Be careful, readers. You never know where these newspaper columns might lead you. For instance, David Roeder’s Chicago Enterprise column last Monday led me directly into a hellishly hot room, where I found relief by pouring a bucket of cold water over my head.
The column featured the plans of one Alex Najem, a developer who says he is going to build a 40,000-square-foot bathhouse on West Madison Street.
“A reminder about how everything old can be new again,” Roeder wrote. “Professional massages and scrubs, pools and saunas.”
“Hmm ...” I thought. “Interesting if true.” I’m sure Dave is correct: Najem plans a new bathhouse — construction is to start early next year. But plans go awry.
At first blush, building a bathhouse struck me as woefully out-of-date, as if somebody announced the construction of a corner newsstand.
But what if I’m the one who’s out-of-date? Pre-COVID, there was a vibrant Chicago bathhouse scene. The enormous King Spa & Sauna, a sprawling Xanadu in Niles, open 24 hours a day. The luxurious Aire Ancient Baths in River West, a magical space carved out of a 1902 paint factory, with waterfalls and glowing blue pools in a dim cave of old brick and wood timbers, where guests can bathe in Spanish wine for $650.
Research seemed in order. There’s a perfectly serviceable bathhouse on Division Street. I began going there in 1990, when it was still the Division Street Russian Baths and promptly fell in love with the place, its boxing club decor, the Hav-a-Hanks and black Ace unbreakable pocket combs for sale at the entrance. Its sleeping room, with a high-pressed tin ceiling and iron single beds made with grey wool blankets, a room salvaged from the past, plucked out of the river of time.
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