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| Ashland |
Chicago's gritty history can lead one astray.
My friend Bill Savage certainly winces at the "gritty" epithet as "a thoughtless reflex" and urges his students not to use it, as a cliche left over from Chicago's coal-stoked days, similar to the Al Capone, rat-tat-tat gloss that obscures much more than it reveals.
So it was ironic that the reputation, like a piece of grit, temporarily blinded me to our city's sylvan deep past after reading my WBEZ colleague Erin Allen's fine Sunday piece on why Ashland is sometimes an avenue, sometimes a boulevard, of course quoting Bill, a Northwestern professor and Chicago history expert who is assembling a book on Chicago's grid (and man, am I looking forward to that).
Finishing the article, I had one question Erin didn't address (in print; it was raised on the radio): why "Ashland"? An evocative name, and I immediately imagined some 19th century slag heap on the west side of the city.
Sad.
I lunged for my copy of "Streetwise Chicago" by Don Hayner and Tom McNamee and was reminded that the past is more than our little shoebox diorama perceptions.
After observing the street was formerly named Reuben Street, it says "Ashland" was chosen "in honor of the Kentucky estate of Henry Clay, which was surrounded by ash trees."
Oh right. Ash trees. Never thought of that. Which is doubly shameful, since I planted a beautiful cimmaron ash next to my house and enjoyed its shade for 20 years, until the goddamned emerald ash borer to it, despite my best efforts.
My friend Bill Savage certainly winces at the "gritty" epithet as "a thoughtless reflex" and urges his students not to use it, as a cliche left over from Chicago's coal-stoked days, similar to the Al Capone, rat-tat-tat gloss that obscures much more than it reveals.
So it was ironic that the reputation, like a piece of grit, temporarily blinded me to our city's sylvan deep past after reading my WBEZ colleague Erin Allen's fine Sunday piece on why Ashland is sometimes an avenue, sometimes a boulevard, of course quoting Bill, a Northwestern professor and Chicago history expert who is assembling a book on Chicago's grid (and man, am I looking forward to that).
Finishing the article, I had one question Erin didn't address (in print; it was raised on the radio): why "Ashland"? An evocative name, and I immediately imagined some 19th century slag heap on the west side of the city.
Sad.
I lunged for my copy of "Streetwise Chicago" by Don Hayner and Tom McNamee and was reminded that the past is more than our little shoebox diorama perceptions.
After observing the street was formerly named Reuben Street, it says "Ashland" was chosen "in honor of the Kentucky estate of Henry Clay, which was surrounded by ash trees."
Oh right. Ash trees. Never thought of that. Which is doubly shameful, since I planted a beautiful cimmaron ash next to my house and enjoyed its shade for 20 years, until the goddamned emerald ash borer to it, despite my best efforts.
In my defense, there actually is a Chicago neighborhood named for sooty refuse. Any idea?
Ashburn. Ashland is a reminder of the numerous Kentuckians who gave up trying to make it in the hardscrabble Bluegrass State and moved to the greener fields of Illinois (including, remember, a certain carpenter named Thomas Lincoln, whose son Abe would thrive here).
Ashland, the estate, is in Lexington, Kentucky and the 672-acre homestead (well, 17 acres of it, anyway) is on the National Trust for Historic Preservation, and boasts a blue ash over 400 years old. Seems well worth a visit.
Ashland, the estate, is in Lexington, Kentucky and the 672-acre homestead (well, 17 acres of it, anyway) is on the National Trust for Historic Preservation, and boasts a blue ash over 400 years old. Seems well worth a visit.
Funny, I was reading about Henry Clay — important congressman who, leaving for Washington, ordered that no tree was to be cut in his absence, defeated for the presidency by Andrew Jackson, twice, in 1828 and 1832 — just yesterday, in Matthew Pinsker's excellent "Boss Lincoln" which I plan to write about for President's Day. Lincoln called Clay his "beau ideal of a statesmen" though declined to visit him at Ashland when he was in Lexington, for reasons mysterious. That's the thing about this job — you can head off in one direction, and end up back where you started.
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