Lost Communities of Chicago - The Village of Pennock.

The little village of Pennock was founded in 1881. It was located at Diversey Street and Ballou (St. Louis Ave.), Fullerton, and Crawford (Pulaski Rd.) avenues. The village of Pennock was in Jefferson Township, a former civil township in Cook County, that existed as a separate municipality from 1850 until 1889 when it was annexed into the city of Chicago. Its borders were Devon Avenue on the north, Harlem Avenue on the west, Western Avenue to the east, and North Avenue to the south.

The village of Pennock was founded by Homer Pennock, a mining entrepreneur, and con man. He was going to make money, and if things didn’t work out the way they ought to, Pennock was not above cheating his way to a profit.

Perhaps the first scam Pennock pulled was in 1871 when he lied about having discovered an incredible amount of tin in a region of Canada not known for its tin. Pennock was ultimately jailed, but once he got out, he continued to pull more scams.

Pennock must have been persuasive and charismatic because he continually found financial supporters for his mining adventures. In the 1880s, Pennock, who, at that time owned a gold mine in Colorado, took over a chunk of Northwest Side farmland, from Diversey Street to Ballou Avenue (now St. Louis) and Fullerton and Crawford (now Pulaski) avenues, with the goal of building an industrial town there “that would cause the world to marvel,” according to a 1903 Chicago Tribune article below.

Pennock wasted no time getting to work. He brought carload after carload of bricks to the area and enlisted a lot of workmen to help him realize his dream. He dubbed Wrightwood Avenue “Pennock Boulevard.”

Osgood Manufacturing Company, a refrigerator and furniture maker, moved into one of Pennock’s plants, bringing about 500 workers to the area. Realizing the workers needed places to live, builders then constructed brick homes and shops to accommodate them.

That boom was short-lived.

Pennock’s main factory was destroyed in a fire and one of his mines flooded, which left him unable to finance construction. Those two setbacks combined marked the beginning of the end for Pennock and his “City of Dreams.”

With the factory gone, there was no reason for the existence of the village out on the prairie, and those who had cast their lots with Pennock flocked back to Chicago. Essentially, Pennock’s plan failed and the village crumbled. 

Pennock’s failure came at a time when farms across Chicago were transforming into clusters of factories and homes.

Wrightwood Avenue (Pennock Boulevard), Looking West, Chicago, Circa 1900.
The Village of Pennock was annexed by the City of Chicago in 1889.

The village of Pennock was annexed by the City of Chicago in 1889. Today's west side of Logan Square had many life cycles and was relabeled over time with distinctly different local identities—Avondale, Pennock, Polish Village, the Land of Koz (after Kosciuszko Park), and finally Logan Square, one of the official 77 communities of Chicago.

Few Houses from the Village of Pennock Still Stand.

In the ensuing years, most of the buildings in Pennock had reached a stage of decay which made them untenable to the most miserable squatter,” according to the Tribune, “A Deserted Village in Chicago,” reprinted below.

After his Chicago failure, Pennock went on to found Homer, Alaska in 1896. As the story goes, he “lured others to the Homer area with promises of gold, although the area was known for coal mining.

"A DESERTED VILLAGE IN CHICAGO"

Chicago Sunday Tribune, June 14, 1903

Standing like tombstones over a village that now exists only in name, there are within Chicago's borders a dozen or more picturesque ruins which represent all that is left of what once promised to be a great manufacturing center.

And hanging about the crumbling bricks and rotting timber is an almost forgotten chapter in the city's history—a story of a boom that collapsed almost before it gains an impetus and left its promoter with little more than the valuable farmland to show for the money he had invested.

How many Chicagoans, as they are whisked by the station of Pennock on the St. Paul railway, have viewed the great ruins and wondered what they meant? And how many, to this day, can tell? Few of the oldest residents of the neighborhood are able to explain, and then in the vaguest way.

"There was a soap factory there once—a long, long time ago," one will say.

"No, it was a big warehouse—and it burned." another will impart.

But in all the neighborhood, which in most part has been peopled since the big plant and the once substantial brick houses which are adjacent to it were given over to the elements, not one person could be found who could recall the spectacular operations of Homer Pennock, who, in his dreams, saw on the prairie of the northwest side a manufacturing community that would cause the world to marvel.

WILLING TO TAKE CHANCES

It was twenty-two years ago that Pennock, then owner of a rich gold mine in Colorado, came to Chicago, intending to multiply his fortune and startle the financial world. He had the daring of a D'Artagnan [meaning; one who is exceptionally skilled in the use of sexual persuasion.] and was willing to risk his all in a single throw.

The mine was paying—how long it would continue to pay he did not know, but he planned to push his operations forward so rapidly that he would be prepared for any crash that might come.

Out at Fullerton and Fortieth avenues, Pennock found a stretch of level farm land that suited his needs. It was within easy access to the St. Paul railway and could be bought for a song, for in those days Chicago did not extend to the far northwest.

Pennock secured options on several thousand acres of land and almost before the farmers knew of his plans car-load after car-load of bricks was being dumped beside that track where the little frame railway station of Pennock now stands. Scores of workmen followed the building material and a foundation 600x650 feet had been erected.

"We'll have a car wheel factory there—the largest in the world," Pennock announced, as he stood by and proudly watched the workmen pilling brick upon brick. The foundation was completed and then came a halt. Perhaps word came from the west which delayed operations—but that is for Pennock himself to tell.

But the interested farmers had not long to wait, for Pennock again he was serenely confident that his City of Dreams would be carried to a glorious completion, put a force of men at work building what he called "the east wing" of his plant. "Thereat will come in time; it's sure to come—it must come," he mused.

When the "east wing" had been completed Pennock set about looking for a tenant, as for some reason or other his car wheel factory had not materialized. People were skeptical and hesitated in moving so far out of the city, but Pennock was not to be denied.

BEGINNING OF THE BOOM

Soon the Osgood manufacturing company, makers of refrigerators, and certain articles of furniture moved into the plant, and then came the first breath of the short-lived boom. The factory employed many hands—as many as 500, some authorities say—and these men had to be housed and fed.

Small stores began to spring up around the neighborhood and the real estate men made a rush to be first on the field. Like other booms, things were overdone. Brick houses that cost $3,000 were erected—and these to accommodate the men of modest wages who were working in the plant Pennock had built!

But all this time Pennock would smile and say: "Better times are coming." and there was magic in his words.

It so happened that Pennock, whatever else he may have been, was no prophet. Better times did not come, either for Pennock or those who had staked their fortunes with his. The plant—already large—was not increased to cover the big foundation and one day all except the somber walls that are now standing went up in smoke. Pennock's dream was over and the awakening had come.

Then, according to men who were close to Pennock in his venture, the mine out west became unproductive and Pennock's cup of despair was filled to overflowing.

Just what caused the factory fire is not known, but if human handset it the torch might just as well have been applied to the other buildings that had been erected in the boomtown. With the factory gone, there was no reason for the existence of the village out on the prairie, and those who had cast their lots with Pennock flocked back to town.

NEGLECTED HOUSES TUMBLE

Thus it came to pass that time and the elements, destroyers of the staunchest structures, laid hold of the buildings that the fire had spared. The brick houses began to crumble, and as Chicago began to spread toward Pennock's abandoned village the boys made pilgrimages to the ruins and aided in the destruction. First window panes and then window casings were broken from their fastenings till soon the elements had the once-proud houses at their mercy.

With the expansion of Chicago, a few of the brick residences were rescued and patched up, and are now tenanted by families who can afford no better shelter, but many of the $3,000 structures have reached a stage of decay which makes them untenable to the most miserable squatter.

Perhaps no resident of Chicago has a clearer recollection of Pennock and his operations than J. F. Keeney, who held stock in Pennock's mine and bought heavily of farmland in the vicinity of the Dream City.

"It's so long ago that even I have to search my memory," he said in speaking of the village that has gone to ruin. "Pennock came to Chicago fresh from the west, where he had made money in mining, and conceived the idea of building the factory and town out there on the prairie. He was enthusiastic and secured options on farmlands on every side of his plant-to-be. I had owned some stock in his mine—the 'Small Hopes,' I think he called it—and had made money, so I followed him in his new venture, putting some money into the factory and also buying farmland in the vicinity of the factory.

"As I remember it, the first trouble came when something went wrong with the mine. It filled with water or something of the sort, and Pennock was without the means to carry his operations to completion. He was resourceful, though, and it is hard to say what he might have succeeded in doing had it not been for the fire. As for myself, I held on to the land I had bought and several years after disposed of most of it at a good profit.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

Lost Communities of Chicago - Cleaverville

The Cleaver Soap and Perfume Company was first founded in London by William Cleaver in 1770. Today it's called Yardley London, which is still in business.

Charles Cleaver (1814-1893) was born in London, England, on July 21, 1814. Then when he was just 18 years old, he left England behind forever and sailed for America. Cleaver landed in New York on March 13, 1833, but it was not his final destination. Later that year, he traveled west and arrived in Chicago on October 23.

As one of Chicago's earliest settlers, Cleaver was well-positioned to leave his mark on the area. In 1851, Cleaver bought about 22 acres of land from Samuel Ellis, who operated a tavern near 35th Street and Lake Avenue. Very few people lived in the area at that time, apart from a handful of woodsmen and fishermen. Cleaver used the land stretched between 37th and 39th Streets to build a successful soap and rendering works business. And those who have read The Jungle understand what is involved in rendering for soap.

But Charles Cleaver didn't stop there. He bought more land and began building his own company town, which he dubbed Cleaverville. As he built houses and planned roads, he also assumed the responsibility for naming the streets in his new community. Part of the old Chicago-Detroit Trail, as it passed through Cleaverville, was renamed Cottage Grove Avenue for the simple reason that there happened to be a cottage located in a stand of trees in the area. Sources are unclear about whether the cottage actually belonged to Cleaver or whether it was a pre-existing structure belonging to some forgotten woodsman. In any case, the name of the street had fairly literal origins.

Other streets in Cleaverville were given similarly prosaic names. Brook Street, now part of 40th Street, was named for a nearby brook. Oakwood Avenue was inspired by the local trees, and the name Cleaver gave to his own estate on the land, Oakwood Hall. Streets named Cedar and Elm also existed for a while in the community.

After building Cleaverville, Cleaver's most brilliant move was paying the Illinois Central Railroad $3,800 a year to provide train service to his community, thereby transforming Cleaverville into one of Chicago's first commuter suburbs.

The area represented by Cleaverville was annexed to Chicago by 1889, and today forms part of Chicago's Oakland neighborhood, north of Hyde Park. Although the cottage and the grove are long gone, the memory of that landscape remains in some of Chicago's street names. 

THE RENAMING OF CHICAGO STREETS
In 1909 the Chicago streets were renumbered and many were renamed because of the annexation of other local communities which had many of the same street names. It became confusing. Named after Charles Cleaver, the first soap manufacturer in Chicago and real estate promoter a street was given the name of Cleaver Street which is at  (1425W) 1100N to 1500N. 

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

Lost Communities of Chicago - Towertown

Towertown was a Chicago neighborhood on the near north side. It derives its name from the Chicago Avenue Water Tower, the now historic landmark at Chicago Avenue and upper Michigan Avenue, which was the district's center. Today's Gold Coast neighborhood.

Towertown, Chicago. (post-1871 fire)

Towertown's boundaries are hard to define and were established partly by the presence of the wealthy Gold Coast to the east (Streeterville neighborhood), and what was called Little Hell, Little Sicily (now Cabrini-Green neighborhood) to the west, Division Street on the north, and it ends abruptly at Grand Avenue on the south. 

State Street was the main north-south road, and Chicago Avenue bisects it from east to west. Its main drags included Wabash Avenue, Ohio, Erie, Huron, Superior, Pearson, Chestnut, and State Streets. 

An art colony took root in Towertown when Anna and Lambert Tree built "Tree Studios" to tempt artists to stay in Chicago after the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition. The "Palette and Chisel Academy of Fine Arts" at Dearborn and Oak Streets opened in 1895 and was a mecca for all kinds of artists, and it's still operating.

The Three Arts Club at 1300 N Dearborn Parkway, Chicago, in Towertown. Started in 1912, the Club was chartered to provide a home and a club for young women engaged in the practice or study of the arts in Chicago, keeping them safe from the bad influences of the Towertown neighborhood.

No one has ever identified Towertown's first pioneers, but the numbers of bohemians began reaching a critical mass before World War I. Their early ranks included quite a few painters of respectable, if not widely recognized, talent. Bohemians lived as far west as LaSalle Street or in fringy areas outside Towertown proper.

The genesis of Towertown was cheap housing. Walkup apartment houses, shabby old subdivided mansions, and former stables were carved into tiny studio flats. Nearby were cheap cafeterias and lunchrooms that provided the other sustaining essentials. 

As the area around the Water Tower became dense with bohemians, new businesses sprang up to serve them. Among the chief of these were bookstores, tea rooms, coffee houses, art suppliers, and used furniture dealers. There were saloons, too, although few attained any fame. 

The nightclubs in Towertown included the Chez Pierre, the Little Club, and the Tent, all catering to monied outsiders who sought entertainment in the chic and somewhat daring bohemia.

Those seeking something downright raunchy and often illegal headed west for Clark Street, frequented by gamblers, prostitutes, dime-a-dance devotees, and underworld dandies. Liquor, music, and lovemaking came cheaply on Clark Street. "Gin, din, and sin for a fin" were how habitues put it. Still, there was legitimate entertainment in the area. It included productions by such struggling dramatic groups as the Studio Players, the Impertinent Players, and the Jack and Jill Players.

Dill Pickle Club, Chicago, IL.

The most famous Bohemian nightspot was the "Dill Pickle Club" (or Dil Pickle Club) at 10 Tooker Place, Chicago, which was nearly hidden from the outside and was considered a "hole in the wall" in Tooker Alley. The entrance was marked by a "DANGER" sign pointing to the orange main door, lit by a green light. On the door, it read: "Step High, Stoop Low and Leave Your Dignity Outside." Once inside, another sign read "Elevate Your Mind to a Lower Level of Thinking" before entering the central part of the club. Immediately inside was a large main room with a stage. The room was decorated with brightly painted chairs and partially surrounded by counters where drinks and sandwiches were sold. The rest of the club was also decorated by its attendees and contained a tearoom and art exhibitions. Altogether, the club had reported a standing capacity of 700 people. 

Soapbox orators gathered in Bughouse Square (now known as "Washington Square - Google Map) to debate the day's issues. The Gay, Lesbian, Transgender, and experimenters in free love took refuge among Towertown's radicals. By the mid-1920s, many of these artists had left Chicago. 

After their departure, according to sociologist Harvey W. Zorbaugh, Towertown became a popular destination for "egocentric poseurs, neurotics, rebels against the conventions of Main Street or the gossip of the foreign community, seekers of atmosphere, dabblers in the occult, dilettantes in the arts, or parties to drab lapses from a moral code which the city had not yet destroyed."

Wanda Stopa

Occasionally, Towertown broke into front-page headlines. One such case was when a brilliant young Polish woman named Wanda Stopa left her mother's house on Augusta Boulevard in 1922 and moved into Towertown. She was Chicago's youngest woman lawyer and an assistant U.S. district attorney whose success seemed assured.

Stopa revealed herself as an emotionally unstable loser after her move to the bohemia neighborhood. She married a man who turned out to be a scoundrel, then fell in love with a wealthy, married advertising executive who conned her, kept her, and eventually shipped her from Towertown to Greenwich Village, New York.

Stopa's short but fiery life ended at age 24 when she tried to shoot her lover's wife at her home in Palos Park but accidentally shot and killed their 65-year-old gardener, Henry Manning, then committed suicide by swallowing poison. The newspapers went crazy over the sensational story, and 10,000 Chicagoans turned out for the funeral. As late as 1947, reporters still turned out retrospectives on Stopa's tragic and tortuous involvements. Naughty Towertown always got its share of the blame too.

Because many artistic young women from small towns came to Chicago to study at the Art Institute and elsewhere, sheltered residential facilities were created to give them an alternative to Towertown's temptations. One of the best of these was the Three Arts Club at 1300 North Dearborn Parkway, founded in 1914 and still in business.

Knowing bohemia's tawdry side and its attractiveness to dilettantes and newly arrived. 
Small-towners, it is easy to forget that Chicago's literary renaissance and confidence in its other successes in the arts were nurtured in Towertown.

One of its most influential figures was Harriet Monroe, the poet who suddenly rose to prominence by writing the "Columbian Ode" to dedicate the Chicago world's fair of 1893. Monroe's greatest success was founding the world-famous "Poetry Magazine" in 1912. As its editor, she was credited with discovering Carl Sandburg when he was writing the "city of the big shoulders" lines that would certify his fame.

Monroe also published T.S. Eliot, W.B. Yeats, and Ezra Pound, editing her monthly magazine from a Towertown office at 543 Cass Street  (now North Wabash Avenue). The publication still survives, headquartered at 61 West Superior Street, Chicago.

Rising property values driven by the luxury shopping district nearby Michigan Avenue became too pricey for many artists. Towertown became a tourist attraction, further alienating its bohemian denizens. By the Great Depression, the art colony had dispersed. 

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.