Tuesday, June 15, 2021

Chicago Places #3: Hilliard Towers Apartments

Hilliard Tower Apartments, 54 W. Cermak, are a CHA senior residence.

     Am I the first guy to point out that Chicago had one architect who specialized in round buildings, Bertrand Goldberg? (Marina City, River City, Hilliard Towers Apartments, above). And another obsessed with triangles, Harry Weese (The Metropolitan Correctional Center, the Swissotel).
     What's that about?
     I'm sure dissertations have been based on flimsier observations, and while it would be possible to spin some BS about breaking the plane and the flat spatial prairie dynamic demanding non-rectangular shapes, my guess is that it's just coincidence. Chicago is a big place, and these two guys happened to be born and, after being boomeranged out into the world, Goldberg to Germany to work with Mies van der Rohe at the Bauhaus in Berlin, Weese to Boston and MIT, then return, as people do, to settle here. It doesn't have to mean anything.
     Oh, that's a cop-out, isn't it? I suppose I'm safe guessing that both were pushing against the brutalist rectangular boxes of Mies, the big cheese on the Chicago scene at the time they were coming up. (Goldberg, having been in Germany, knew German, unsurprisingly enough, and served as translator when Mies came to Chicago and made his pilgrimage to Taliesin to pay his respects to Frank Lloyd Wright, a task that had to require considerable tact, considering what a jerk Wrig
ht was). But I'd be skiing beyond my tips on that one.
     When I was sniffin
g around for something to say about either man, I bumped into a fact I didn't know about Weese. Here's how Ian Baldwin put it in "The Architecture of Harry Weese" in Places Journal a decade ago:

     The Vietnam Memorial as we know it today would never have been built without him. After Maya Lin’s entry board to the 1981 competition had been rejected, Weese, always uneasy with final decisions or consensus, dragged it out from the rear of the airplane hangar where it had been consigned. He swayed the rest of the jury and later championed Lin in the face of intense criticism.

     How cool is that? Of course, the Vietnam Memorial is sort of a pair of obtuse triangles, set at an angle to each other and incised into the earth. I hope that isn't the only reason Weese went to bat for it. But heck, stranger things have happened. And wouldn't it be ironic if such a moving monument that changed how war is commemorated was saved from oblivion because a judge was in love with scalene triangles?
     Speaking of monuments to national tragedies, do you think we'll ever commemorate the 600,000 and countin
g Americans felled by COVID? The Vietnam Memorial, on the Mall in Washington, D.C., remembers 57,000 Americans felled by political folly. Given the 10x difference in scale, we should do something even more dramatic—paint the Capitol black perhaps. But we probably won't.


Monday, June 14, 2021

Don’t be afraid; it’s just a street name change


     You’d think Chicago never renamed a street before.
     An ordinance changing “Lake Shore Drive” to “Jean-Baptiste Pointe du Sable Drive” was introduced in City Council in 2019. The idea flared up again in December, sparked heated debate, and finally seems to be inching toward fruition, despite opposition from the mayor and general foot-dragging reluctance of those who hate to see anything changed.
     Which includes myself. All things being equal, I’d stay with “Lake Shore Drive.” Name changes trip me up. I find myself cycling through the history of the names of Sox park—”I never want to go to Comiskey... er U.S. Cellular, I mean Guaranteed Rate Field.” Far easier to stick with one name, like “Wrigley. Field”
     Which used to “Weeghman Park.””
     The best argument for keeping “Lake Shore Drive” is that it’s a world famous street and Chicago doesn’t have many and should keep what few we’ve got. New York isn’t getting rid of Broadway.
     That said—and here’s my superpower—I also realize it isn’t all about me, or even about global branding. I can prefer it not be done and still be okay with someone doing it. Because there are good reasons for changing the name.
     And no, it isn’t about honoring DuSable.
     “The name of the street isn’t about people they’re named for,” said Bill Savage, a Northwestern professor whose next book, “The City Logical” is about Chicago streets. “It’s about making people who live here now remember them.”
     What the change would do is color the image of the city, both for residents and outsiders, bringing it more in line with the people who actually live here, turning from whatever emotions might be plucked by the words “Lake Shore Drive”—that song, the Beavis and Butt-head chuckle at its abbreviation. (“Heh heh heh, LSD, it’s the name!”)—to the range of feeling encapsulated by “DuSable Drive.” History has decided DuSable was a handsome, bearded man, based on the bust that I paused to admire Saturday night on a crowded, diverse Michigan Avenue. 
     Which used to be Pine Street. What bugs me about the debate, more than ooo-scary change, is the notion that this is all somehow new.
     “It would be the second street renamed in the city of Chicago,” The Defender suggested last December. “Journalist and anti-lynching activist Ida B. Wells Drive was the city’s first street renamed.”
     I hate to snicker at The Defender, now a shell of a husk of an echo of its former greatness. But that’s just silly. Street names change continually throughout the history of the city. The streets were a hodgepodge, and had to be ironed out, otherwise there was utter confusion—a Michigan Street, Michigan Avenue and Michigan Boulevard. North Lincoln Avenue and North Lincoln Street intersected at Grace.

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Sunday, June 13, 2021

Chicago Places #2: Chess Records

    
     You discover a whole new city on foot.
     I mean, I knew Chess Records was at 2120 S. Michigan, because the Rolling Stones cut a little organ-and-harmonica instrumental there in 1964 called "2120 South Michigan."
     Or at least, I knew Chess had been there. Maybe it is incurious of me—okay, it definitely is incurious of me—but the question of whether the classic recording studio is still there never crossed my mind. Or if I knew, I forgot.
    Shameful. The place where Muddy Waters recorded "Hoochie Coochie Man" and Chuck Berry sang "Maybellene" and "Johnny B. Goode" and the Rolling Stones recorded "Satisfaction" (a year after recording Muddy Waters' not-at-all-similar "I Can't Be Satisfied.")
      Then again, had I known, it would have watered down the happy surprise of walking with my younger son down Cermak, exploring his new neighborhood, turning the corner onto Michigan, and seeing, first this little gated music venue, "Willie Dixon's Blues Garden," just south, a kind of foreshadowing, and then the famous building itself, which Willie Dixon's Blues Heaven Foundation owns. 
     All these years in Chicago, and I never parked the car and walked around Motor Row. That's one of the many glories of having children. For the first two decades, you show the world to them. And then, if you're lucky, they show the world to you.









Saturday, June 12, 2021

Norwood Park Notes: Meeting with the arch goof


     I slid by Ravenswood Friday afternoon to chat with a 106-year-old woman for a future column.  Afterward seemed an ideal opportunity to detour by Norwood Park on my way home and finally meet our transplanted Austin bureau chief, Caren Jeskey, whose perspective has been embroidering and uplifting Saturdays for well over a year. I was about 20 minutes late. Traffic. Our meeting transpired exactly as she describes below. Yes, I did pause when I  read the opening. Mocking yourself is one thing; being mocked by another something else entirely. Then I decided, heck, it's a little late for personal dignity and, besides, it is good for readers to have confirmation from an outside, unbiased source that my occasional description of myself as an awkward goof is not comic exaggeration, but dry, dispassionate reportage, mere descriptive journalism offering up unvarnished reality as it actually is.
 
    A gray Honda minivan parallel parked on tree lined North Avondale Avenue in Norwood Park, the rear tire resting squarely on the curb near the grass. The driver got out, saw what he had done, got back in and tried again. He carefully maneuvered the van right back onto the grass. I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking “now that’s a suburban driver.” He got out and I half-jokingly called out “do you want me to park it?” but third time’s a charm, and without my help he managed to park the van squarely in the street.
     Neil Steinberg got out and we met, face-to-face, for the first time. We sat at a sturdy wooden picnic bench outside of add chapter Design & Art Cafe (https://www.addchapterart.com/), the occasional Metra train clanging into the station, squeaking to a halt, and whirring off again.
   I’d ordered a plate of cookies for us— after all, Neil’s birthday was earlier this week. One of the owners of add chapter, Nadia Muradi, explained that the fig filled cookies had no added sugar. The walnut filled cookies were slightly sweetened with simple syrup to “bring out the flavor of the walnuts.” They were made with Nadia’s mother’s tried and true homeland recipe “with her own twist.”
     Neil tried the hummus, which was made from scratch with fresh garbanzo beans and served with pita loaded with an herbal blend of thyme, oregano and mint, salt and olive oil. I went with spicy vegan cabbage soup served with crunchy rolls of thin pita that was seasoned and lightly fried.
     Before Neil arrived I had an oat milk latte flavored with cardamom, rose petals, and honey. I chatted with Nadia who shared some of her life philosophies with me. Nadia opened this space with the goal of providing a hub where all people feel comfortable. A place for “cultural exposure,” bringing those of varying backgrounds together. She believes in having open dialogue with others, even those who don’t see eye to eye with us. “I don’t have to attach meaning to every word others say,” she explained. She sees the best route as standing up for beliefs at times, but letting go and letting others be without sharing a differing opinion at other times. “We can have civilized conversation.” I like this. The path of harmony.
     Anyone else tired of fighting?
     To me, the phrase “add chapter” conjures up the sense that we can introduce something new to our lives at any time. When Neil sat down he shared that he sees this phrase as the possibility of adding a final chapter to our lives as we age, after we’ve accomplished what we set out to do in this lifetime. Nadia and her partner Samer “Sam” Khwaiss are also branding specialists. (http://voyagechicago.com/interview/meet-nadia-muradi-samer-khwaiss-add-chapter-design-river-north/). Nadia supports the idea of adding a new chapter to one’s current brand; reshaping and redefining projects and ideas as they grow.
     With the interesting and intricately naturally flavored beverages she offers— some sweetened with honey, others with maple syrup, and none too sweet— along with what feel like a spirit of creation, Nadia’s presence is calming and inspiring. I noticed a guitar in the window and asked her if they have live music. They were closed for most of last year and just reopened in May, but yes— they do plan to have indoor/outdoor performances and open mics in the near future. (I volunteered you Snezana Zabic: https://youtu.be/Vah7gZTwtdY).
     I felt completely at ease with Neil and felt as though we’d already met. I enjoyed his Chicago accent— adopted, yes I know— and was delighted to sit across from a writer I’ve enjoyed for many years. Neil’s book Out of the Wreck I Rise provided me with companionship in the fall of 2016 when I was living alone in the woods. Clearly, this was a day where I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Working with Neil has also made me feel even more that I belong here in this toddlin’ town.
     After a lovely snack, Neil and I walked over to add chapter’s art gallery around the corner. Samer’s work stopped me in my tracks. Canvasses full of stunning, melancholy faces deep in thought. Samer and Nadia are of Syrian descent. The complex history of that nation speaks clearly in the art. The faces of twin teenaged girls holding hands that Sam captured in one of the pieces took a hold of my heart, and I can still feel the intensity of what those girls must have gone through, and also their power and beauty. They are planning an opening later this summer.
     Let’s all meet at add chapter soon.

Friday, June 11, 2021

How is that oil supposed to get places?


     "People are the worst," says my older son, a phrase I keep in my back pocket for frequent reference, a sort of half explanation, half benediction. Actually, he puts a little oomph on the last word, "People are the worst!"
     Although, in their defense, people are great about learning new words. For my entire career, I've trotted out five-dollar words in this column, sometimes because they're apt, sometimes just to show off. Either way, readers invariably take it well, some even write in, grateful to learn a new term.
     Words like "juxtaposition." Setting one thing next to another, for comparison and contrast. To clarify a point that otherwise might be elusive.
     For instance. Remember in early May, when cybercriminals shut down the Colonial Pipeline? Suddenly people were panicked about gas shortages and price spikes. That video of some idiot (people ... are ... the ... WORST!) filling a garbage bag with gasoline. My guess is that nobody greeted the Colonial crisis with "Hooray hackers! I hope the pipeline never re-opens."
     Now draw a line from that to this week, with the Keystone XL crude pipeline finally scuttled after years of fighting environmentalists and Native-American protesters. Good news, right? Fight global warming! Three cheers for tribal activism!
     Let me ask you this: How is oil supposed to be transported? Because if it doesn't go by pipeline...

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Thursday, June 10, 2021

Chicago Places #1: White Castle No. 16.


     Like everybody, I'm getting out more now that the Plague has dialed back. I've been visiting areas of the city I'm not very familiar with, encountering new places—well, new to me anyway. I thought I would share a few that caught my interest. 

    I was parking on South Wabash Avenue last week, when I spied this distinctive little structure across Cermak Road. No need to wonder what it is—a sign of good branding—one of the darling early White Castle outlets. A bit of research found that it is "White Castle #16"—the 16th White Castle build in Chicago, in 1930, and "the best- surviving example in Chicago of the buildings built by the White Castle System of Eating Houses, Inc." according to the Commission of Chicago Landmarks recommendation for landmark status, granted in 2011.
     The report also claims that the crenelated design was "inspired by Chicago's Water Tower," though I have trouble believing that. White Castle began in Wichita, Kansas, in 1921—its centennial was in March, alas, overshadowed by COVID. I imagine 19th century Chicago landmarks were not foremost on everybody's mind in Kansas 100 years ago, or today for that matter.  I would guess the architecture was inspired by the second word in the chain's name. (the "White" was cleanliness, the "Castle" for stability). It is possible Chicago's castellated monstrosity was the model, but I'd insist on seeing documentation on that one.
     White Castle was the first fast food chain, and the white glazed brick of its building was intended to overcome the queasy reputation of meat in general and hamburgers in particular."When the word 'hamburger' is mentioned, one immediately thinks of the circus," said Billy Ingram, a founding partner. That, or a "dirty, dingy, ill-lighted hole-in-the-wall, down in the lower districts of the city."
     No more. Thus the "System" part of the name, conveying efficiency, cleanliness, order, health.
     Which is ironic, because to me White Castle was emotionally decadent, late night, outlaw. McDonald's is childhood and your parents. White Castle is rock and roll.
     Even after the chain got started, hamburgers struck some as regional cuisine, confined to the beef-producing Midwest. "The hamburger is distinctly popular only in states west of the Mississippi River and east of the Rocky Mountains," a Wichita paper suggested in 1925.
     But success spread, and even though White Castle's lunch was eaten — sorry — by newcomer McDonald's, the chain survived as an exotic urban niche. In fact, while White Castle #16 is not in business — the building is incorporated, cleverly, into a longtime restaurant called Chef Luciano's Kitchen — there is a modern, if not nearly as charming, White Castle outlet directly across the intersection of Cermak and Wabash. I was tempted to pop in for a slider or three. But I had just had lunch, at the Ming Hin at 1234 S. Michigan. Some other time then.

Wednesday, June 9, 2021

R.J. Grunts at 50: cheating time with burgers

Rich Melman, front, and his family at R.J. Grunts in 2006.

     Allison Hall sounds like a girl’s name, but is not in fact a person. It’s a building, a residence hall on the south campus at Northwestern University. All-female, when I attended school there in the late 1970s. But in the basement, food service was provided. Undergraduates from nearby dorms would troop over for our cold cheeseburgers and slices of bland pizza and all the chocolate milk we could drink, which was a lot.
     Except on Sundays. On Sundays, the food service at Allison and across campus shut down, I’m not sure why. So cafeteria workers could thank the Lord, perhaps. Or to force students from under the wing of academia, out into the mean streets of Evanston to forage for ourselves. Part of the education.
     Or not. I seem to recall a lot of big coffee cups filled with several servings of Quaker Apple & Cinnamon Instant Oatmeal. Though we did also grab cheeseburgers at The Hut or, if we were feeling celebratory, head over to brunch at Fritz That’s It.
     Another odd name. Fritz was the second restaurant begun by Rich Melman, who would go on to a legendary career as the most popular Chicago restaurateur with his Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises. Fritz was food as fun, and offered something new and exciting: a salad bar. The one at Fritz had not only the usual bowls of iceberg lettuce and mounds of shredded cheese, but cream cheese with chocolate chips, and graham crackers to spread it on. Decadence.
     Plus caviar. I can still see my 18-year-old self, piling a Ritz cracker with the salty black caviar from the salad bar at Fritz and just staring at it, held six inches from my nose, marveling, agog that I, Neil Steinberg, a schmendrick with a bowl haircut from Berea, Ohio, was now gorging on caviar on the periphery of a major metropolis with my similarly blessed pals, skyrockets one and all, fuses lit, about to go whizzing toward unimaginable greatness.
     Restaurants are little stages upon which we live our little lives. And one of the incalculable losses of COVID-19, along with the 600,000 dead and the jobs vanished, weddings scrubbed and the trips not taken are all the meals, communal and solitary, savored and wolfed down, luxe and modest, that we did not eat in all the restaurants that were shuttered, some permanently.

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