Friday, December 30, 2016

The Origins of Nude Swimming in Illinois Public Schools and Community Pools.

Debunked Myths & Urban Legends. 
Claim - If a boy had an erection, the teacher would make him stand on the diving board with a towel hanging on it.

Truth - By the time a kid got to the diving board, his weenie would have been tiny. Secondly, the towel weighs too much and would never stay in place. Every guy knows this is 100% true.

Claim - There was a chemical added to the pool water, so if a kid urinates, a red (or you pick a color) stream was visible in the water, so everybody knew who was peeing.

Truth - There is NO chemical that changes color when someone urinates in a swimming pool. Some dyes could cloud, change color, or produce color in response to urine pH levels in the water, but not a stream of color from an individual while peeing in a pool. These chemicals would also be activated by other compounds, producing false positives.

Claim - Boys swam nude because the teacher(s) were perverts.

Truth - Read the article!


Swimming pools were introduced in the U.S. by the Young Men's Christian Association (YMCA) in the 1880s. In the following 25 years, those pools became significant sustainable revenue sources. Boys drowning was the second leading cause of death before age 16, after disease. The Y offered organized lessons and taught the fastest stroke possible, verified by the Olympics, the crawl stroke. In that pre-TV era, being the fastest was a big part of social entertainment.
However, in 1906, Edwin Foster, a Northwestern medical school graduate working at a YMCA (a typical situation), tested the water and discovered it was contaminated. This significantly threatened the business income because cholera and typhoid were transmitted through water. These diseases were still causing widespread, fatal epidemics that closed down cities.

In 1906, the standard YMCA pool procedure was to drain and refill the pool once a week. (This actually continued into the 1920s. In one case, in Spartanburg, SC, the 45,000-gallon pool was emptied and refilled twice a week into the 1920s.) In most cases, the men and boys swam naked, just like in rivers and farm ponds.

The YMCA National Council recommended using sand filters, which were known to be effective. What's available in the literature shows that by 1910, the first pool recirculating pump was installed, and by 1913, chlorine chemicals were being added to the water. (The Federal government was just beginning to require chlorination of public water.)

In 1926, the American Public Health Association published the first guidelines for swimming pool management. These guidelines were updated every one to three years, as needed. Those guidelines recommended that males swim separately, take a soap shower, and swim nude. Unadorned, undyed tank suits were recommended for females.

The APHA pool management guidelines were not about nude swimming but sanitary pools, which meant disinfecting the water. Consequently, male nude swimming was recommended in every edition until 1962. When one studies the APHA guidelines and those issued by other states, such as the State of Illinois in 1948, (where they flatly state that sanitation is best preserved if people are separated by gender and swim nude. That came from fourteen of the best swim coaches, sports physicians, sports professors, and water sanitation specialists the State could put on a board.)

Chlorine was challenging to use effectively because pH had to be managed in addition to having enough chlorine to kill bacteria. It was not discovered in 1939 what was called the breakpoint in water chlorination. It was then possible to make chemical tests that pool managers could use. However, WW II intervened, and the equipment for automatic chlorination was unavailable until the late 1940s.
A few months after the U.S. entered WW II, the L-85 Regulation was implemented. This mandated the minimum use of cloth for clothing since it was needed for munitions. It also stopped the sale of home sewing machines. During that time, it became patriotic for men and boys to swim nude. A review of camp archives shows that nude swimming at camp became virtually universal during WW II. However, hygiene and convenience were recognized, and nude swimming at camps continued into the 1960s, beginning to fade in the mid-1950s.

In 1948 and 1956, the Boys Club Operations manual required and recommended that boys swim nude. The YMCA and Boys Club Operations manual both stated it was incumbent upon the boards of directors to abide by the state and American Public Health Association guidelines.

The public school boards responsible for schools with pools also had to abide by the state public health and APHA pool management guidelines. That's why we swam nude in school pools.

By the way, pool filters get clogged with fabric fibers even today. 

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Case-in-point: put a load of shirts in a clothes dryer after cleaning the lint filter. After drying, check how much lint is in the lint filter.

It wasn't until the late 60s or early 70s that nylon suits became widely available. However, the fibers clogging the pool filter were only part of the story. The Public Health officials wanted to avoid telling all swimmers that their swimsuits were probably contaminated by polluted water from their last swim at the beach or outdoor bathing place. As corroboration, recall that they used to have laundry tubs of chemicals you were to drag your suit through and then rinse when you swam at a co-ed city pool.

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Girls were lent swimsuits because pool filters would get clogged with fabric fibers. Secondly, girls' suits were sterilized with safe chemicals that left no residue in the fabric to affect the pool water. Boys were never lent swimsuits. It was swimming nude or bringing your own swimsuit.

The 1948 State of Illinois Public Health Association pool management guidelines State, specifically stated that to preserve female modesty, they could wear unadorned, undyed tank suits after they took a nude soap shower. That's why females wore suits.

Now, as for YMCAs and nude swimming. If one researches this Nation's newspapers, one will find that when YMCAs ran ads for learn-to-swim, it was stated in both the display ad and the reporter's commentary that boys swam nude and only needed to bring a towel. In a few cases, the boys were photographed swimming naked, and the photographs were published in the town newspaper. It was a socially-expected practice since they were men and boys and had nothing to be ashamed of.

By 1962, most Americans lived in the suburbs, and most boys (who did most of the swimming) did not swim in polluted outdoor water but swam in city pools. Automatic chlorination was controllable to adjust for contamination in pools. Medicine had conquered Polio, and the medical profession was confident curative medicines could stop outbreaks of any disease that might be transmitted by pool water. Also, in 1962, there was no public outcry to end male nude swimming and no feminist pressure.

In 1962, the American Public Health Association dropped the nude swimming recommendation because it was no longer needed to preserve public health. This insight is important because it underscores why male nude swimming was recommended and required for more than 50 years. The Y and schools continued nude swimming into the 70s and, in a few schools, into the 80s.

So many people today do not know about the era of nude swimming. After mentioning swimming naked in High School to people in "you won't believe me… but" conversations, people thought it was creepy or that the instructors were pedophiles. Records show a few were good, decent men, but the vast majority of the thousands worked with boys as swimming teachers, coaches, or lifeguards. Naked swimming was just the way it was. It was seldom sprung on the class as a surprise. Typically, the students knew from a year or two before that they would swim naked when they reached that point.

It wasn't an urban legend but a normal part of life in a different and more self-confident time. 

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

White Fence Farm Restaurant on Route 66 in Romeoville, Illinois.

White Fence Farm is an original Illinois Route 66 Restaurant. The original White Fence Farm location is in Romeoville, where it was established in the early 1920s on US Route 66.
It was founded by Stuyvesant 'Jack' Peabody, son of Peabody Coal Company founder Francis S. Peabody and himself CEO of Peabody Coal at the time. It was opened on a 12-acre plot that Jack Peabody owned across U.S. Route 66/Joliet Road from his 450-acre Lemont horse farm, where thoroughbred racehorses were bred, boarded and trained.
The original dining room at the White Fence Farm restaurant in Romeoville, Illinois.
The story was that Jack Peabody often had weekend guests at his horse farm, but there was no restaurant in the area where he could entertain them – so he started one himself. The roadside restaurant, which opened in a converted farmhouse, was known then for its hamburger sandwiches and Guernsey milk products, including ice cream.
By the time U.S. Route 66 opened in November 1926, White Fence Farm had already served several thousand customers. It was reviewed several times during the Peabody years by the early restaurant critic Duncan Hines, who had been a fan of the restaurant since the late 1920s.
After Prohibition ended, Jack Peabody promoted California wines at the restaurant and helped to revive the California wine industry, as he had earlier helped to revive thoroughbred horse racing in Illinois during the 1910s and 1920s. Peabody operated the restaurant successfully until his death in 1946. After that, the restaurant was first leased to several different renters, then eventually sold by Jack's son, Stuyvesant Peabody, Jr.

Since 1954, the restaurant has been owned and operated by the Hastert family. Robert Hastert, Sr. was the first family owner-manager. Hastert had begun as a wholesale poultry dealer at the Aurora Poultry Market during World War II and later owned the Harmony House restaurant in Aurora, Illinois, which he had opened four years before he bought White Fence Farm.
The property had gone through several operators and/or owners after being sold by the Peabody estate. Family legend has it that Bob Hastert, Sr. settled on the purchase price for the restaurant property with the previous owner, an acquaintance who had gone bankrupt, by using the flip of a coin.

Hastert was uncle to and his son, Bob Hastert, Jr., was the first cousin of former Speaker of the House Rep. J. Dennis Hastert (R-IL). Bob Jr., who had converted an industrial-sized hospital autoclave into an outsized pressure cooker for the restaurant's unique method of cooking the chicken, took over the operation of the restaurant after his father's death in 1998. Bob Sr.'s wife, Doris, also worked at the restaurant, usually as a hostess.

Laura Hastert-Gardner, daughter of Robert Jr., is the restaurant's current owner and manager. The restaurant's famous fried chicken recipe was added to the menu during the 1950s by Bob Hastert, Sr., who, by his granddaughter's admission, told the chicken recipe origin story several different ways at different times and may have just as easily borrowed the recipe from someone else as brought it with him from Harmony House.
The restaurant building was expanded several times under the Hasterts. It now has several dining rooms, with seating for more than 1,000 customers. It also features a side room and gallery that includes an antique car collection, other antiques, and Jack Peabody's collection of original Currier & Ives prints, among other nostalgic displays. During the summer, the restaurant has an outdoor petting zoo.
White Fence Farm bills itself as having "the world's greatest fried chicken," which is same-day pressure cooked and then flash fried in soybean oil to crisp the outside. Ever since the Hasterts acquired the restaurant, it has been in near-constant competition with its nearby rival, Dell Rhea's Chicken Basket, for the title of best fried chicken on Route 66 in Illinois and best corn fritters.
Once a matter of dueling billboards on Route 66, the competition is now limited to a contest between menu items. Whereas Dell Rhea's can claim that it began serving its famous fried chicken years before its competitor did, White Fence Farm prides itself in serving an alcoholic brandy ice dessert, made strictly for adults.
 
Doris Mae (Hemmingway) Hastert, age 93, passed away Monday, August 14, 2006.
Mrs. Hastert was the owner and customer greeter of the White Fence Farm Restaurant 1954.


Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.

VIDEOS
White Fence Farm - Romeoville Public Television

White Fence Farm - TV Commercial, 1983


White Fence Farm Celebrates a 60-Year Family Tradition.
By Denice M. Baran-Unland | March 4, 2014

ROMEOVILLE – Laura Hastert, the granddaughter of White Fence Farm founders Robert "Bob" Hastert Sr. and his wife Doris Hastert, recalled how she earned spending cash at age 12 by picking up garbage from the restaurant parking lot with her best friend.

“I pulled a trash can with me and got paid $5,” said Hastert, who over her 37 years of experience with White Fence has worked as a waitress, hostess, and cashier, as well as in marketing and advertising, purchasing and as manager. "I was very proud of that first job.”

Sixty years later, Hastert is still cooking chicken the way her grandparents cooked it – same-day pressure cooking and flash-fried in soybean oil to crisp the outside – and treating employees the way they’ve always been treated – as family.

White Fence Farm closes only in January for deep cleaning and repairs and has just one franchise in Denver.

Indeed, the business feels like a family. Larry Bigger, 40 years and now general manager, started as a busboy. Hostess Shirley Bigger started as a waitress 30 years ago and met her husband on the job. All three of their children have also worked at the restaurant.

Judy Lapice, 31 years, is a former waitress and current front of the house manager. Two of Lapice's children, Teri Rice and Randy Dice, each manage a White Fence Farm carryout location: Joliet and Downers Grove. Kim Schwartz, 20 years, manages the Romeoville carryout; Lou DeLaVega, 30-plus years, manages the Riverside carryout. Allen Corkern manages the Plainfield carryout

Mary Callaghan, 42 years, is a training hostess. Chuck Ker, 36 years, is the day and receiving manager. His wife, Roxanne, also works at White Fence Farm, as have all three of their children. Hugh Moarn, 40 years, is the kitchen manager. Diane Kelly, 34 years, is still waitressing. Bev Svobda, 30-plus years, works multiple jobs: payroll, human resources, and office and purchasing.

Even Hastert herself, who has a degree in hotel restaurant management from the University of Denver, and formerly worked at Taco Bell for Pepsi Co. and then Rubio's restaurants in San Diego, eventually returned to help run White Fence Farm.

And yes, all three of Hastert's children also work at the restaurant.

“June Hoffer, our office manager, just passed away a year ago in April. She was here the longest,” Hastert said. “She did all the purchasing and had done the purchasing and the books with Bob at Harmony House. He brought her over here after he bought White Fence Farm in 1953. Not many places have this history and tradition."

White Fence Farm was not Bob and Doris' first restaurant. They had founded another, Harmony House in Aurora, and we're already cooking what would one day be their famous chicken when they stumbled upon a farmhouse on Route 66.

The original owner of what was a 450-acre farm – even then-named White Fence Farm – was multibillionaire, Sylvester Peabody, who housed coal miners on the property, Hastert said. When Bob discovered 12 of its original acres, the site featured a restaurant “known for its hamburgers, 1920 cars parked out front and shuffleboard outside.”

Hastert said Bob had thought, “I’m gonna buy that and put my restaurant there. It’s a nice inviting atmosphere. People will want to drive to the country for a good meal with good service and friendly people and they can play shuffleboard while they’re waiting.”

Bob, Hastert said, made an offer, bought the house, brought his Harmony House chicken with him and kept his menu simple. The main entrees have always been chicken, shrimp, fish (Icelandic cod, broiled or fried) and steak, Hastert said. Bob always resisted trends, despite urgings from others.

“He used to say, ‘You’ll be the dog chasing its tail’ because fads always change,” Hastert said.

The chicken comes fresh each day to White Fence Farm ("each weighing between 2.3 to 2.6 pounds," Hastert said), from two suppliers to keep prices competitive. Employees cut and quarter the chicken to control weight and “because it’s the way grandpa did it years ago.”

A machine dusts the chicken with pastry flour – no egg, no milk, and very little salt, Hastert said. The chicken is pressure cooked for 12 minutes, loaded onto carts, and then wheeled into a cool-down room to wait for dinner orders and flash frying.

The powdered sugar-dusted corn fritters are real corn fritters, not hush puppies. Hastert additions include two “boil in the bag” soups – chicken noodle and cream of broccoli and cheese – gourmet macaroni and cheese, and a dinner salad that's more than the wedge of iceberg lettuce of former years.

"Bob would just die," Hastert said. 

The Rainbo Building's History, 4812-4836 North Clark Street, Chicago (Uptown Community), Illinois.

An In-Depth History of the Rainbo Building Starting from 1894.
The Rainbo building (yes, 'Rainbo' is the correct spelling) on Clark Street and Lawrence Avenue (in the Uptown Community) has a long history of businesses, sports venues, nightclubs, way before the ice skating rink and the roller skating rink, we all remember.
As early as 1894, the site was occupied by a small roadside restaurant that likely enjoyed a robust business. After all, the roadhouse had a prime location. It was situated alongside what was then still the main road between Chicago and the northern suburbs, Clark Street (formerly Green Bay Road), and stood across the street from one of the city's largest cemeteries, St. Boniface. Like many other picnic groves that operated across the city's northern periphery during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Clark Street Roadhouse would have offered weary travelers and cemetery visitors a welcome place to stop and refresh themselves before continuing their journeys or returning to the city. There was a restaurant, a tavern, and a spacious picnic grove outback. Two lengthy horse sheds provided visitors a place to unhitch their horses and park their carriages.

Urban growth gradually engulfed the Clark Street roadhouse for the next twenty years. As the area grew, the roadhouse changed. By 1905, its owners had added a second floor to the restaurant and erected a two-story beer hall, a bowling alley, an outdoor dance floor, and stand-alone refreshment stands. These new amenities helped transform the old roadhouse into an urban amusement center. Whereas the old nineteenth-century roadhouse had catered to travelers and cemetery visitors whose dining options were limited by the site's remoteness, the enlarged twentieth-century eatery and outdoor pleasure ground competed with other urban amusements for the business of young, pleasure-seeking urbanites. By the summer of 1917, the pleasure spot had come to be known as the Moulin Rouge Gardens, with D'Urbano's Eccentric Italian Band heading the bill of entertainers.
After the First World War ended, Chicago restaurateurs Fred and Al Mann took over the Moulin Rouge Gardens. The pair changed the place's name to Rainbo Gardens, reportedly remembering Al's wartime service in the 42nd "Rainbow" Division of the American Expeditionary Forces. After a visit in July 1921, a Variety correspondent reported that the Rainbo Gardens was "running an easy first with the money-getters. The gardens are beautifully decorated, cool and inviting. Stunts are providing drawing cards, and a toddler contest went viral. An automobile is to be given to the winners."
But owner Fred Mann had bigger ideas. In 1921, he set about giving the old pleasure spot a million-dollar makeover. Plans called for redesigned outdoor gardens for summertime events and the construction of a two-story structure to house a cocktail bar and dining room that would remain open year-round. The rebuilt gardens opened in June 1922. 

According to a promotional pamphlet, the gardens were "surrounded by a wall with tall trees planted at intervals to provide an illusion of complete remoteness from city life." Four months later, the Rainbo Casino, housing the cocktail bar and dining room, opened for business. 

The dining room, known as the Rainbo Room, could accommodate as many as 2,000 diners at a time—plus an additional 1,500 dancers if need be. Variety said it was "probably the largest cafe in America conducted strictly on a dine and dance basis." Indirect, multi-colored lighting gave the Rainbo Room a romantic glow, and a revolving stage ensured that the entertainment—be it vaudeville, ballet, or dance music—never stopped.
Some of the biggest names in Chicago nightlife performed at Rainbo Gardens during the early twentieth century. During the late 1910s, singing sensation Ruth Etting performed there after making a name for herself as a costume designer at Chicago's Marigold Gardens. She wowed audiences at the Rainbo Gardens with her deep singing voice and eye-catching chorus-line costumes. 

Before leaving for Hollywood, many Chicagoans had come to know her as "Chicago's Sweetheart." Musicians were also an essential part of the Rainbo Gardens during these years. Renowned saxophonist Isham Jones led one of many so-called Rainbo Orchestras while performing at the Gardens during the early 1920s. Jones' Orchestra thrilled the Rainbo's dancers with snappy jazz pieces like "Dance-O-Mania" and "Jing-A-Bula-Jing-Jing-Jing," as well as more romantic tunes like "I Love You Sunday" and "Sahara Rose." Frank Westphal, Ralph Williams, and Sam Wagner were the other bandleaders performing at the Gardens during the 1920s.
Despite the top-flight entertainers, Rainbo Gardens, like many of the city's other nightspots, struggled during Prohibition. The ban on the sale of alcoholic beverages took much of the excitement out of the place. Patrons responded by smuggling their liquor flasks into the Gardens and sharing them with others. Rainbo's managers, not unlike their counterparts at other Chicago nightclubs, usually turned a blind eye to the surreptitious liquor consumption, not willing to risk driving away patrons. Federal prohibition agents, however, were not so tolerant. One of the first big raids came in October 1920, when federal agents stormed the Rainbo and the nearby Green Mill Gardens and seized an ample supply of liquor at both establishments. The raids continued, on and off, for the next eight years.

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Jack McGurn of Al Capone's Chicago Outfit became a part-owner of the Green Mill and became Capone's north-side hangout. An access hatch to the tunnels led underneath the street to a different building; this was how Capone eluded the authorities when the Green Mill was raided.

Mann looked to protect his investments against the uncertainties of Prohibition by diversifying the Rainbo's range of amusements. In 1927, he converted the outdoor gardens into an indoor sports arena with 1,726 permanent seats. Initially known as the Rainbo Fronton, the arena pushed the Manns' total investment in the property to over $2 million. At first, the Fronton was used for jai alai matches, the novelty of which attracted the interest of many Chicagoans. For a time, the sports pages of the city's daily newspapers were filled with jai alai scores and profiles of various Rainbo Fronton players. As the novelty of the sport wore off, however, the Fronton began to be used primarily for boxing and wrestling matches. The facility could accommodate as many as 2500 for the matches by setting up an additional 800 seats on the arena's main floor.

Meanwhile, the Rainbo remained a top target of law enforcement officials. Prohibition agents intensified their efforts in 1927 and 1928. During the wee hours of the morning of February 5, 1928, agents raided the Rainbo and at least ten other Chicago nightclubs without the use of search warrants. Variety reported, "For the first time in the history of local prohibition enforcement, no search warrants were used, and every guest with a highball glass, ice, ginger ale, or charged waters at their tables were given the once over. Names and addresses were taken and verified before the people were permitted to leave." Law enforcement officials contended that night clubs functioned as public spaces and could be entered by law enforcement officials without search warrants–even though search warrants had always been used. However, Fred Mann and other Chicago nightclub owners challenged such tactics by forming a local trade association and taking prohibition officials to court. They contended that raids conducted without search warrants were unconstitutional and that local enforcement of Prohibition targeted outlying nightclubs, like the Rainbo while ignoring widespread liquor consumption at prestigious downtown hotels.

Following the February 1928 raid, federal authorities ordered Rainbo Gardens closed. Soon after that, Mann was arrested on gambling charges. Authorities alleged that Mann sponsored illegal pari-mutuel betting at the Rainbo Fronton. Mann fell into bankruptcy in February 1929 with the Rainbo still padlocked. The Rainbo reopened in November 1929, with the Charley Straight Band providing the entertainment. Shortly after reopening, a fire forced the Rainbo to close yet again. It reopened in December 1929 after a month of reconstruction and redecorating, but by then, many Chicagoans had found other places to enjoy themselves.

The Rainbo's struggles continued during the Depression. Most activities during the 1930s centered in the Rainbo Fronton, where jai alai tournaments and other sporting events continued to draw crowds. 

By contrast, the old Rainbo Casino remained relatively quiet. For a few months in 1934, the second year of the Century of Progress exposition, it reopened as the "French Casino." 
The French Casino
A few years later, in 1939, theatrical producer Michael Todd and a group of investors purchased the Rainbo Gardens complex. After spending an estimated $60,000 on repairs and new decorations, Todd reopened the old Rainbo Casino, calling it the Michael Todd Theatre Café. The new Theatre Café and its spectacular stage show proved very popular.
Michael Todd Theatre Cafe Dinner Stage Show 1939
Upsetting every nightclub tradition, he ran his establishment according to the principles of Andrew Jackson and Abraham Lincoln, aiming the entire operation for the ordinary people. Admission was 50¢, dinner 75¢ (the most popular dessert was Jello); Champagne cocktails cost a quarter, cigarettes cost exactly what they did at any tobacco store, and hat-checking was free. Chicago's hard-working people loved the Theatre Café to the tune of $65,000 a week.

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Inflation from 1939 to 2023: $65,000 x 52 = $ 3,380,000 a year in 2023.

This was too tempting for Chicago's gangsters to make their hands behave. The Nitti mob, heirs of Al Capone, began moving in and pressuring Todd's backers and several unions involved in the club's operation. A cover charge was instituted; food and drink prices soared; hat-check girls set out their saucers for tips; cigarettes cost a lot more; there was no more Jello to be had. Todd finally sold his stock and left Chicago in May 1931

Following Todd's departure, police raided the Theatre Café and discovered employees selling liquor to minors. The city subsequently revoked the nightclub's license, forcing it to close again.

After the Second World War, new operators reopened the Rainbo, holding wrestling matches in the Fronton. A bowling alley was also built on part of the property.
An ice skating rink was installed in 1957. It subsequently became a practice rink for the Chicago Blackhawks, including the year they won the 1961 Stanley Cup. 

It also became a training rink for several Olympic figure Ice Skaters and housed a pro bowling alley before it became a rock music venue.

The section of the building that became the Kinetic Playground was originally the Rainbo Gardens Ballroom (later a restaurant, casino, and bowling alley before it became a rock club). It was directly to the south of the Rainbo ice skating rink. 

Aaron Russo originally opened a nightclub called the 'Electric Theatre.' He was forced to change the name sometime in the summer of 1968, choosing "The Kinetic Playground" after a threatened lawsuit from New York City's Electric Circus. Gangsters fire-bombed the Kinetic Playground on November 7, 1969, destroying the roof and light show.
Led Zeppelin – Kinetic Playground, Chicago. 1969
The club was subsequently reopened in the early 1970s. A somewhat circular room with a manned huge projection booth hanging from the middle of the ceiling, filled with fifty automatic film and slide projectors and strobe lights for the psychedelic light show. The club featured a huge balcony, eight sound towers, a kaleidoscope of full-length mirrors, an amoeba-shaped stage, and meditation booths.
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There was no relationship between the Kinetic Playground at Rainbo and a new Kinetic Playground venue that operated until 2011 at 1113 West Lawrence Avenue, Chicago.
The New Kinetic Playground, 1113 West Lawrence Avenue, Chicago.
One section of the building was originally the Rainbo Fronton, then the Rainbo Ice Arena and Rainbo Roller Rink). This section was used for the sport of Jai lai (A sport involving a ball bounced off a walled space by accelerating it to high speeds with a hand-held device called a 'Cesta,' a wicker basket used to catch and throw the ball.), boxing, wrestling, a 30-lane bowling alley, and an ice skating rink.

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The Rainbo changed from ice skating to roller skating in 1980 until the Rainbo Roller Rink was  closed in 2003.

In 1980, the new Rainbo Roller Rink surface was laid atop the space that, for the previous 22 years, had been maintained for ice skating. Skating patrons entered the building from Clark Street, then walked down a 100-foot hallway, passing the Rainbo Skate Pro-Shop on the way. The shop moved to Skokie and is now located in Northbrook, IL.

Before it was demolished, the Rainbo Roller Rink was still open to the public. It was primarily a late-night roller skating rink but also hosted some concerts in the rink as well. The last event held in the building was on March 30, 2003, and it was demolished in November 2003.

Why Couldn't the Rainbo Building be Saved?
The Rainbo building was not saved because the owners, United Skates of America[1], were no longer making a profit from the Rainbo Roller Rink and their other leases, so they sold the property. The building had been up for sale for several years before it was purchased by the current owners. Even though the Social Security Administration office had originally planned to lease part of the building, they backed out of the lease due to the lack of maintenance. The building had been up for sale for several years before it was finally purchased, and preservationists did not attempt to buy or save it.

The New Complex.
There is a new condominium complex where the great Rainbo building once stood. The latest and unique condominium complex honors the original Rainbo building named the Rainbo Village, Condos & Townhomes, 4812-4846 North Clark Street, Chicago.
Rainbo Village, Condos & Townhomes, 4812-4846 North Clark Street, Chicago.
BUILDING HISTORY
1894 - Roadside Saloon & Restaurant.

1905 - Additions to the restaurant include a 2nd floor, a two-story beer hall, a bowling alley, an outdoor dance floor, and several stand-alone refreshment stands.

1917 - Became known as "Moulin Rouge Gardens."

1922 - Name changed to 'Rainbo Gardens.' The Rainbo Casino and Rainbo Room were added in a significant renovation.

1927 - Outdoor gardens were converted into an indoor sports arena called the 'Rainbo Fronton' and 'Rainbo Arena' (used for jai-alai, boxing, and wrestling matches).

1934 - During the 1934 Chicago World's Fair, it was known as the 'French Casino'.

1939 - Michael Todd reopened the old Rainbo Casino and renamed it the 'Michael Todd's Theatre Cafe.' It was closed after a short period when Todd fell out of favor with the Chicago Outfit.

1940s - A bowling alley was added to the complex.

1957 - An ice skating rink was added to the facility.

1968 - The Electric Theatre opened.

1968-73 - The name was changed to Kinetic Playground due to a threatened lawsuit.

1980 - Rainbo Roller Rink opened.

2003 - The building was demolished for condominiums.

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Chicago Tribune, December 3, 2003: Construction crews discovered bones (reportedly from two different people) in the rink's basement and a couple of sneakers. It was thought they died in the early 1900s.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.



[1] The United Skates of America is a nationwide chain of family-friendly roller skating rinks that began in Columbus, Ohio, around 1972. Rainbo Roller Rink was the location in Chicago in the 1970s. Today, In Chicago, it's the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, Park & Family Entertainment Center, 1219 West 76th Street, Chicago, Illinois. 



The Rainbo Fades Away.
By Kevin Adair | Lerner News-Star - April 9, 2003
Edited by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

Uptown residents will soon hear the sounds of wrecking balls and construction once a time, claiming the historic Rainbo Roller Rink, 4812 N. Clark Street , to make way for a condo complex. 


The last group of skaters left the rink around 2:40 AM. Monday, March 31. Within 24 hours, all 12 of the rink's huge mirror balls were lowered in preparation for the wall-to-wall sale of the building's contents on April 2 and 3. 


In the end, the historical and social value of the rink was exceeded by the property's real-estate value. 


Rainbo and its parking lot sit on two acres that have seen many entertainment uses over the past 130 years. In the 1870s, a beer garden was built there. Rainbo's current building dates back to 1922, featuring a theater/restaurant and an outdoor garden with lavish stage shows. 


Michael Ross, a former security employee, said that in the 1920s, the building included a tunnel up Lawrence Avenue toward the Green Mill on Broadway, allowing gangsters and other patrons to escape Prohibition-era police raids. 


In addition, the building has hosted wrestling, boxing, dog shows, bowling lanes, an ice-skating rink, and various performance uses, from rock concerts to Big Band ballroom dancing. 


In 1980, the Rainbo Roller Rink surface was laid atop the space that for the previous 22 years had been maintained for ice skating. Skating patrons entered the building from Clark Street, then walked down a 100-foot hallway, passing the Rainbo Skate Shop on the way. The skate shop has since moved to Oakton Avenue in Skokie (now relocated to Northbrook, Illinois).


As they entered, many didn't realize that to their left was a colossal, vacant, crumbling neoclassic ornate plasterwork juxtaposed with an Art Deco ceiling of extended and retracted circular platforms. Surrounding the chamber on three sides, 20 feet above floor level, is an abroade and deep balcony that suffered fire and water damage. 


In the 1960s, the forward space of the building was the Kinetic Playground concert venue, hosting such acts as the Rolling Stones and The Grateful Dead. By the late '80s, the former Kinetic Playground space had become one of the area's first skate parks, where skateboarders could navigate obstacles and display their skills on half-pipe-shaped ramps that propelled them nearly as high as the 40-foot ceiling. 


But, skate park installation park came the destruction and removal of the original bar and lower-wall paneling, both made of fine imported wood. The skate park was only used for a few years before it was closed down due to liability concerns. 


In the 1990s, the U.S. General Services Administration contracted to use the forward space of the Rainbo building for a new Social Security office. But then it halted in mid-construction, leaving the current gravel floor. General Manager Mark Stern said a fire in the neighboring Crafty Beaver Home Improvement store contributed further to the building's structural problems. 


The Rainbo's patrons, staff, and management gave different reasons for the club's recent demi. Still, several things are clear: Columbus, Ohio-based United Skates of America, which had owned the building and the business for 22 years, sold the building to a developer in early 2001 but continued to operate the business as Rainbo under their lease agreement. Patrons were notified at the beginning of March 2001 that their beloved rink would remain open for less than 30 more. 


Many of the over 500 patrons who skated on the club's closing night shared stories of growing up and making close friendships inside the Rainbo. 


"This should have been the last rink of all the rinks to close," patron Jesse Woolfolk said. "I've been skating for 42 years, and we had nothing (else) on the North Side as far as skating. So I was here the day it opened. I used to work as a Redi-Mix truck driver. If I was here around lunchtime, I'd jump out of my truck, run in here real quickly, skate and jump back into my truck and go." 


"Skating is one thing my wife and I have always had in common, and she's skating here with me tonight." 


Employees who had just completed their last shift at the Rainbo, including bartender Darnell Harris, blamed poor management for causing the North Side's only roller skating rink to go out of business. 


"I started DJ-ing here when they first opened, and I left, then I came back here in 1984, and I've been here ever since," Harris said. "This (closing) is about bad management. The Social Security Administration would move its headquarters entrance to the other side of this building. They reneged on the contract, but they still had to pay. That money didn't come back to keep this place open." 


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Following community protests over plans to move the Social Security office from Lincoln Square to the Rainbo building, the U.S. General Services Administration agreed to place it at its current location at Lawrence and Leavitt.

Stern confirmed that United Skates' financial benefit from the Social Security contract still needs to be reinvesting into improvements at the Rainbo site. Stern also confirmed that the profits from the Rainbo had been used by United Skates to expand into additional rinks around the country. But few of the corporation's profits had come back to improve the Rainbo facility, except that a new game room, party room, and bathrooms had been added on the south side of the building. 


But the Rainbo didn't simply close because the company needed to redevelop the property further. Stern emphasized that while profits had increased under his management, the roller rink business was required to provide its owners with more profit. 


Stern said they notified the public as soon as they knew their lease was terminating, which forced them to cancel already contracted events tracked, including Monday night hockey, spring break programming, and concerts. 


Stern dismisses the likelihood of any last-hour preservation attempts, noting that Rainbo had the building for sale for several years before it was purchased by the current owners, who left the rink untouched for over a year. Preservationists could have stepped in at any point, he said. 


"Where were they three years ago when the building was for sale?" Stern asked. 


Jim Dvorak, United Skates President, pointed out that the monies generated from the Social Security Administration's pull-out were on the real-estate side of the ledger and were never intended to go to skating rink coffers. Had the U.S. government had agency not abruptly changed its plans, Dvorak said, its use of the other half of the building could have helped keep the Rainbo open. 


Dvorak encourages Chicago skaters to visit the company's newer rink located at 79th and Racine, which was opened about two years ago. 


But adults, kids, teenagers, and entire families will unlikely trek over 20 miles to the nearest open rink. Young people from Uptown and neighboring communities will no longer have that venue as a constructive outlet for their energy. 


Those present at the Rainbo on the night of its last hurrah will likely remember the fantastic moves of men, women, and children who were dancing, gliding, spinning and leaping backward and forwards, including moves reminiscent of singer James Brown, creating a Broadway-worthy performance that Chicago's North Side may not see repeated for many years to come.


Learner Newspapers

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Forum Cafeteria (1911-1973) at 64 W. Madison St. was the Biggest Restaurant in Chicago, Illinois.

After World War II, Chicago's Forum cafeteria served every day appetites hungry for prosperity.
DON'T MISS THE ARTICLE "3 FIREMAN KILLED, 24 INJURED IN CHICAGO FIRE" AT
 THE END OF THIS STORY.

Perhaps some malevolent god passed a death sentence on the Forum Cafeteria long before it went up in flames, January 6, 1973. Three firefighters lost their lives—and 28 others were injured—when the roof of the Forum Cafeteria on West Madison Street collapsed during a fire.

The old building on Madison Street with the double serving line, the mirrors, murals, and wide overhead lights was, more than anything else, the symbol of an era, a petrified relic that stood its ground for 15 years while the people who used to frequent it gradually disappeared.
Forum diners line up two-by-two for the noon-hour rush on Madison Street. Not the most elegant eatery in post-WWII Chicago, the Forum was nevertheless a landmark on the culinary landscape until it was destroyed by fire in 1973.
Few remembered, in the end, that the Forum was once the biggest restaurant in Chicago and that in its heyday it dominated Madison Street. Conceived in the last year of the Depression, it reached maturity in the '40s and '50s, declined in the '60s, and died in the '70s of an inexplicable midnight fire and premature old age.
The Forum had tropical murals on the wall, a mezzanine level,
and served 11,000 meals in a fifteen-hour day.
I got to know the Forum in the late 1950s because I would go there with my grandfather. He ate there regularly and found it difficult to understand why anyone would want to eat anyplace else. Since he regarded restaurants and cafeterias as primary places to eat, the fact that the Forum offered good food at low prices tended to compensate in his mind for the fact that it offered very little else and, he even grew attached to the second-floor mezzanine where people sat twelve to a table in an open hall that afforded the intimacy of the waiting room at Union Station.

The Forum in the 1950s was a vast, noisy, friendly, and by the standard of Loop restaurants, exceedingly Spartan. The lines formed at 6 a.m. when the doors of the cafeteria opened and they often didn't let up until the closing time at 9 p.m. At peak periods, lines extended in both directions down Madison Street, with one line going all the way to the corner of Madison and Clark, the other stretching well past the Today theatre, which then showed newsreels. Only Elvis Presley could draw that kind of crowd in the Loop of the 1950s and, although the Forum was not the most elegant eatery in Chicago, it was probably the best known.
The Forum attracted people from every walk of life. In its long lines, LaSalle Street lawyers talked with politicians, secretaries with servicemen, conventioneers with pensioners, and Skid Row derelicts socialized with churchgoers who had just gotten out of Mass.

In the hall of the restaurant itself, patrons moved through a glass-enclosed corridor that led to the base of the double serving line. There they took their trays and carefully wrapped silverware and moved into one of the two identical cafeteria lines, past rows of salad and Jello by the vegetables, including such country favorites as squash and greens, past the selection of seven or eight main courses and the array of puddings, cakes, and pies, then stopped at the cashier, who would add everything up and present them with a bill.
From the second-floor balcony, customers seemed like parts on an assembly line as they entered the serving area through the glass-enclosed corridor. If anything it resembled a grand hall. Stained glass murals were set at intervals in the cafeteria's green Vitrolite (Vitrolite was an opaque pigmented glass used as tiles) wall, and were reflected in the mirrors on the opposite side.

The painstakingly arranged murals, which were mosaics made of colored glass, depicted women harvesting tea in Ceylon, people hacking down stalks of bananas in the West Indies, and natives gathering coconuts in the South Sea Islands. They suggested material prosperity and the view, borne of the Depression, that abundance would cure all ills. The men standing patiently in line beneath them seemed to be waiting, not just for food but what they considered to be social due, a generous share of well-earned prosperity.

As it happened, this notion was not far from the mind of C. M. Hayman, who founded the Forum. He chose the name because it reminded him of "For-'em," i.e., for the everyday man in the street. Hayman started his career as a cook and bottle washer in Kansas City in the 1890s and got his first break when he managed to scrape together a meal of hot biscuits and mince pie for Col. William R. Nelson, the founder of the Kansas City Star. Nelson was impressed by the young man's ingenuity ─ and his cooking ─ and decided to make Hayman his assistant butler.

Nelson also taught him what he needed to know in order to open a restaurant on his own, which Hayman did in 1911. In 1927, he established the first permanent Forum cafeteria in Kansas City, and the Chicago cafeteria was opened 12 years later, in 1939.

Perhaps it was optimism that led Hayman to open the Loop Forum because the Depression was still going on in the summer of '39, and there was no guarantee the new cafeteria could be a success. It also involved an enormous initial investment because it was intended to be a showplace from the start. In addition to the murals and wall of mirrors, there was etched glass in a three-foot-wide strip down the center of the ceiling between the overhead lights and along the corridor leading to the serving lines, and there was also expensive crockery and genuine silver. The day the cafeteria opened there were displays of flowers along the balcony and telegrams of encouragement from well-wishers. And, as luck would have it, the Forum made good on Hayman's investment by becoming an overnight success.

The former assistant manager of the Forum, George Havlik, recalled that the long lines began forming almost immediately and there were still people eating at the Forum in the early 1970s who could remember what it was like on that first hectic afternoon. As the Depression ended and the country went to war, the cafeteria's combination of good, inexpensive food and hospitable surroundings suited the city's mood and the crowds continued to grow. By the end of the war, with thousands of demobilized servicemen coming back to Chicago, the Forum had established itself as a Loop landmark and by far the biggest eating place in town. Streams of customers filled its tables and with the arrival of each new convention, the cafeteria seemed to fill to even greater capacity until in the summer of 1948, during a Shriner's convention, the Forum set its own record by serving over 12,000 meals for each of three consecutive days. Havlik recalled that during that week the cafeteria was so choked with people, customers with trays in hand had to wait for ten or even fifteen minutes to find an available seat. In the July heat, lines stretched around the block and there was virtually no letup in the crowds from 6 o'clock in the morning to well past ten o'clock at night.

In many ways, the Forum reigned as queen of the post-war Loop. No restaurant was bigger and few could attract quite the variety of people who would turn up in its long cafeteria lines. It was located midway between the shopping area on State St. and the office buildings on LaSalle, directly across from the old Morrison Hotel, the former headquarters of the Chicago Democratic Party and in the heart of the old entertainment district.

A graying bartender, who in his younger days sold advertising space for an entertainment magazine called "This Week in Chicago," recalled that in the 1940s and early 1950s in the area around the Forum there were bars almost every ten feet and every little place had its own dance band and entertainment. People used to come downtown to listen to jazz or shoot dice, drink or see a show, go bowling or just walk. Because the Forum was both inexpensive and in the middle of all of the activity, it was a natural place to have dinner on a Saturday night and young couples, often in evening dress, used to eat there before going out on the town.

There was little tension then and not much sophistication either. Conventioneers in the area used to drop paper bags full of water on passer-by and pull off other endearing stunts that would earn them a few broken heads if they tried them today. Still, the shenanigans had no harmful effect on the Forum, which continued to draw crowds of customers day and night, averaging as many as 11,000 in a 15-hour period when the Loop was busy and the weather was good. The cafeteria became a kind of a tradition for many people, including my grandfather, who went there every day at exactly the same time. Gradually, Forum patrons became accustomed to a regular cast of characters, many of whom prove difficult to forget.

There was "the duchess," so named for her slightly imperial manner and the fact that she dressed in gay '90s fashion with a long dress, a flowered hat, a long fur around her neck, and a face covered with powder and rouge. She had once been an actress but when she stood in line or sat at one of the Forum's communal tables she managed to keep very much to herself. She was noticed for the style and color of her clothes ─ she favored purples and reds ─ and because she came into the Forum almost every afternoon at exactly the same time. But one afternoon in the early 1960s she stopped coming and was never seen again.

Another Forum regular was an elderly city employee who came in for breakfast and paid for his meal out of a wallet that struck cashiers as unusually thick. Since the Forum was a busy place, no one paid much attention to him or his wallet until the day he made the front pages of all four Chicago papers. It seems he had never trusted banks and had been carrying over $30,000 in cash in his wallet every day for years until he lost the wallet one morning while inspecting a city street repair crew.

Apparently, a passer-by found the wallet and began spending its contents. This aroused the suspicions of his friends who reported him to the police. The wallet was recovered and its original owner returned to the Forum breakfast line until he too, just one day ceased to appear.

There were others too; an eighty-year-old woman who wore several diamond rings and was escorted by her 40-year-old boyfriend, a Frenchwoman who sang in the line, and even a Shriner who was dressed in full Regalia and almost ejected ─ a difficult thing to arrange ─ by letting out full-throated hog calls in the middle of a crowded lunch hour.

The most distinctive feature of the Forum and in the end the thing that was most appealing about it was the fact that although it was designed to handle great numbers of people, the Forum still managed to conceive of each of its customers as an individual worthy of a modicum of respect.

The food, for example, was good. Sides of beef were purchased according to exacting specifications and the cutting of steaks was done on the premises. The Forum prepared its own puddings, donuts, and pies; the dressings, salads, and Jello molds were also made on the premises. There were little extras too. Silver covers were provided for cups of coffee and silver-plated teapots were given to those who ordered tea. The silverware was also made of genuine silver until the late '60s when people started stealing so much of it that the cafeteria had to change over to stainless steel.

The Forum managed to survive, not because it scrimped on either the quality of its service or its food but rather because it was ingeniously organized. Every aspect of the Forum's operation had a pattern, from the preparation of food in the middle of the night to the counterclockwise method used by the cashier in adding up the items on a customer's tray. All of this added up to a savings of hours, which translated into extremely low prices.

In the 1950s it was possible to fill your tray at the Forum for under a dollar; a three-course meal went for something like $.75. The prices increased gradually but just before the Forum burned down it was still possible to get a dinner of T-bone steak with potatoes and salad for $3.00, a dinner of hamburger, perch, chicken, or pork for $1.25, or a special lunch of franks, beans, fried potatoes, and squash for $.79. The prices never stopped being among the lowest in the Loop but the crowds of people who used to pay them slowly melted away.

The crowds held up through the '50s but began to gradually decrease in the '60s, completely disappearing by the end of the decade. The Forum had served around 8,000 meals a day in 1960 and was down to 4,000 a day in 1968.

There were reasons, of course, including the abandonment of the downtown area, which took place at an accelerating rate with the growth of suburban shopping centers. But in the case of the Forum, there was something else as well. With the coming of the 1970s, the cafeteria that had once seemed willing to feed the entire city, that was equipped to serve 800 meals an hour but was now serving fewer than 3,000 meals in a 15-hour day, fed mostly old-time customers who still came in regularly. They were people like a former bantam-weight boxing champion, the father of a well-known Hollywood actor, a few aging politicians, and retirees from all over the city, who remembered the old days when the Loop was a community and the Forum was its heart.

"You know," Havlik said one day last December, referring to a shabbily dressed customer, "you can't tell from outward appearances what these people are or who they were."

They had changed too. The 1940s and '50s were in many cases the most memorable years of their lives. Returning to the Forum was like reliving those days when it seemed that prosperity was here to stay and their problems were behind them.

Unfortunately, it didn't turn out that way. A society that suddenly found it had more than enough to meet its needs invented new needs to be fulfilled. Food, when it stopped being scarce, became a form of entertainment. As consumption blossomed into America's number one indoor sport, restaurants such as the Forum were transformed into obsolete reminders of a forgotten mentality and a bygone era.

Standing one afternoon near the Forum's double serving line, Havlik remarked: "You know it's funny, the way at this stage a lot of our customers seem to be dying off. I'll remark to someone that I haven't seen so and so here in some time, a regular customer who had been eating here for years, and he'll say, 'Oh yeah, he passed away.'"

It was a week before the fire and Havlik was feeling nostalgic about the place. "You wouldn't believe what a showplace this once was," he said. "Yes," he continued, nodding, "it was the real center of town."

By David Satter



3 Firemen Killed, 24 Injured In Chicago Fire.
January 6, 1973, CHICAGO (UPI)

The roof of a burning Loop cafeteria collapsed early today, showering firemen with smoldering debris and pinning dozens of them in the rubble of heavy beams, plaster, and bricks. 

At least three firemen were killed and 24 others were i injured, some seriously. More than 30 firemen were inside the building when, without warning, the roof caved in. Fire Commissioner Robert Quinn said the firemen had just been told to leave the building when the roof suddenly gave way, pinning the helpless firefighters.

Firemen continued fighting the blaze while others sifted through the charred rubble in search of their lost comrades or worked with axes, crowbars, and power saws to free men pinned beneath the rubble.


The search for bodies was centered in the fire-ravaged Forum Cafeteria on West Madison Street. Two of the dead firemen were identified as Timothy Moran, about 35, and Richard Kowalzyk, 31. During the search, firemen found the body of a third fireman. His body was cut out from under a crossbeam in the debris. He was not immediately identified.


The cafeteria was closed when the blaze broke out early this morning but seven employees were in the building. They fled to safety. "Christ, we're lucky we're here," an exhausted, ice-laden fireman said when he learned of the numerous injuries. "These damn fires, these ceiling fires. They're the worst. It can go at any minute, just boom, that's all she wrote," he said.


The cause of the blaze was not immediately determined, but fire officials said the blaze apparently started in a storage loft above the second floor, which housed exhaust fans to cool the building.