out of work. Near Christmas, unemployed workers took to Lhe streets Lo demand that $600,000 of fire relief funds still he ld by the Relief and Aid Society be turned over Lo the Common Council and used for public works projects that could "employ the idle men who were wanting work." But funds were nol released; the Society's general superintendent told the Tribune that he "remained convinced that a great many of the able-bodied men who are loafing about the streets could get something to do if they were not too lazy to look for it." Of course, economic circumstances differed completely from the booming postfirejob market. This time the work did not exist. The financial slump triggered by the Panic of 1873 lasted until nearly 1880 in Chicago, causing most of the city's workers to endure six years of acute financial hardship. Neither trade unions nor immigrant politics would do much to lessen the severity of this lengthy depression.

In evaluating the experience of the working class during Chicago's Great Rebuilding, it is easy to conclude that the trade unions collapsed while immigrant politics succeeded. But â&#x20AC;˘the story is surely more complicated. For while the immigrant political leaders certainly delivered on their promise to beat back temperance, they failed to secure for their working-class constituents anything more than the right to drink on Sunday. This victory, though important, can hardly be termed a triumph for the city's workers.

Many questions about what could be clone to alleviate the difficult conditions of working-class life remained unanswered; these issues remained far outside the sphere of immigrant politics. A defe nse of ethnic tradition wa possible , but any defense of the right to work for a fair wage was quite unrealistic. After the fire , Chicago's working class fell prey Lo the simple economic

facts of the lab.or market. What had at first seemed to be a golden opportunity soon turned into a constant fight for survival clue Lo an over-supply of workers. All working-class activism must be viewed in light of these extremely pres-ingeconomic circumstances. Instead ofan assessment of achieYement or failure, the Chicago working clas 's gradual shift of its postfire struggle from the labor marketplace to the world of immigrant culture is best seen as a move into the realm of the possible.

For Further Reading Two narratives on the G1¡eat Fire are Alfred L. Sewall, The Great Calamity (Chicago: A. L. Sewall , 1871) and Elias Colbert and Everett Chamberlain, Chicago and the Great Conflagration (Chicago: J. S. Goodman & Co., 1871). Relief efforts are described in Reports of the Chicago Relief and Aid Society (1871, 1873) in the CHS Archives and Manuscripts Collection and Timothy Naylor, "Responding to the Fire: The Work of the Chicago Relief and Aid Society," Science and Society, v.

39, no. 471 (1975-76). Christine Meisner Rosen, The Limits of Power: Great Fires and the Process of City Growth in America ( ew York: Cambridge University Press, 1986) examines fire limit laws and postfire reconstruction.

For a discussion of immigrant working-class society and politics, see Hartmut Keil andjohnjentz, German Workers in Industrial Chicago: A Comparative Perspective (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1983) and M. L. Ahern, The Great Revolution (Chicago: Lakeside Publishing and Printing Company, 1874).

Illustrations 70-71, CHS, ICHi--02983; 72 top, CHS, ICHi--02984; 72 bottom, from Harpers Weekly, October 21, 1871, CHS Library; 73, CHS, ICHi--02795; 74, CHS, ICHi--20780; 75 top, CHS, ICHi--02990; 75 bottom, CHS, ICHi-06193; 76, CHS, ICHi--06192; 77, CHS Paintings and Sculpture Collection; 78, from Harpers Weekly, November 4, 1871, CHS Library; 79 top, from Frank Leslies Illustrated Weekly, November 4, 1871, CHS Library; 79 bottom, CHS, ICHi--06194; 80, CHS Paintings and Sculpture Collection; 81, CHS, original glass negative , Gl984:527; 82-83, CHS, ICHi--02813; 85, CHS, ICHi--09607; 86, CHS, ICHi-20845; 87, from Harpers Weekly, May 20, 1871, CHS Library; 88, CHS, ICHi--16828; 89, CHS, ICHi--20843; 90, from Harper's Weekly, March 4, 1871, CHS Library; 91, CHS, ICHi-20846; 92, CHS, ICHi--20844; 95, CHS, ICHi--02845; 96, from The Land Owner, April 1873, CHS Library; 98-99, CHS, ICHi-02765; 100, CHS, ICHi--02860.

IOI

Lt. Comdr. Edward H. "Butch" O'Hare. US. Navy photograph.

YESTERDAY'S

CrTY BY PERRY R. nurs

Butch O'Hare, Chicago's Borrowed Hero Almost anyone from Singapore to Keokuk who has ever stepped aboard an airplane would recognize the name "O'Hare" and associate it with the world's busiest airport. Many people also know that the "ORD" designation on their luggage tags stands for Orchard Field, the tiny airfield that once stood on the O'Hare site. But few know anything about the quiet young man after whom O'Hare Airport is named. City Hall will tell you that he was "a Chicago air hero;' but that answer is only partially correct. Edward Henry "Butch" O'Hare, Chicago's honored World War II pilot, was actually a St. Louisan with few ties to Chicago.

O'Hare's early life was unremarkable. He was born in the River City on March 13, 1914, one of three children of Edward]. O 'Hare, the owner of a struggling trucking company. His first sixteen years were spent near his birthplace, an old brick storefront at 18th and Sidney streets in a nondescript working-class south St. Louis neighborhood. A shy boy, often picked on by bullies, he became an excellent swimmer and a crack rifle shot.

The life of young O 'Hare began to change dramatically during his early teens. While still maintaining his partnership in the Dyer & O'Hare Hauling Company, O 'Hare's father began a career as a lawyer, but his successful defense of East St. Louis, Illinois, speakeasy owners gave a slight taint to his practice. "E. ].," as he was known , also became involved in a dog racing track in Madison County, Illinois, and he eventually bought the patent rights to the mechanical rabbit that the dogs chased. In 1924 he was indicted in connection with a scheme to withdraw medicinal whiskey from bonded ware_houses. The charges were later dropped. The turning point in the fami ly fortunes came in 1928 when Chicago's organized crime czar Al Capone,

Perry R. Duis is associate professor of history al the University of Illinois al Chicago and a frequent contributor to C hi cago History.

realizing that the lu crative profits from Prohibition might not last forever, decided to muscle into professional sports. He offered E. J. O'Hare a job as manager of the Hawthorne Dog Track in suburban Chicago. The move meant great wealth for E. J. O'Hare, but it cost him his family. His wife, Selma, and his children remained in St. Louis. In 1932 the couple divorced .

At age sixteen, perhaps to escape the family turmoil, young Edward O'Hare entered the We tern Military Academy at Alton, Illinois. He exce ll ed in everything, and after graduation in 1933, Rep. John J. Cochran of Missouri's Eleventh District sponsored his appo intm ent to the United States Naval Academy. There he won the nickname "Butch '.' He graduated in 1937 and was assigned to the USS New Mexico. In June of 1939 he realized his dream of becoming a pilot when he reported to the naval air station at Pensacola, Florida, for his year of training.

Even the relative isolation of the military could not protect young O'Hare from the controversy that still surrounded his father. On November 8, 1939, E. J. left Sportsman's Park, which he had headed since 1932, and drove down Ogden Avenue toward the Loop. As he approached the intersection at Rockwell Avenue, an expensive coupe (similar to his own) pulled up alongside, and guns began blasting. O'Hare's vehicle raced out of control for another block before smashing into a utility pole. A gun, a crucifix, a rosary, a religious medallion, and several phone messages were found on the front seat next to O'Hare's body. The killing, of course, made headlines, and reporters competed with the police to uncover leads.

The disclosures of the next few weeks revealed a tale of undenvorld crime and of the secret triple life that E.J. O 'Hare had been leading for eight years. In his first role O'Hare was a key member of the Capone mob and one of its top financial wizards . He had developed a wide network of po liti cal contacts, including a business partnership with municipal courtjuclge Eugene Holland, who dismissed 12,634 gamb ling charges 103

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 and convicted only twenty-eight gamblers over several years. O'Hare had expanded Capone racing interests in Massachusetts and Florida, and when Capone went behind bars in May of 1932, ownership of the mob's racing interests was transferred to O'Hare and partner John Patton. As the young mayor of Burnham, Illinois, Patton turned the town into a vice village and later became Capone vice lord for Cicero and Stickney as well.

E.J. was also found to have purchased stock in the Chicago Cardinals, an indication, perhaps, of the mob's plans to infiltrate professional football.

With an expensive house in Glencoe and extensive real estate holdings, E. J. O'Hare preferred to be known in his second role, that of a "wealthy clubman'.' Whereas most members of the Capone hierarchy were easily recognized by the public, O'Hare remained completely

detatched from the reputation of his boss. In fact, he went out of his way to condemn organized crime. Newspapers frequently reported h is verbal attacks on "unsavory hoodlums" and noted his orders that criminals keep away from his racetracks. If O'Hare profited from his mob ties, he refused to become part of its social life.

E. J. O'Hare's most important role, however, proved to be that of government informant.

In the weeks following his death, reporters uncovered a fascinating story that had begun in the early 1930s. A rekindling of the friendship between E. J. and newsman and former St. Louis friend John Rogers led to contact with federal investigator Frank J. Wilson, who was determined to put Capone behind bars. Why O'Hare turned informant may never be known.

He might have been motivated by impending

Until E. j. O'Hare was gunned down gangland style 011 November 8, 1939.few suspected that his Sportsman's Park raCPtrack was a mob operation.

CHS, fCHi-20890.

104

Yesterday's City

At the lime of his trial in the early 1930s, Al Capone (center) had not yet learned that mob member E.J. O'Hare had supplied criminal evidence against him. In prison, Capone vowed lo have O'Hare killed. CHS, DN 97,061.

investigations of his own income taxes. Perhaps O'Hare agreed with some mobsters who thought that Capone's reputation and violent tactics hurt the money-making potential of the rackets.

O'Hare may have wanted to cooperate in order to insure that his son would not be denied admission to Annapolis because of his shady business dealings. Whatever the reason, E. J. supplied critical evidence against Capone. When Capone finally learned the identity of his betrayer in 1937, cellmates at Alcatraz heard him vow to have O 'Hare killed. Upon being released, the ex-convicts informed E. J. of Capone's threats, and he spent the last two years of his life in semiseclusion. His execution was probably delayed because his business talents were too useful to waste. In November 1939 O'Hare reportedly refused to contribute $50,000 to a welcome home fund for Capone. It was thus

more than coincidence that O'Hare's murder came only a few days before Capone's release from prison. The press speculated that the mob, fearing Capone's wrath, finally carried out his order. A phone message bearing an FBI number found on O'Hare's body was further evidence of his role as an informer; he was to leave for Washington the following day.

E. J. O'Hare's funeral at the St. Louis church that the family had atte nded for decades drew a curious mixture of Capone henchmen , federal age nts, Chicago po-Jice , and newsmen from across th e country. Butch O 'Hare , after being questioned by Chicago authorities, was no doubt anxious to return to the anonymity of the navy.

In the summer of 1940 he qualified as a naval av iato1~ and that Jul y he was assigned to a squadron o n a n a irc raft carrier. He m a rried St. Lo uisa n Rita Wooste r on Septe mber 6, 1941, 105

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Yesterday '.s City and the couple moved to San Diego, where he was stationed.

The lives of the O'Hare family and of most Americans changed dramatically only three months later when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. On the following day, Butch left with his fighter squadron on a mission in the Pacific, and his wife returned to her parents' home in Keokuk, Iowa. The times were especially tense. American forces won precious few victories because of personnel and aircraft shortages left in the wake of Pearl Harbor.

Young O'Hare found himself a pilot and section leader of Fighting Squadron 3, assigned to protect the aircraft carrier Lexington.

O'Hare's moment of destiny came on February 20, 1942, as his Australia-bound convoy steamed west of the Gilbert Islands. Early in the morning, Japanese. reconnaissance planes had spotted the Americans and had managed to report their position before being shot down. By early afternoon, a wave of nine Mitsubishi 96 bombers attacked , and the on-duty American squadron destroyed all but one of them and returned to the

Butch O'Hare was a hero llzat Americans could rally around, and O'Hare propaganda like this calendar (left) and this comic from Navy Times (below) boosted morale. Left, Perry R . Duis; below, illustration by Mario /)emarco, US. Navy photograph.

60RN MARCH 13,1914 IN ST.LOUIS,MISSOORI, LlO'HARE MADE THE HEADLINES OF PAPERS THR006HOOT THE COUNTRY AND WORLD, WITH WHAT WAS C4LLED ONE OF THE M OST CARINE·· · IF NOT THE MOST DARING, ~IN6LE ACTIONS IN THE HISTORY OF (OM8ATAVIATICN. V•4RKSMANSHIP ON ~IS PAl<T, LT O'MARE :,HOT OOWN ~tVE MW OAMA!JEOA SIX TH JAP PLANF BE:FC.1.::E 1HEY (G(JLD o<.'EACh THEIR

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O'rlare's commanding officer, Lt. Comm. J ohn S. Thach (right), congratulates O'Hare after his moment of destiny. US. Nauy photograph.

carrier for refueling and servicing. But, without warning, another wave of nine enemy planes appeared on the horizon. O'Hare, then on reserve duty, had the only available plane, and he took off alone in his Grumman Wildcat fighter.

At 12,000 feet, he engaged the Japanese in aerial dogfights, shooting down five enemy planes and severely crippling a sixth. The action transpired in less than five minutes and within sight of his cheering comrades. When he returned to the Lexington, he apologized for not downing the other: "After the last encounter, I had but ten rounds ofammunition left and my guns jammed'.'

Word of Butch O'Hare's feat made its way back to America a few days later, and the reaction was instantaneous. The tall bashful flyer became a national hero. He returned to the United States several weeks later, and on April 21, 1942, with his wife and his mother at his side, he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor by President Franklin Roosevelt. Roosevelt's citation stated that, ''As a result of his gallant action, one of the most daring, if not the most daring single action in the history of combat aviation, he undoubtedly saved his carrier from serious damage'.'

107

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89

President Franklin D. Roosevelt awards O'Harr the Congressional Medal of Honor on April 2 1, 1942, whilr his wife Rita looks on. Chi cago Sun-Tim es.

Roosevelt promoted O 'Hare from lieutenant junior grade to lieutenant senior grade. Almost inaudibly, he told the president, "That is very nice, thank you very much '.'

Butch O'Hare seemed uncomfortable as a war hero. On April 26, 1942, he returned home to St Louis. After a huge welcome at Lambert Airport, he rode in a parade past 60,000 wildly cheering St. Louisans who turned out despite the rain to greet their native son. Mayor William Dee Williams awarded him the key to the city and a navigator's gold chronograph. O'Hare helped launch one of many war bond drives, noting, 'Just give us enough trained men, enough ships and planes to approach even terms, and we'll come out on top'.'

Despite all that had happened, the war was just beginning for Butch O'Hare. After a brief leave, he returned to his squadron, and on August 31, l08

1943, he led repeated air raids against enemy installations on Marcus Island. With what navy officials would later term "courageous disregard for his own personal safety;' he led his squadron in destroying all grounded aircraft and most of the defensive installations. For this he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Five weeks later, Butch O 'Hare was once more in the news. While flying near Wake Island with his unit, Fighting Squadron 6, he sighted three Japanese aircraft. He shot down one himself and aided in hitting the other two. O'Hare then swooped down on the enemy's runway, and while dodging anti-aircraft fire, destroyed two grounded aircraft and an approaching bomber.

This action earned him the Gold Star and further headlines back home.

Butch O'Hare's final act of valor came on the night of November 26, 1943, at Tarawa in the

Yesterday's City

Sixty thousand wildly chee1ing St. Louisans welcome home their hero on April 26, 19-12. From the collectio11s of the St. Louis ,\lercantile Libra,y Association.

Gilbert Islands. According to the official government account: When warnings were received of the approach of a large force of enemy torpedo bombers, Lieutenant Commander O 'Hare unhesitatingl y volunteered to lead the first fighter section of aircraft to take off from a carrier at night and intercept the Japa nese attackers.

Although limited in the special training necessary for so dangerous an undertaking and full y aware of the haza rd involved , he fearlessl y led his thre e-plane group into co mbat against the largest formation of hostile aircraft a nd assisted in shooting down two enemy planes a nd dispersing the remainde1:

O 'Hare's plane was hit and went down in the d a rkness. Frantic efforts to find him proved futile . Almost two years later, on August 14, 1945, the navy finally revealed that O'Hare had been

killed in an experiment to determine if fighter planes could be maneuvered into visual contact with enemy planes from a radar-equipped bomber. Something had failed to work.

Condolences poured into St. Louis. Butch O 'Hare, twenty-nine years old when he died, left behind a nine-month-old daughter that he probably had never seen. Months later his mother held her first tearful interview with the press. She revealed that during his St. Louis visit in 1942 he had said, "You don't have time to consider the odds against you. You 're too busy throwing bullets'.' She also felt her son's demise had something to do with the number 13 appearing so frequently in his life, from his birthdate on March 13 to his growing up in St. Louis's 13th Ward.

Posthumous honors included the Navy Cross, a new destroyer bearing his name, and a plaque placed in his former dormitory room at the l09

Chicago History, Fall and Winter 1988-89 Naval Academy. A shipmate of O'Hare's described perhaps the most appropriate honor bestowed upon O'Hare in a letter to his mother, Selma. "It seems so fitting that the Navy has named the airfield at Abemama [Gilbert Islands] 'O'Hare Field.' An airfield is an alive thing and has the definite hope for the future .... He would be proud of this."

As the war progressed, many other air aces surpassed Butch O 'Hare's 1942 feat. By January of 1944, eighteen other pilots had shot down six or more enemy planes. Maj. Gregory Boyington and Maj.Joe Foss bagged twenty-six planes each. But O'Hare was special. America had been starved for heroes. The Great Depression, in which neither intelligence nor physical might nor

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Since the dedication of O'Hare Airport and the unveiling of this memorial plaque on September 18, 1949, the city of Chicago has thought of Butch O'Hare as a native son. Chicago Sun-Times.

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bravery could stem the tide of hopelessness, had given way to Pearl Harbor. That ca lamity had shaken the nation's pride, but the first months of the war saw only sweeping enemy victories at the Philippines, Guam, and Wake Island. In the bleakness of the time, Butch O 'Hare was a hero around whom America could rally. Soft-spoken, handsome, and morally proper~ he fit the mold of the American war hero, disregarding his personal safety for the sake of his unit and his country.

The most notable honor bestowed on O'Hare came in 1949, six years afi.er his death. The city of Chicago had realized during the war that Municipal Airport at 63rd Street and Cicero Avenue (renamed Midway Airport in 1949 to honor the baule of that name) was increasingly unable to handle the growing volume of air traffic. Landlocked by industry and housing, it had no room to expand. Airport planners also knew that if jet engines, which had appeared late in the war on military planes, were ever adapted to passenger craft, they would require much longer runways than could be built at Municipal. By 1946 it was clear that the future lay northwest of the city at a complex of buildings and runways where the Douglas Aircraft Company had built C-54s during the war. After a lengthy squabble about how the site, also known as Orchard Field, was to be developed, planners turned to the question of a name. The Chicago 1ribune conducted a sidewalk poll in 1946, and a substantial number of respondents voted to name the airfield after a war hero. O 'Hare seemed to be an obvious choice, especially since St. Louisans had decided to keep the name of their airport Lambert Field.

On June 22, 1949, the Chicago City Council responded to heavy lobbying by naval veterans' organizations and voted to name its future airport after O'Hare. On the following September 18, a crowd estimated at 200,000 attended the dedication festivities. The celebration included a huge naval air show and speeches by Gov. Adlai Stevenson and Mayor Martin Kennelly, but the most touching moment was the unveiling of a memorial plaque by O'Hare's mother and widow.

Even though he never lived in Chicago, from that day forward Chicagoland began referring to O'Hare as if he were a native son. Chicago borrowed Butch O'Hare, but in the context of his times, he belonged to all Americans.

Index to Volume 17 This index includes author, title, and subject entries patterned after the card catalog in the Society's Library. Entries are listed under proper names, under broad subject headings, and under titles of articles, books, films, and other works.

Each Chicago History article is listed under both title and author(s) as well as under its various topics and points of information. Please note that within volume 17, numbers 1 and 2 (Spring and Summer 1988) are combined into one issue, as are numbers 3 and 4 (Fall and Winter 1988-89).

A A. Saks & Co., trade cards, illus., 3+4:l0-11 ACLU. See American Civil Liberties Union Aaron, Ely M., chairman of Chicago Commission on Human Relations, makes recommendations for fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:26, illus., 28 Abernathy, Ralph , member of Chicago Freedom Movement, 1+2:24 Addams,Jane: philosophy about art and social change, 1+2:46, 49; and the arts at Hull House, 1+2:48 American Civil Liberties Union, consults with Big Table magazine on obscenity charges, 1+2:16-17, 19, 21-23. See also Censorsh ip American azi party: members, illus., 1+2:36; recruits in Cicero, 1+2:37 Anderson, Sherwood,. describes trave ling salesmen, 3+4:4, 25 Armstrong, Louis, jazz trumpeter, 3+4:27, 37 Art. See Theater; Literature "August 1968;' by Stef Leinwohl , photographic essay, 1+2:78-105 Austin High Gang, nucleus of Chicago's white jazz community, 3+4:27 Austrian, Alfred, defends Black Sox players, 3+4:60 Ayers, Thomas G., president of Consolidated Electric: backs blacks' fight for fair housing, 1+2:27, 32; leads subcommittee on fair housing, 1+2:36-38, 40

B Baseball: Black Sox Scandal, 3+4:42-69, illus., cover, 42-69; Office of Commissioner established, 3+4: 43, 64-65, illus., 65; political cartoon about, illus., 3+4:58. See also under names of specific players and teams "Battle on Michigan Avenue;' 1968 demonstrations, 1+2:62, 68-70, illus., 69 Beatty, Ross, president of Chicago Real Estate Board, attends summ it meeting for fair housing in Ch icago, 1+2:26, 28-29, 41 Beiderbecke, Bix,jazz cometist, 3+4:39 Belmont-Cragin neighborhood, demonstrators march for fair housing in, illus., 1+2:35, 42 Benedetti, Robert: directs Endgame, 1+2:53-54, illus., 53; appointed head of Hull House theater program , 1+2:60-61

Berry, Edwin C. "Bill": attends summit meeting for fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:24, 30, illus., 28; appo inted to subcommittee to explore issue further, 1+2:35, 40 Bevel,James: attends summit meeting for fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:24, 29-30; appointed to subcommittee to explore issue further, 1+2:35, 38, 41, 45 "Big Table;' by Gerald Brennan , article, 1+2:5-23 Big Table, radical literature magazine: first issue published, 1+2:5, 8-15, illus., 18; search for advertisers, 1+2:9-10; coverage of in Chicago press, 1+2:10, 12, 19, 20, illus., 11, 14; benefit for, 1+2:l0, illus., 13, 14, 15, 16; U.S. Post Office Department seizes copies on obscenity charges, 1+2:16-23; Catholic press reacts to, 1+2:19; ceases publication, 1+2:23 "Black Sox;' by Robert I. Coler, photographic essay, 3+4:42-69 Black Sox Scandal, 3+4:42- 69, illus., cover, 42-69 Blacks: march to desegregate Chicago schools, illus., 1+2:25; efforts to end housing discrimination, 1+2:24-45, illus., 27, 28, 30-31, 32-33, 35, 39-42, 45; concerns over portrayal of in Hull House plays, 1+2:56-57;jazz culture adopted by white musicians, 3+4:26-41. See also Chicago Freedom Movement; Martin Luther¡ King, Jr. Bradley, Joseph, ch ief justice of U.S. Supreme Court, and "drummer" laws, 3+4:11 Brennan, Ge rald, "Big Table;' article, 1+2:5-23 Bross, William, Illinois lieutenant governor, issues call for workers after Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:84-85, illus., 85 Bums, "Sleepy" Bill, gambles on 1919 World Series, 3+4:60, illus., 61 Burroughs, William S., portions of novel Naked Lunch published by Chicago Review and Big Table, 1+2:5-7, 16, illus., 6, 18

C CCC:C). See Coordinating Council of Community Organizations CCRR . SeP Chicago Conference on Re lig ion and Race Callahan, J ames, baseball player, illus. , 3+4:4 7 Cameron, Andrew: trade union leader, 3+-l:86, 89; as ks for police support for labor, 3+4:90; courts middle and upper classes for labor, 3+4:91 Capone, Al: hires Edward J. O'Hare to manage Hawthorn e Racetrac k, 3+4: 103, illus., 105; orders O 'Hare's killing, 3+4:105 Carmichael. Hoagy,jazz musician , 3+4:33 Carroll, Paul: as poet and Chicago Review poetry editor, 1+2:5-6; quits in protest, 1+2:7; helps start Big "fable magazine. 1+2:8, l0-11, 15, illus., 8; and possible University of Chicago lawsuit against Big Table, 1+2 : 12; and U.S. Post Office Department obscenity charges, 1+2: 19, 21, 23 Catholic press, reacts to Big 7i:tble magazine, 1+2: 19 Censorship: of radical liternture by the University of Chicago, 1+2:5, 7-8; by U.S. Post Office Depanment, 1+2 :5, 16-20: C.S. Post Office Depa rtm e nt antismut campaign , 1+2: 18-19, 23 A Ce ntury of Progress Inte rna tion al Exposition , site elected. 1+2:l08. illus., 109

l ll

Chicago Chicago: efforts to desegregate schools , illus. , 1+2:24-25; blacks' fight for fair housing treatment in , 1+2:24-25; economic importance of lakefront to, 1+2:l06-118 Chicago City Council, renames Orchard Fi e ld after navr pilot Edward H. O 'Hare , 3+4:110. See also Chicago Common Council Chicago Coliseum, as a convention site, 1+ 2: I 13, illus. , 113 Chicago College of Music, 3+cl:29 Chicago Commission on Human Relations, and blacks' efforts for fair housing, 1+2:26, 29. 38 Chicago Common Council , debates fire limits legislation after Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:88 Chicago Conference on Religion and Race (CCRR), sponsors summit on fair housing, 1+2:24 Chicago Fair of 1950. 1+2: 110, 112, illus., 111 Ch'icago Fire, 1871: account of, 3+4:73-74, illus., 70-71, 72; Great Rebuilding, 3+4:72-73, 84, 92-93, illus., 73, 74, 80, 81, 82-83, 91, 95, 98-99; spurs working class to political action, 3+4:73, 75, 78-80, 84-101; aid to victims, 3+4:74-75, 78-80; looting after, illus., 3+4:75; donations to victims, illus., 3+4:76, 77; effects on trade unions, 3+4:86; fire limits legislation results from, 3+4:88-89; machinery used in rebuilding, 3+4:92-93, illus., 91; postfire crime wave, 3+4:95-97 Chicago Freedom Movement, fights for fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:24, 26-45, illus., 25, 28, 30-31, 35, 39, 40,42 Chicago Police Department: battles demonstrators during 1968 Democratic ational Convention , 1+2:62, 68, 70, 74-75, illus., 69, 73, 75, 77, 102; J. Edgar Hoover comments on , 1+2:74 Chicago Real Estate Board: pressu1¡ed to address blacks' demands for fair housing, 1+2:26, 27-34; demonstration held outside offices of, illus., 1+2:32-33; agrees to comply with city's fair housing ordinance, 1+2:38 Chicago Reliefand Aid Society: aids victims of Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:74-80, 101; feeds hungry and shelters homeless, 3+4:74, 85, illus., 85; acts as employment agency, 3+4:75, 78-80; gives families housing materials, 3+4:75-78, illus., 78 Chicago Review: University of Chicago suppresses issue of, 1+2:5, 7-8; publishes radical literature, 1+2:5-7; criticism of in Chicago press, 1+2:7 Chicago Stadium, illus., 1+2:113 Chicago Tribune: supports fire limits legislation, 3+4:88, 89; on postfire work force, 3+4:92; on carpenters' strike of 1872, 3+4:93; on bricklayers' strike of 1872, 3+4:94; reports on 1872 anticrime rally, 3+4:97; parodies antitemperance movement, 3+4:97-98; conducts poll on name of Chicago airport, 3+4:110 Chicago White Sox: and the Black Sox Scandal, 3+4:42-69 illus.; formation of team , 3+4:44; sheet music for, illus., 3+4:46; 1917 team, illus., 3+4:47; 1919 team, illus., 3+4:52; and 1919 World Series, 3+4:51, illus., 50, 52, 52-53, 54-55; and Black Sox trial, 3+4:60-61. See also Charles Comiskey; Comiskey Park Chicago White Stockings. See Chicago White Sox

JJ2

Chicagoland Fair of 1957, 1+2:115-116 Christiansen, Richard, reviews Hull House theater productions, 1+2:50-51, 58 Cicero, Ill.: American Nazi party recruits there, 1+2:37; blacks plan march there, 1+2:38-40 Cicotte, Eddie: member of 1919 Black Sox team, 3+4:56, 60, illus., 56, 62-63; banned from baseball, 3+4:67 Cincinnati Reds, and 1919 World Series, 3+4:50-51, 54, illus. , 53, 54-55 Cody, John, Catholic archbishop of Chicago, attends summit meeting for fair housing, 1+2:29, 41, illus., 30-31 Collins, Eddie, baseball player, 3+4:44 Comiskey, Charles: owner of Chicago White Sox, 3+4:44, illus., 48, 60; and Black Sox Scandal, 3+4:44, 51, 59; and Black Sox trial, 3+4:60, illus. , 60; and aftermath of Scandal, 3+4:64 Comiskey Park, 3+4:44, 51, illus., 44-45 Commercial Travelers' Fair, 3+4:10 Commercial Travelers Magazine, illus., 3+4:8 Commercial Travelers' National League, 3+4:9 Condon, Eddie , jazz guitarist, career in Chicago, 3+4:33, 37, 41, illus., 30, 32, 33 Coordinating Council of Community Organizations (CCCO),joins with SCLC to better economic conditions for northern blacks, 1+2:24 Corso, Gregory, reads at benefit for Big Table magazine, 1+2:10, 15, illus. , 13, 14, 15 Crime: after Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:95-97; underworld connections of Edward J. O'Hare, 3+4:103-105

D Dahlberg, Edward: writes for Chicago Review magazine, 1+2:6, 10; reads at a benefit for Big Table magazine, 1+2:15 Daley, Richard, Chicago mayor: meets with Chicago Freedom Movement leaders to discuss fair housing, 1+2:26-34, illus., 28; pressures Chicago Real Estate Board to comply with fair housing standards, 1+2:29; requests injunction against demonstrations

by Chicago Freedom Movement, 1+2:36-37; attends second summit meeting, 1+2:40-44; orders Hull House buildings razed for University of Illinois at Chicago Circle, 1+2:46; declares Hull House theater week, 1+2:55-56; orders police out during 1968 Democratic ational Convention, 1+2:62-63, illus., 68, 72; views on protesters, 1+2:64, 66-68, 76-77; on media coverage of 1968 convention, 1+2:70-72, 74, 75-76, 77; opens International Trade Fair at McCormick Place, 1+2:117 Davison, William "Wild Bill;' jazz trumpeter, 3+4:33, 36,39,41 Dearborn Park, site of 184 7 River and Harbor Convention , 1+2:107 Democratic party: 1960 National Convention, illus., 1+2:cover; 1968 ational Convention: demonstrations during, 1+2:62-77, illus., 62-63, 65, 67; media coverage of, 1+2:68-72, 75-76, illus., 75; photographer's account of, 1+2:78-105, illus., 66, 68, 72, 80-105

Intermission Demonstrations: march for desegregation of Chicago schools, illus., 1+2: 24, 25; at Chicago Real Estate Board, for fair housing, illus., 1+2:32-33; for open housing, illus., 1+2:35; march of Chicago Freedom Movement in South Deering, 1+2:37, illus., 39; blacks plan march in Cicero, 1+2:38; march in Marquette Park, illus., 1+2:41; march on BelmontCragin neighborhood , illus., 1+2:35, 42; during 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:62-63, 6877, illus., 62-63, 65, 69, 71, 75, 77, 80-105; media coverage of protests during 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:68-72, 75, illus., 75 Dever, William , judge in Black Sox trial, 3+4:60 Dixie Syncopators,jazz band , illus., 3+4:34-35 Drummers. See Travel ing salesmen Duis, Perry R.: "Yesterday's City: The Lakefront: Chicago's Selling Point;' article, 1+2:106-118; "Yesterday's City: Butch O'Hare, Chicago's Borrowed Hero;' article, 3+4:102-110

E Elizabeth II, Queen of England, visits Chicago, 1+2:117 Evergreen Review, radical literature magazine, 1+2:5, illus., 4

F Farber, David , "Welco m e to Chicago;' art icle , 1+2 :62-77 Felsch, Oscar "Happ y": member of 191 9 Black Sox team , 3+4:44, illus., 57; banned from baseball, 3+4:67 Ferlinghetti , Lawrence : mention, 1+2 :17; writes for Chicago Review, 1+2:5; editor oljournal for the Protection of All Beings, 1+2:7 Field, i\larshall, begins usin g traveling salesmen in business, 3+4 :9-lO Fl es, .John , poet, illus., 1+2:15 Foster, Pops,jazz bassist, 3+4:37 Freeman, Arny, friend of Austin High Gang, 3+4:28, illus. , 28 Freeman , Buel , jazz saxophonist, career in Chicago, 3+4:27-28, 32, 33, 36, 37, 39, 40, 4 1, illus., 29, 3 1, ~~2, 37 '¡From th e Editor:¡ by Russe ll Lewis, 1+2:3, 3+4:3

G Gage Park, march for fair housing in, illus., 1+2:42 Gambling, and Black Sox Scandal, 3+4:44, 51, 56, 60, illus., 58, 59 Candi!, Chick: member of 1919 Black Sox team, 3+4:56, illus., 50, 57, 62-63; banned from baseball, 3+4:67 Garrow, David J., "I March Because I Must;' article, 1+2:24-45 General Motors Corporation, holds Motorama show, 1+2:113 Germans: in trade unions, 3+4:91; oppose tempera nce, 3+4:97, 98-99, illus., 96 Ginsberg, Allen: writes radical poetry for Chicago H.eview , 1+2:5, illus., 6; reads at benefit for Big Table mag-a1inc, 1+2:IO, 12, 15. illus., 11 . 15. 16;soundsheet recording of reading Howl, 1+2 :1 6-17; illus. , 16 Gleason, V1' illiam '" Kid ": manager of Chicago \\'hite Sox, 3+4:44, illus., 5 1; testifies at Black Sox trial , '.H4:60

Gole1; Robert I., "Black Sox;' article, 3+4:42-69 Goodman, Benny, jazz clarinetist, 3+4:26-27, 29 Greenbaum, Henry, speaks out against crime after Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:97 Gregory, Dick, demonstrates during 1968 Democratic Convention, 1+2:79, illus., 98, 99 "A Grip On the Land;' by Timothy B. Spears, article, 3+4:4-25

H Hanmann, William, architect, donates money to Big Table magazine, 1+2:10 Hawthorne Racetrack, 3+4:103 Hecht, Ben , comments on young Chicago intellectuals, 3+4:27 Hecht, Stuart J., "Staging the Avant-Garde;' article, 1+2:46-61 Heineman, Ben W.: chairs meeting to discuss fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:24, 26-34, illus., 30-31; chairs second meeting, 1+2:40-44 Henry Booth Theater, 1+2:53, 54, 55, 56, 58, illus., 56 Hesing, Anton: fights fire limits legislation after Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:88-89; active against crime after 1871 fire, 3+4:97; and postfire temperance movement, 3+4:98, 99 Hines, Ead,jazz musician , 3+4:37 Hinton , Milt,jazz bassist, 3+4:29 Hodes, Art,jazz pianist, 3+4:27, 39 Hoffman , Abbie, demonstrates during 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:79, illus., 96, 97, 99 Housing, blacks' efforts to end desegregation in Chicago, 1+2:24-45 Hull House: philosophy behind, 1+2:46; theater program sponsored by, 1+2:46-61, illus., 47, 49, 54, 55, 56, 57, 59; buildings razed for University oflllinois at Chicago Circle, 1+2:46; board appoints Paul Jans as executive director, 1+2:46; efforts decentralized, 1+2:46-48;.Jane Addams Center, 1+2:47-48, 50, 53, illus., 60;Jane Addams Theater, 1+2:50, 54, 57, 58, 61; Chamber Theater, 1+2:50; Sheridan Playhouse, 1+2:51, illus., 47; critical acclaim for theater productions, 1+2:50-51; Henry Booth Theater, 1+2:53, 54, 55, 56, 58, illus., 56; Bowen Country Club.arts camp, 1+2 :53; Children's Theater, 1+2:54, illus., 54; Intermission magazine , 1+2:54, illus., 55; Parkway Community Center, 1+2:54, 61, illus., 55; Parkway Theate1; 1+2:55, 56, 58, 61; Touring Theater, 1+2:56; Uptown Center, 1+2:57, 58, 60-61, illus., 59; Leo A. Lerner Theater, 1+2:57; financial problems of, 1+2:58-60, illus., 60; Paul"Jans resigns, 1+2:58-60; Jans's philosophy behind theater program, 1+2:60; redesign of theater program, 1+2:60-61 Humphrey, Hubert H .: nominated for president at 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:70; campaign issues of, 1+2:76

I "I March Because I Must;' by David J. Garrow, article, 1+2:24-1-5 Illinois Staats-Zeitung, German daily newspaper, and labor activism after Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:88, 98, 100 Intermission magazine , published by Hull House, 1+2:54, illus., 55 113

International International Amphitheatre, as a convention site, 1+2:113 International Trade Fair of 1961, illus., 1+2:106-107 Interstate Industrial Exposition of 1873, 1+2:107 Irish: in trade unions, 3+4:91; oppose temperance, 3+4:97, illus., 96

J Jackson ,Jesse, attends summit meeting for fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:29-30, 43, illus., 40 Jackson, "Shoeless" Joe: member of 1919 Black Sox learn , 3+4:43-44, 56, illus., 42, 57; and Black Sox trial, 3+4:60, illus., 62-63; sues Charles Comiskey, 3+4:64; banned from baseball, 3+4:67, illus., 67 Jane Addams Center, 1+2:47-48, 50, 53, illus., 60 Jane Addams Theater, 1+2:50, 54, 57-58, 61 Jans, Paul: appointed executive director of Hull House, 1+2:47, illus., 48; decentralizes Hull House efforts, 1+2:47-48; institutes theater program at Hull House, 1+2:48-49; opens summer arts camp in Wisconsin , 1+2:53; resigns, 1+2:58-60 Jazz: white musicians adopt black jazz culture, 3+4:2641; music educators speak against., 3+4:28-29; race issues in, 3+4:36-37 Jewell and Butler, cutlery house, 3+4:6

K Kaminsky, Max , jazz trumpete1~ career in Chicago, 3+4:27, 37, 39, 40, 41, illus., 31, 32 Kennedy, John F., at 1960 Democratic National Convention, illus., 1+2:cover Kennedy, Robert F., supporters mourn his death, illus., 1+2:65, 71 Kennelly, Martin , Chicago mayor, 3+4:1 IO Kerfoot, W. D., real estate developer, illus., 3+4:80 Kerner, Otto, Illinois governor, 1+2:38 Keroua c , Jack: prose work Old Angel Midnight published by Big Table, 1+2:5, 6, illus., 18; names Big Table magazine, 1+2:8, illus., 7 King, Martin Luther, Jr.: wins Nobel Peace Prize , 1+2:24; marches to desegregate Chicago schools, illus., 1+2:25; leads Chicago Freedom Movement, 1+2:24, 26-30; 33-34, illus., 28, 45; plots strategy with Chicago activists for fair housing, 1+2:34-36; leads march in South Deering, 1+2:37, illus., 39; plans march in Cicero, 1+2:38-40; attends second fair housing summit meeting, 1+2:40-45, illus., 40 Kokkinen , Eila, works on Chicago Review magazine, 1+2:7, illus., 9 Krupa, Gene, jazz drummer, 3+4:27

L Labor. See Strikes; Trade Unions Lake Michigan, economic importance of lakefront, 1+2:106-118 Landis, Kenesaw Mountain: appointed commissioner of baseball, 3+4:64, illus., 65; bans Black Sox players from baseball , 3+4: 67, illus., 64, 65 Lanigan,Jim,jazz musician, 3+4:32, illus., 29 "The Lakefront: Chicago's Selling Point," by Perry R. Duis, article, l+2:l06-ll8 Leinwohl , Stef, "August 1968;' photographic essay, 1+2:78-105 Lewis, Russell, "From the Editor," 1+2:3, 3+4:3 114

Lincoln Park, demonstrations in during 1968 Democratic National Convention, l +2:62, illus., 73 Literature: Big Table magazine as a case history of radical genre, 1+2:5-23. See also under specific names of magazines, authors, and poets Lohr, Lenox, appointed director of 1948 Railrnad Fai1~ 1+2:108, 110

M MOBE. See Mobilization to End the War in Vietnam Mabley, Jack: denounces radical literature published

by Chicago Review, 1+2:7; rumored to have worked against Big Table magazine, 1+2:17 McCarthy, Eugene, U.S. Senator, 1968 presidential candidate, illus., 1+2:92 McCormick Place : exhibit there, illus., 1+2:106-107; first building burns down, 1+2:107, 118, illus., ll8; design of, 1+2:107; legal battles for site, 1+2:115; construction of, 1+2:117, illus. , 117 McDermott, John, member of subcommittee to explore fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:35, 37-38, 40 McMullin, Fred, member of 1919 Black Sox team, illus., 3+4:56 McPartland, Dick,jazz musician , 3+4:32, illus., 28, 29 McPartland, Jimmy, jazz cornetist, career in Chicago, 3+4:27, 32, 33, illus., 28, 29, 39 Maharg, Billy, gambler, tells of Black Sox Scandal, 3+4:56, 60 Mamet, David, actor and playwright, 1+2:54, 61 Manone, Wingy,jazz trumpeter, 3+4:37 Marches. See Demonstrations Marquette Park, demonstrators march for fair housing in, illus., 1+2:41 Marshall Field & Co., begins using traveling salesmen, 3+4:9-10 Mason, Roswell R. , Chicago mayor, 3+4:73-74 Medill ,Joseph , Chicago mayor: backs fire limits legislation , 3+4:88-89; speaks on labor relations, 3+4:90; deals with antitemperance outcry, 3+4:97, 100 Mezzrow, Mezz, jazz saxophonist, career in Chicago, 3+4:28, 29, 33, 36, 37, 39, 40, 41, illus., 32 Midway Airport, 3+4:110 Miller, Artl1Ur, on traveling salesmen, 3+4:25 Ming, William Robert, attorney, attends fair housing summit meeting, 1+2:29, 34, 37 Mobilization to End the War in Vietnam (MOBE), protests in Chicago, 1+2:62, 70 Music. See Jazz

]

N NBC. See National Broadcasting Company Naked Lunch, by William S. Burroughs, published in installments in Chicago Review and Big Table, 1+2:5-7, 16, illus., 6, 18 Nance, Ray, jazz trumpeter, 3+4:29 Nast, Thomas, illustrator, work by, illus., 3+4:87 National Broadcasting Company, coverage of 1968 Democratic ational Convention, 1+2:70 National Guard: Governor Kerner plans to mobilize during fair housing demonstrations, 1+2:38; called out during 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:62, 66, 79, illus., 67, 71, 81, 84, 86, 87 Navy Pier: trade fair of 1950 held there, 1+2:111; as a convention site, l+2:ll3, illus., ll3; Chicagoland Fair of 1957 held there, l+2:ll6

i

Stern Nichols, Red,jazz band leader, illus., 3+4:32 Nieder, Doris, works on Chicago Review and Big Table magazines, 1+2:7, 15, 17, illus., 9 Nixon, Richard M., U.S. president, writes 1968 position paper on "silent majority," 1+2:64, 66 Noone,Jimmie,jazz clarinetist, 3+4:27 North, Dave,jazz pianist, 3+4:32, illus., 29 Nussbaum, Mike, acts in Hull House productions, 1+2:51, 56, 61, illus., 51

0 O'Brien, Floyd,jazz trombonist, 3+4:32, illus. , 29 Ogilvie, Richard, Cook County sheriff, asks Martin Luther Kin g, Jr., to ca nce l march in Cicero, 1+2:38 O 'Hara, Daniel, People's party leader, 3+4: 100 O'Hare, Edward H. "Butch": early life, 3+4: 103; naval career, 3+4: 103. 105-107, illus. , 102 , !06, 107; awarded Congressional Medal of Honor, 3+4:107, illus., I07; dies in plane crash , 3+4:109; awarded Navy Cross posthumously, 3+4:109; O 'Hare Airport named for, 3+4: !03, 110 O'Hare, Edward J.: underworld connections of, 3+4: !03-105; gangland killing of, 3+4: l03, !05; informs on Al Capone, 3+4: 104-105 O'Hare Internationa l Airport: named for naval pilot Edward H. O'Hare, 3+4: 103, I IO; plaque honoring Edward O'Hare, illus., 3+4 : 110 Oliver,Joe "King," jazz cornetist, 3+4:27, 33, illus., 34 Orchard Field. See O'Hare International Airport Organic Theater, 1+2:61 Orlovsky, Peter, poet, illus., 1+2:15

p Pak, Hyung Woong: editor of Chicago Review magazine, 1+2:7, illus., 9; attempts to recover suppressed articles from Big Table, In c., 1+2:10 Palmer House Hotel, offers sample roorps to traveling salesmen, 3+4: 18-19 Panic of 1873, halts rebuilding of Chicago after 1871 fire, 3+4:101 Parkway Theater, 1+2:55, 56, 58, 6 1 People's party, outgro\\¡th of antitemperance movement, 3+4:99-IO0 Peretti, Burton W., "'vVhite Hot.Jazz," article, 3+4:26--+I Pitschel , Barbara: leaves Chicago Review in protest, 1+2:7; helps start Big Tctble magazine, 1+2:9; illus., 9 Plan of Chicago, used in planning Century of Progress Exposition, 1+2: l08 Podell, Albert: business manager of Chicago Review, 1+2:8, 10; resigns to protest suppression of articles, 1+2: 11-12; and difficulties publishing Big Table maga7ine, 1+2: 16-21 , 23 Politics. See American Nazi party; Democratic party; People's party

R Raby, Al: attends summit meeting for fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:24, 26-34, illus., 28; appointed to subcom mittee to explore housing issue further, 1+2:35, 36, 38,40-41,43 Railroad Fair of 1948, 1+2: 110, illus., ll0 Rather, Dan, at 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:79, illus., 101

Ribi coff, Abraham, U.S. senator, clashes with Richard J. Daley at 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:68, illus., 68 Risberg, Charles "Swede": member of 1919 Black Sox team, 3+4:56, illus., 57, 62-63; banned from baseball, 3+4:67, illus., 66-67 River and Harbor Convention of 1847, 1+2:107 Robinson, Cheste1~ reacts to result of fair housing summit meeting, 1+2:44 Roosevelt, Franklin D., U.S. president, awards Congressional Medal of Honor to Edward H. O'Hare, 3+4:107, illus., 108 Rosenthal , Irving: editor of Chicago Review magazine, 1+2:5, illus., 9; publishes radical literature, 1+2:5-7; resigns in protest, 1+2:7; edits first issue of Big Table magazine, 1+2:8, 15; fights with University of Chicago to publish Chicago Review articles in Big Tab/,e, 1+2:10-12; consults ACLU about U.S. Post Office Department obscenity charges, 1+2:16-17, 19, 21-23; orders large press run of Big Tabl,e, 1+2:20 Rothstein, Arnold, gambler involved in 1919 Black Sox Scandal, illus., 3+4:58 Rowland, Clarence, manages Chicago White Sox, illus., 3+4:49 Royko, Mike, comments on Mayor Daley and 1968 Democratic National Convention, 1+2:64 Rubin,Jen-y, leade r ofYippies, 1+2:78 Russell , Charles "Pee Wee," jazz clarinetist, 3+4:41, illus., 31, 32

s SCLC. See Southern Christian Leadership Conference SDS. See Students for a Democratic Society Saks, A. & Co. See A. Saks & Co. Saunders, Red.jazz drummer, 3+4:36-37, illus., 36 Sawislak, Karen, "Smoldering City," article, 3+4:70-101 Schools, efforts to desegregate in Chicago, illus., 1+2:25 Shaw, Alfred, designs first McCormick Place, 1+2:107 Sheet music, "The White Sox March," illus., 3+4:46 Sickinger, Robert: heads theater program at Hull House, 1+2:48-60; directs productions, 1+2:50-51, 54-55, 57, illus., 57; hires professional actors, 1+2:53; honored by city, 1+2:56; and program's financial problems, 1+2:58; resigns, 1+2:60; illus., 1+2:50 Sickinger, Selma, and theater program at Hull House, 1+2:49, 50, 54, 60 "Smoldering City," by Karen Sawislak, article, 3+4:70-101 The Society of Commercial Travellers, 3+4:7 South, Eddie,jazz violinist, 3+4:29 Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), joins with CCCO to better economic conditions for northern blacks, 1+2:24 Spanier, Muggsy,jazz cornetist, 3+4:27 Spears, Timothy B., "A Grip On the Land," article, 3+4:4-25 Sports. See Baseball Sportsman's Park, 3+4:103, illus., 104 "Staging the Avant-Garde," by Stuart]. Hecht, article, 1+2:46-61 Steppenwolf Theater, 1+2:61 Stern, Richard, fights to keep articles from being published in Big Tab/,e, 1+2:10-12 115

Stevenson Stevenson, Adlai E.,Jr., Illinois governor, 3+4:110 Strikes: carpenters' strike of 1872, 3+4:93-94, illus., 92; bricklayers' strike of 1872, 3+4:93, 94 Students for a Democratic Society, protest at 1968 Democratic 1ational Convention, 1+2:77 Sullivan,Joe,jazz pianist, 3+4:27, illus., 32 Summa Cum Laude orchestra, illus., 3+4:30-3] Swibel, Charles, head of Chicago Housing Authority, meets with blacks about fair housing, J+2:27, 31, 36 Syse, Glenna, reviews Hull House theater productions, 1+2:51, 55, 58

T Taylor, I lerb,jazz musiciall, illw. , 3+-L32 Temperance: mo,·ement to enforce after Chicago Fire of 1871, 3+4:97-98, illus., 96; antitemperance mm·ement sparks political acti\'ism among immigrant~, 3+4:98-99 leff)', Bill, acts in Hull House productions, 1+2:51 Terr)', Pat, acts in Hull House productions, 1+2:57. illus., 51 Teschemacher, Frank. _jau clarinetist , career in Chicago, 3+4:27, 32. illm., 28. 2!)

Theater: radical productions sponsored by I lull House, 1+2:46-61, illus .. ,17. 49; The Typists, illus ..

1+2:51; The Co1111PClio11 , 1+2:51-5'.l , illus., 52; The Blood Knot, 1+2:53. illus., 47 ; f:'11dgm11e, 1+2:53, il/m ..

53; Hull House Children's Theate1~ illus.. 1+2:54; Blues for Mister Charlie, illus. , 1+2:55; If I Had a I lcm1111l!I; illm. , 1+2:56; Ti11v Alia. 1+ 2:55, il/w .. 57: Tc1ke ,\It> Along. illus., 1+2:5{): impact of Hull House's program, 1+2:61. See also under specific name, of theaters Tough, Dm·e,jazz drummer, career in Chicago. 3+4:27.

32, 39, 40, 41. illus., 29, 31, :rn Trade unions: Chicago Fire of 1871 revives movement, 3+4:85-86, 90-95, illus., 87; views on management, 3+4:90; call for written contracts with employers, 3+4:90-91; court middle and upper classes, 3+4:91-92; immigrant makeup of, 3+4:91; demand the eight-hour day, 3+4:94; dissolve as workers lose postfire jobs, 3+4:94-95. See also Strikes Traveling salesmen: "making" a town, 3+4:4-6; changes in business brought about by transportation and information improvements, 3+4:7-9, 25, illus., 24; The Society of Commercial Travellers, 3+4:7; u·ade magazines for, illus., 3+4:8, 9; trade cards, illus., 3+4:10, 11, 23; "drummer" laws, 3+4:10-11; work conditions of, 3+4:ll-13, 16-17, 20-25; calling card, illus., 3+4:12; hotels cater to, 3+4:18-19, illus., 18, 19; literary representations of, illus., 3+4:20, 21; illus. , 5, 6, 7,13, 14-15, 16, 17, 22 Travers, Mary, sings at 1968 demonstration, 1+2:79, illus., 85

u U.S. International Trade Fairs: first held in 1950, 1+2:112-113, illus., 111; of 1959-63, I+2:ll6-ll7, illus., ll4, 115 U.S. Post Office Department: seizes copies of Big Tab/,e magazine on obscenity charges, 1+2:5, 16-23; inspection procedures, 1+2:18; Congress passes legislation regulating procedures in, 1+2:20; antismut campaign of, 1+2:18-19, 23 116

University of Chicago: suppresses issue of Chicago Review, 1+2:5, 7-8; threatens lawsuit over return of articles from Big Tab/,e magazine, 1+2: 10-12; sells copies of Big Tab/,e, 1+2:20 Uptown Theater, 1+2:57, 58, 60-61, illus., 59

V Veeck, Bill, Sr., illus. , 3+4:60

w \,\'allace, G. L., director at Henry Booth Theater, illus., 1+ 2:56 Wea\'er, George ''Iluck": member of I!) 19 Black Sox team , illus. , '.H 4:52-53, 57 , 62-(i3; sues Charles Comiske)', 3+·1:64; asks to be reinstated after being banned from baseball , 3+4:67, illus., 68-69 " \\'elcome to Chicago ," by Da\'id Farber, article , 1+2:62-77 West Side Organization , reacts to results of fuir housing summit, 1+2:44 "\\'hite Hot Ja!Z,'. by Burton \V. Peretti , article , 3+ 1:26-41 \\'illard , Archibald , painting by, illus. , 3 + 4:7 \\'illiams, Claude "Lefty": member of 1919 Black Sox team, 3+4:56, 60, illus., 56, 62-63; banned from baseball , 3+ 4:67 \\'illiams, Kale , member of subcommillee to explore fair housing in Chicago, 1+2:35, 37 , 40 Willis. Benjamin C., Chicago's superintendent of schools, I+2:2-1 The \ \brkingma11's Advocate, labor newspape1; and resurgence of trade unions after 1871 Chicago Fire , '.H ·l:84, 9 I, 92, 93 World's Columbian Exposition, site chosen, 1+2: !07- 108 World Series of 1919. Ser Black Sox Scandal

y Yarrow, Peter. sings at 1968 demonstration, 1+2:79, illm. , 8.5 "Yesterday's Citv": "The Lake[ront: Chicago's Selling Point," b) l'elT)" R. Duis, article, 1+2: !06-118; "Butch 0·1 lare, Chicago's Borrowed Hero," by Perry R. Duis, article, '.H4: 102-110 Yippies. Sa Youth International part) Young, Andrew, attends summit meeting for fair housing in Chicago. 1+2:2·1, 29, 31, '.~ I Youth International part) (\'ippies), protests in Chicago against Vietnam War, 1+2:62, 70, illm., 71; meets prior to 1968 Democratic Conventicin, 1+2:78-79, illus .. 91. See also Hoffman , Abbie 0