The History of Cantonment Wilkinson (Army Base), located in the Indiana Territory, (now Pulaski County, Illiniois) 1801-02.

Cantonment Wilkinson was a large U.S. Army base located in the Indiana Territory, (now Pulaski County, Illiniois), from January, 1801, to April, 1802. “Cantonments” were essentially large temporary camps that lacked stockade or fortification walls. At its peak, cantonment Wilkinson was the largest military base in the country containing approximately 1,500 Infantry, Artillery, and Dragoon (cavalry) soldiers. 

The cantonment had its inception in a late 1790s diplomatic crisis between the United States and France. The French had begun seizing American ships on the high seas and it appeared that all-out war was imminent. In response, George Washington and Alexander Hamilton developed a plan for a large American military base or cantonment in the Ohio River valley. Once the war started, troops from this “Reserve Corps” would move into the Mississippi River Valley and capture the river and New Orleans and from the Spanish who were expected to ally themselves with the French. 

The contonment was established by Lieutenant Colonel David Strong in 1797 as a post of the United States Army. General James Wilkinson[1] (1757-1825) was put in charge of this operation despite rumors that he was a traitor in the pay of the Spanish Government as "Agent № 13," known as the "Spanish Conspiracy."[2]

Wilkinson ordered smaller posts such as Fort Massac[3] to be abandoned and added their garrisons to the Reserve Corps. Commonly alleged is that Wilkinson actually plotted with the Spanish for their seizure of Fort Massac (Metropolis, Illinois) in the so‑called "Tom Powers Plot."[4]

On November 14, 1801 Lewis and Clark deliberately passed the fort on the far side of the river and did not stop because they were worried about the motives of General Wilkinson being a conspirator for the Spanish.

General James Wilkinson

The crisis ended in late 1799 with the signing of a treaty between the U.S. and France. Despite this, ardent federalists such as Alexander Hamilton still hoped for war and plans for the cantonment continued. The first troops arrived at Cantonment Wilkinson in early January, 1801, and immediately began constructing log huts for shelter. According to an 1803 traveler’s account of the abandoned cantonment, it contained “2 to 3 hundred logged houses… built for our army in regular streets as a post or place of arms.” 

Some 500 to as many as 1500 men were stationed here during the period of 1798-1805, which was commonly called Fort Wilkinsonville.

As this description indicates, the cantonment was essentially a large camp of huts and other buildings used by the Army. The camp lacked a stockade wall with the boundaries of the camp instead patrolled by sentinels. Other features of the cantonment included quarter master supply buildings, hospital, bakery, brick works, powder magazine, commanding officer’s quarters, vegetable gardens, parade grounds, a boat yard and a log palisade enclosing the compound. About 400 acres were cleared with the site overlooking the Ohio River at the head of the Grand Chain of Rocks, about 14 miles above the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers.

The cantonment reached its peak strength in summer, 1801, when it contained approximately 1,500 soldiers and an unknown number of civilians including laundresses, nurses, sutlers (peddlers), and boat men. During this same time a deadly illness struck the cantonment with a reported 70 soldiers dying from what appears to have been a combination of malaria[5] and dysentery. These soldiers and the base commander Lt. Col. Strong, who died of an unrelated illness, were buried in the cantonment cemetery, the location of which is now unknown.

The majority of the troops moved to the mouth of the Tennessee River following Colonel Strong’s death with Major Jonathon Williams, a grand-nephew of Benjamin Franklin and the later founder of West Point and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, left in charge of approximately 70 soldiers including those sick who could not be moved. The 2nd Infantry troops at the mouth of the Tennessee River returned to the cantonment in the fall of 1801, raising the garrison strength to approximately 800 men.

Final abandonment of the cantonment appears to have occurred in April, 1802, following the election of Thomas Jefferson and his subsequent reduction in size of the U.S. Army. Following the departure of the last of the soldiers.

The abandoned structures later became the small community of Wilkinsonville. Approximately 200 Cherokee occupied the abandoned cantonment buildings for several years.

These buildings appear to have gradually collapsed or been destroyed for their wood although scattered accounts exist that indicate the Cherokee burned the buildings. The last known account of still-standing structures at the abandoned cantonment dates to 1817. After that, the abandoned cantonment became the site of a small settlement named Wilkinsonville consisting of no more than a few buildings that appeared on maps throughout the early nineteenth century.

The marker is located just south of New Grand Chain,
on the east side of IL Route 37.

On the Ohio River three miles south of here Cantonment Wilkinson-Ville, named for Gen. James Wilkinson, was established by Lt. Col. David Strong in 1797 as a post of the United States Army. It was garrisoned until 1804. Here are buried Colonel Strong and scores of soldiers who died on duty. Erected by the State of Illinois, 1935.

Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.

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FOOTNOTES
[1] The The Complete Three Volume Set: "Memoirs of My Own Times" written by General James Wilkinson, published in 1816; in my Digital Research Library of Illinois History® 

[2] In April 1787, Wilkinson made a highly controversial trip to New Orleans, which was the capital of Spanish colonial Louisiana. At that time, Americans were allowed to trade on the Mississippi River, but they had to pay a hefty tariff. Wilkinson met with Spanish Governor Esteban Rodríguez Miró and managed to convince him to allow Kentucky to have a trading monopoly on the River; in return he promised to promote Spanish interests in the west.

On August 22, 1787, Wilkinson signed an expatriation declaration and swore allegiance to the King of Spain to satisfy his own commercial needs. The "Spanish Conspiracy," as it is known, was initiated by Wilkinson's "First Memorial," a 7,500-word report written before he left New Orleans for Charleston, to the Spanish concerning the "political future of western settlers," and to convince Spain to "admit us [Kentuckians] under protection as vassals (a person or country in a subordinate position to another.)." This was encoded with myriad symbols, numbers, and letters that was decoded via a complex English-Spanish cipher code-named "Number 13," which became the basis for his pseudonym, "Agent № 13."

Upon returning to Kentucky in February 1788, Wilkinson vigorously opposed the new U.S. Constitution. Kentucky had nearly achieved statehood under the old Articles of Confederation, and there was widespread disappointment when this was delayed because of the new constitution.

When the United States government reorganized the Army as the Legion of the United States, President George Washington was faced with the decision of whom to name as its commanding general. The two major candidates for this promotion were James Wilkinson and Anthony Wayne. In the end, the cabinet chose Wayne due to Wilkinson's suspected involvement with the Spanish government. The cabinet promoted Wilkinson to brigadier general as consolation, since President Washington was aware of Wilkinson's fragile ego.

Wilkinson developed a jealousy of Wayne, but he maintained an ostensible (stated or appearing to be true, but not necessarily so) respect toward the general. However, when Wayne wasn't invited to Wilkinson's Christmas party, Wayne developed a full-fledged hatred for Wilkinson, deeming it to be an act of disrespect.

Wilkinson proceeded to file formal complaints with President Washington, against Wayne and his decisions. Upon finding out about the complaints against him, Wayne decided to fight back, launching an investigation into Wilkinson's history with the Spanish. During all of this time, Wilkinson had renewed his secret alliance with the Spanish government (through the Governor of Louisiana Francisco Luis Héctor de Carondelet), alerting them to the actions of both the U.S. and the French occupancy in North America. When Spanish couriers were intercepted carrying payments for Wilkinson, Wayne's suspicions were confirmed and he attempted to court martial Wilkinson for his treachery. However, Wayne developed a stomach ulcer and died on December 15, 1796.

[3] Some historical references seem to confuse Fort Massac and Cantonment Wilkinson. Fort Massac is a state park in the west edge of Metropolis, also along the Ohio River. The two are separated by about 15 miles.

[4] Under this plan Fort Massac was to be taken by the Spanish and mounted with twenty guns. The plotters were also to have a sum of $100,000 for raising and maintaining forces there. 

[5] Malaria was a common disease in Chicagoland and southern Illinois in pioneer days, wherever swamps, ponds, and wet bottom lands allowed mosquitoes to thrive; the illness was called ague, or bilious fever when liver function became impaired; medical historians believe that the disease came from Europe with early explorers around 1500; early travel accounts and letters from the Midwest reports of the ague (a fever or shivering fit), such as those of Jerry Church and Roland Tinkham, the details of which are extracted from their writings:

From the Journal of Jerry Church, when he had "A Touch of the Ague" in 1830: ...and the next place we came to of any importance, was the River Raisin, in the state of Michigan. There we met with a number of gentlemen from different parts of the world, speculators in land and town lots and cities, all made out on paper, and prices set at one and two hundred dollars per lot, right in the woods, and musquitoes and gallinippers thick enough to darken the sun. I recollect the first time I slept at the hotel, I told the landlord the next morning I could not stay in that room again, unless he could furnish a boy to fight the flies, for I was tired out myself; and not only that, but I had lost at least half a pint of blood. The landlord said that he would remove the musquitoes the next night with smoke. He did so, and after that I was not troubled so much with them. We stayed there a few days, but they held the property so high that we did not purchase any. The River Raisin is a small stream of water, something similar to what the Yankees would call a brook. I was very much disappointed in the appearance of the country when I arrived there, for I anticipated finding something great, and did not know but that I might on the River Raisin find the article growing on trees! But it was all a mistake, for it was rather a poor section of country. ...We then passed on to Chicago, and there I left my fair lady-traveler and her brother, and steered my course for Ottawa, in the county of Lasalle, Illinois. Arrived there, I put up at the widow Pembrook`s, near the town, and intended to make her house my home for some time. I kept trading round in the neighborhood for some time, and at last was taken with a violent chill and fever, and had to take my bed at the widow`s, send for a doctor, and commence taking medicine; but it all did not do me much good. I kept getting weaker every day, and after I had eat up all the doctor-stuff the old doctor had, pretty much, he told me that it was a very stubborn case, and he did not know as he could remove it, and thought it best to have counsel. So I sent for another doctor, and they both attended me for some time. I still kept getting worse, and became so delirious as not to know anything for fifteen hours. I at last came to and felt relieved. After that I began to feel better, and concluded that I would not take any more medicine of any kind, and I told my landlady what I had resolved. She said that I would surely die if I did not follow the directions of the doctor. I told her that I could not help it; that all they would have to do was to bury me, for my mind was made up. In a few days I began to gain strength, and in a short time I got so that I could walk about. I then concluded that the quicker I could get out of those "diggins" the better it would be for me. So I told my landlady that my intention was to take my horse and wagon and try to get to St. Louis; for I did not think that I could live long in that country, and concluded I must go further south. I accordingly had my trunk re-packed, and made a move. I did not travel far in a day, but at last arrived at St. Louis, very feeble and weak, and did not care much how the world went at that time. However, I thought I had better try and live as long as there was any chance. 

From a letter by Roland Tinkham, relative of Gurdon. S. Hubbard, describing his observations of malaria during a trip to Chicago in the summer of 1831: ...the fact cannot be controverted that on the streams and wet places the water and air are unwholesome, and the people are sickly. In the villages and thickly settled places, it is not so bad, but it is a fact that in the country which we traveled the last 200 miles, more than one half the people are sick; this I know for I have seen it. We called at almost every house, as they are not very near together, but still there is no doubt that this is an uncommonly sickly season. The sickness is not often fatal; ague and fever, chill and fever, as they term it, and in some cases bilious fever are the prevailing diseases. 

The History of the Edgewater Golf Club in Chicago, Illinois.

Born out of an elitist North Shore sensibility, the tumultuous transformation of the Edgewater Golf Club into the democratic Warren Park reveals much about the complicated process of real estate development in Chicago. Once the site of society dinners, debutante balls, and gentlemanly privilege, Edgewater Golf Club became a hotly contested space where a game of “political football” involving various levels of city and state government, community organizations, and private developers was played out. When the smoke cleared, a case of bribery cost an alderman his job, but North Side residents won ninety acres of hard-fought parkland.

A 1938 orthogonal aerial image of Edgewater Golf Club. The three-way intersection at the top right of the image is Ridge, Pratt, and Damen. Greenhouses are the three linear, rectangular structures near this intersection that appear out of place. The clubhouse is also located near this intersection at 2057 W. Pratt Avenue, Chicago.

One of the earliest golf courses within city limits, Edgewater Golf Club, was established in 1896 and sited on a strip of land west of Broadway between Foster and Balmoral.

This first course consisted of a mere five holes, and when additional land could not be acquired for expansion, the club moved north a year later to a swath of land bounded by Sheridan, Loyola, Albion, and Lakewood. Although the club was only located in Edgewater for its first year, the name was retained until its dissolution in 1968.

The second course was nine holes in length, and expansion was again the issue in 1910 when the club acquired eighty-eight acres farther west at Ridge and Pratt. This tract was purchased from sixteen different owners for a total of $125,500 ($3,279,700 in 2017), and the old property was sold to a developer five days later for $50,000 ($1,306,650 in 2017).

The proposed clubhouse designed by Holabird & Roche was never built.

The new course at Ridge and Pratt, designed by prolific landscape architect Thomas Bendelow, opened in June 1911. It was a straightforward, economical design with no doglegs, ponds, or other funny stuff, squeezing eighteen holes into the given acreage. Holabird & Roche submitted plans for a palatial Italian Renaissance revival-style clubhouse but those plans were not carried through. The firm of Hill & Woltersdorf was employed instead, perhaps to avoid a conflict of interest as Holabird was a member of the club, but more likely because Hill & Woltersdorf charged less.

In 1913, a stunning prairie-influenced Tudor Revival clubhouse was completed at 2045 W. Pratt Boulevard.

The clubhouse that was built was smaller in scale and laid out in an I-formation consisting of two two-story rectangular segments on each end. Although chintzy in contrast to the Holabird design, the Tudor Revival style employed better reflected the conservative Anglo-American background of much of the club’s membership.

As soon as it opened, Edgewater Golf Club was a magnet for real estate development in the West Ridge community. In 1910, urban-form residential development ceased at Ridge Road, immediately beyond which were primarily greenhouses. The earliest development influenced by the golf course was five houses immediately north of the clubhouse on Pratt Avenue, built between 1912-14 by members of the club, including then-president William J. MacDonald. This section of Pratt, located between Seeley and Oakley, developed slowly compared to the surrounding area. Of the nineteen houses eventually constructed along this stretch, ten dates to the 1910s, and the remaining nine were built between 1920-49. Until this section of Pratt was widened during the construction of Warren Park in the late 1970s, it was a narrow, private thoroughfare serving this relatively exclusive development. Laurence Warren described it as “only a half street.”

The golf course's presence impacted residential development on the North Side beyond a few country club estates. The year the club purchased the new land, McGuire & Orr subdivided the area northwest of the club, perhaps anticipating demand. This subdivision, the Ridge Boulevard addition, led to the construction of the first sewer built west of Ridge Road to drain into the North Shore Channel. In 1912, builders Cochran & McGluer were advertising an apartment building located at Broadway and Kenmore as being “fifteen minutes from Edgewater Golf Club.” The developer responsible for Edgewater Golf Club itself, William Ludwig Wallen, was active in areas both east and west of the Club, most notably the area around Clark and the street bearing his name. Henry Schoolcraft’s 1922 Arthur Avenue Addition, located directly south of the Club bounded by Western, Devon, and Damen, prominently touted close proximity to the club in advertisements. The practice of listing Edgewater Golf Club as an amenity persisted in the marketing of surrounding residential developments into the mid-1960s.

A 1925 advertisement for real estate bonds for the Edgewater Golfview
Apartments are still extant at the corner of Arthur and Leavitt.
Proximity to the golf course is a primary selling point.

Edgewater Golf Club had an early history of transience which almost continued into the 1920s. In 1923, the club purchased a 175-acre tract of land in Glenview for around $160,000 ($2,291,940 in 2017). Adjusting for inflation, this amounted to around $90,000 in 1910, meaning that the club paid 40% less for twice as much land in Glenview. This time the club was not buying and selling at a loss. Much had changed in the real estate market over thirteen years, and by 1923, the value of the Pratt and Ridge tract had escalated to nearly $615,000 ($8,809,632 in 2017). While the club could have made a huge profit by moving to Glenview at that time, three months after it was purchased, that land was sold to the North Shore Country Club.

Although little interest apparently happened at Edgewater Golf Club between 1923 and 1953 other than the usual “society notes” twaddle and much ado about Chick Evans, the Glenview affair points to a common issue with urban golf courses. By economic necessity, golf courses are built at the fringes of urban areas where land is cheap and plentiful. In turn, they incite residential demand, driving up property values. The invisible hand exerts pressure on the owners of the course until the price becomes too great to resist. Either the golf club dissolves and fades into memory, or it is rebuilt at the current urban fringe, where the process repeats itself. In 1926, then-president Judge Dennis E. Sullivan told the Edgewater club members, “the club and its property will not be sold... real estate agents are hereby warned to keep off.” Ultimately, his advice was not heeded.

Edgewater Golf Club had long been sought after for development when an offer was made in 1953 by an unnamed firm to purchase the land for $900,000 ($8,202,800 in 2017). The plan called for high-rise apartments on the site, but the membership rejected the sale. Another proposition was made in 1964 by the Sturm-Bickel Corporation, which would have involved exchanging the Tam O’Shanter Golf Course in Niles and $800,000 ($6,291,750 in 2017) for Edgewater’s land, but this was also rejected.

The membership finally voted to sell the club to the Kenroy Realtors and developer Jupiter Corporation in 1965 for $7.6 million ($54,132,552 in 2017), giving the developers a November 1, 1967 deadline to come up with the money. There was an immediate backlash from community organizations, first the Nortown Civic Council and later the Allied Northside Community Organization led by Laurence Warren. Community concerns were primarily related to overcrowding and congestion. 50th Ward Alderman Jack Sperling quickly sided with community opposition, introducing a resolution calling for the city to purchase the land for use as a park.

The developers failed to deliver the purchase price when the deadline rolled around. Sperling and 49th Ward Alderman Paul Wigoda introduced a resolution that passed November 1, 1967, downzoning the park from R4 to R2, effectively disrupting the developers’ plan to build high-rises and making the purchase price un-economical for single-family housing. However, this action activated a condition in Kenroy’s contract with Edgewater Golf Club, giving them a year extension to come up with the money to purchase the property. As a result of the zoning change, Jupiter Corporation pulled out of the deal, leaving Kenroy as the primary buyer.

The sale was successfully completed a year later, in November 1968. Solomon Cordwell Buenz was hired to design the development, producing something very similar to Sandburg Village. Designed to house 8,900 people, the plan for “Edgewater Village” called for 3870 units; 1408 rentals, 192 efficiencies, 528 two-bedrooms, 2328 condominiums, and 134 townhouses. These were to be clustered around “pedestrian precinct malls,” each containing 1000 apartments with underground parking, retail, play areas, and swimming pools. Each of the three malls would have one building of twenty stories and five of nine stories. Also included in the plans was a shopping area with parking, a public school, and restaurants. The clubhouse would have been converted into a public restaurant and a private health club.

The Chicago Plan Commission and the Planning and Development Commission both approved the plan initially, and Sperling’s earlier resolution was repealed. The golf course was then rezoned to a planned development site. However, Mayor Richard J. Daley soon began urging the attorney general and Governor Ogilvie to acquire the land. Kenroy then filed a suit to compel the Building Commissioner to issue a construction permit. The circuit court ruling forced the city to grant a permit; however, in a resolution introduced by Daley, the city council repealed the zoning change allowing for planned development, and the Building Commissioner refused to grant a permit.

The State of Illinois began to take action on the matter earlier in 1969 when the House Conservation and Water Resources Committee passed a bill calling for the purchase of the golf club as a state park. The bill, allocating $950,000 ($6,317,500 in 2017) towards the purchase of the land, passed the House and Senate in June 1969, and Governor Ogilvie signed off three months later. The governor was criticized for the delay by Daley and Lieutenant Governor Paul Simon. The governor, in turn, suggested that powerful alderman Thomas Keane “had a piece in the action.” The State offered $8 million to Kenroy for the land, but the company raised the asking price to $35 million. Negotiations between the state and Kenroy broke down, and the state filed a condemnation suit in February 1970. However, a compromise was reached when it became clear the state would likely not be able to afford a price set by a jury. The western two-thirds of the property was then sold to the state for $8 million in the summer of 1970, financed through federal grants.

A 1971 proposal for the design of Warren State Park. The sections south and east of the park labeled “future commercial” and “future hi-rise townhouses” were sold to the Chicago Park District in 1974. Albion and Hamilton streets would have been cut through the property. This design was criticized as being cluttered, and the Allied Northside Community Organization lobbied the city to acquire the remaining land.

Kenroy retained thirty-two acres, ostensibly with the intention of constructing a high-rise complex. The Allied Northside Community Organization wanted the entire property as open space and continued to lobby the mayor and park district to purchase the remainder. In 1972, the park district offered $6 million, but just as he did with the state, Kenroy raised his asking price to $12 million. After the state turned the park over to the park district, the Chicago Public Building Commission bought the remainder of the property through condemnation proceedings on behalf of the park district in 1974 for $10.3 million.

When Governor Ogilvie accused Alderman Keane of having “a piece in the action,” he was almost correct. He just suspected the wrong alderman. In April 1974, 49th Ward Alderman Paul Wigoda was indicted for accepting a $50,000 bribe from Kenroy for the rezoning of the Edgewater property from R4 to a planned development site. The rezoning was used at first to activate a clause in Kenroy’s contract with Edgewater Golf Club so that they would have additional time to come up with the total purchase price. Also, the rezoning sought by the developers increased the value of the land, allowing Kenroy to effectively defraud the state and the Public Building Commission. The Public Building Commission purchased the land only two months before Wigoda’s indictment. The park district subsequently sued Kenroy for $15 million in damages, but the case dragged on until 1982, and it remains unclear whether or not any money was recovered.

The years of litigation between the final sale of the property in 1968 and the first phase of construction of Warren Park in 1977 saw the property slip into disrepair. The clubhouse remained shuttered and abandoned, dead trees were left untended, and trash and debris were strewn around. The state installed basic fixtures like picnic tables, and barbeque stands, but the park was for the most part unstructured.

Warren Park, Chicago

In spite of its condition, the park was well-used by area residents at the time the park district began construction. Numerous recreational facilities were installed, including a nine-hole golf course, skating rink, bicycle trail, tennis courts, baseball diamonds, and a toboggan hill.

In the novel "Crossing California," Adam Langer describes the condition of the park in late 1979: “Once an exclusive country club, it was now a vast expanse of overgrown grass, of cracked tennis courts, muddy soccer fields, rusted charcoal grills, and one toboggan hill, a former garbage heap now known to the kids in the neighborhood as Mt. Warren.” Warren Park has been greatly improved since that time. Although long in coming, Laurence Warren and the Allied Northside Community Organization showed great foresight in fighting to retain the golf club as an open space.

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I have personally heard from many people that lived in the West Ridge and the Rogers Park communities of Chicago and either tried to join the Edgewater Golf Club or applied to be a golf Caddy but were rejected for being Jewish. Personally, I was born, raised and lived for 40+ years just 4 blocks away from the Edgewater Golf Club, but I had no interest in golf and did not know the club was Anti-Semitic. 

by Serhii Chrucky
Edited by Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

The Real Story about the Famous "Elliott's Pine Log Restaurant and Lounge" in Skokie, Illinois.

Elliott's Pine Log Restaurant and Lounge were located, hidden among the trees, at 7545 Skokie Boulevard (Skokie Boulevard is Cicero Avenue in Chicago) at the intersection of Howard Street, Lincoln Avenue, and Skokie Boulevard in Skokie, Illinois.

Chris Elliott purchased the property in 1938 for $38,000. The logs were shipped from Wisconsin, and the restaurant was completed and opened in 1939 at the end of the great depression.

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The rumor of Elliott's Pine Log being a speakeasy is addressed at the end of this article.

Chris Elliott

The pine log building was nestled on three wooded acres that are beautiful in any season. No matter which of the four dining rooms you were seated in, you had a picturesque and relaxing view of the outdoors through huge picture windows.

It was hard to believe you were in Skokie as it felt more like you were in a Wisconsin country inn or a Swiss Alps Chalet. 

Natural wood paneling, different in each dining room, heavy beams on the ceilings, and wood-burning fireplaces added to the rustic look of Elliott's. Inside the large waiting room with its natural wood-burning fireplace were comfortable sofas and overstuffed chairs, where you would wait for your table to be readied. 

Adjacent was the "Keyhole Bar," with a sunken cocktail lounge and raised wood-burning hearth. On Friday and Saturday nights, a piano player would play your requests.

Chris built apartments above the restaurant for his parents to live in. Sometimes the kitchen help would use the flats to rest and then go back on shift.

Elliott's Pine Log Restaurant had the best-roasted duck I ordered every time I ate there. The photo is a visual aid.

Elliott's specialties included; Roasted Duck, Broiled Aged Steak, and Fresh Dressed Chicken, among other great dishes. They hosted many Banquets, Showers, Wedding Parties, Bar & Bat Mitzvahs, and company parties and meetings.

Elliott's survived the November 9, 1955 fire that gutted the inside and injured two firefighters, Fred Albrecht and Warren Redik, who suffered superficial burns about the hands and face when they fell through the first floor. Skokie Fire Chief estimated the damage at $100,000 and said the fire, of undetermined cause, started in the basement. 

As it turns out, the total loss was $250,000. Chris Elliott told the Skokie News, "I don't know who released the earlier estimates of damages, 'around $100,000,' but I know that whoever it was never had the pleasure of eating in my restaurant." Fireman Jerome Burke and Robert Kutz received awards for saving two firemen at the Elliot's Pine Log Restaurant fire in 1956.

Mr. Anthony' Tony' Gargano, the restaurant's manager, was a patient of my father, an Optometrist (O.D.). Tony always found the time to sit with us for a minute. 

As the neighborhood changed in the 1980s, business dropped off, and the Pine Log was closed. A public auction was held of all the restaurant's equipment, fixtures, antiques, collectibles, seating, etc., in Chicago on June 25, 1988.

Classified Ad, Chicago Tribune, June 19, 1988

To this day, I compare my fond memories of Elliott's roasted duck to every other roasted duck dish I have ordered since. Still, to this day — None Better!

Construction of two mid-rise condominium buildings on Pine Log's property began in August 1988. The Park Lincoln, as it was named, has 70 units.

Both Alex Elliott and Greg Elliott were Chefs at Elliott's Pine Log.

ALEX ELLIOTT

After the Pine Log closed in 1988, Alex Elliott, Chris Elliott's son, did some restaurant consulting, turned down a lot of offers to partner in restaurants, and continued to raise Black Angus cattle at the family home/farm in tiny Ringwood, Illinois, near Wonder Lake, until moving closer to Chicago.

Elliott's Seafood Grille & Chop House, 6690 North Northwest Highway, Chicago

But the restaurant business is like a narcotic. Alex decided to get back into that precarious racket, opening "Elliott's Seafood Grille & Chop House," 6690 North Northwest Highway, in the heart of Chicago's Edison Park neighborhood, in 2001. "I did not do this to become a millionaire," Alex says. "I wanted the place no more than 15 minutes from where I live and only wanted to make dinners. I wanted an upscale neighborhood place where I could enjoy the customers." That is what he created, a charming spot, sophisticated and laid back. The bar business is steady and lively, and the dinner crowd is a nice mix of ages and occasions. 

GREG ELLIOTT

A message from Chris Elliott-Bagley: "Hi Neil. Yes, Greg Elliott is my first cousin."

In 1991, Greg Elliott reopened Lake Side Inn as Elliott's Grand Hotel in Wauconda. He says the building was "slipping into the lake when he bought the hotel." Highland Park architect Mark Knauer was hired to recreate the interior, taking everything out except the bar and making the building structurally sound. He hasn't had that restaurant for years. 

In 1996 he and his wife opened a Consignment Shop in Chicago's Lake View neighborhood and the second shop in Lincoln Park.

WAS THE PINE LOG A SPEAKEASY?

As stated on numerous websites, the rumor of Elliott's Pine Log being a speakeasy is false. Prohibition began in 1920 and ended on December 5, 1933, but Elliott's Pine Log opened in 1939, six years after the end of the prohibition.

The "Morton House" Restaurant (est.1869) at 8509 Railroad Avenue in Morton Grove, Illinois, was reported to be a speakeasy during prohibition. Click the link to find out. This building was destroyed by fire in 1954." The Morton House was rebuilt.

The Original Morton House was destroyed by fire on January 2, 1954.

The Rebuilt Morton House.

Another speakeasy rumor circulated was about the Charcoal Oven Restaurant at 4400 Golf Road in Skokie. It couldn't have been a speakeasy because it opened in 1948, 15 years after prohibition ended.

INDEX TO MY ILLINOIS AND CHICAGO FOOD & RESTAURANT ARTICLES.

Copyright © 2017  Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. All Rights Reserved.

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VISIT OUR ELLIOTT'S PINE LOG SOUVENIR SHOP

I loved the Pine Log so much that I recreated my favorite logo of Elliott's Pine Log Restaurant and Lounge. This is my personal 15oz mug. It's high-quality and heavy, and the printing doesn't wash off or fade, even after 5 years of dishwasher sterilization with high-heat drying. Many mug styles, colors, and other items are available.

A NOTE ABOUT THE ACCUSATION OF ANTI-SEMITISM

Nothing is further from the truth regarding the rumors of the Elliot brothers being anti-Semitic. About 80% of Pine Log's business IN JEWISH SKOKIE was, you guessed it, Jewish. I'm Jewish. My folks were Jewish and knew the Elliotts for a very long time. My family ate at the Pine Log once or twice a month and celebrated special occasions for over 20 years. They couldn't do enough to make our meal special, and I personally saw the wait staff treat others the same 5-STAR way. The Elliotts are a class act.

Jack Silverman wrote this comment in a Skokie, Illinois, Facebook group when I posted my article in that group:

 

A COMMENT POSTED TO SILVERMAN BY AN ELLIOTT FAMILY MEMBER:  

"If his aunt was asked to leave, it may be because of the way she was dressed. Elliott's had a dress code back then. She could have had too much to drink and was asked to leave because she was intoxicated. Perhaps she was embarrassed that she got asked to leave and played 'the Jew card.' But I can assure you that her getting booted, if true, had nothing to do with being Jewish!!!"  

Chris Elliott-Bagley, November 16, 2020.