Raising Chicago Streets Out of the Mud in 1858. "Where the streets rose before the rent did.”

During the 19th century, the elevation of the Chicago area was not much higher than the shorelines of Lake Michigan, so for many years, there was little or no naturally occurring drainage from the city's surface. The lack of drainage caused unpleasant living conditions, and standing water harbored pathogens that caused numerous epidemics. Epidemics, including typhoid fever and dysentery, blighted Chicago six years in a row culminating in the 1854 outbreak of cholera that killed six percent of the city's population.

The crisis forced the city's engineers and aldermen to take the drainage problem seriously, and after many heated discussions — and following at least one false start — a solution eventually materialized. In 1856, engineer Ellis S. Chesbrough drafted a plan to install a city-wide sewerage system and submitted it to the Common Council, which adopted the project.

Workers then laid drains, covered and refinished roads and sidewalks with several feet of soil, and raised most buildings to the new grade with hydraulic jacks.

The Briggs House, corner Randolph Street and Fifth Avenue (today Wells Street).

The work was funded by private property owners and public funds.

The first masonry building in Chicago was raised in January 1858. It was a four-story, 70-foot long, 750-ton brick structure situated at the northeast corner of Randolph and Dearborn Streets. It was lifted on two hundred jackscrews to its new grade, 6 feet 2 inches higher than before, "without the slightest injury to the building." This was the first of more than fifty similar-sized buildings raised that year.

By 1860, confidence was sufficiently high that a consortium of no fewer than six engineers, James Brown, James Hollingsworth, and George Pullman. They took on one of the most unique locations in the city and hoisted it entirely up to grade in one go. They lifted half a city block on Lake Street, between Clark Street and LaSalle Street, a solid masonry row of shops, offices, printer shops, etc., 320 feet long, comprising of 4 and 5-story brick and stone buildings. The footprint took up almost one acre. The estimated all-in weight, including sidewalks, was 35,000 tons.

It was business as usual while the buildings were being raised. People worked and shopped in them as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

In five days, the entire assembly was elevated 4 feet 8 inches in the air by a team of 600 men using 6,000 jackscrews. The next step is to build a new foundation. The spectacle drew crowds of thousands, and people were permitted to walk under the lifted buildings among the jackscrews on the final day.

The following year a team led by Ely, Smith, and Pullman raised the Tremont House hotel on the southeast corner of Lake Street and Dearborn Street. This building was luxuriously appointed, was of brick construction, was six stories high, and had a footprint of over 1 acre. Once again, business as usual was maintained as this vast hotel parted from the ground it was standing on. Indeed some of the guests staying there at the time, among whose number were several VIPs and a US Senator, were utterly oblivious to the feat as the five hundred men operating their five thousand jackscrews worked under covered trenches. 

The street level looks like it was raised by about 8 feet.

One patron was puzzled to note that the front steps leading from the street into the hotel were becoming steeper every day and that when he checked out, the windows were several feet above his head, whereas before, they had been at eye level. This huge hotel, which until just the previous year had been the tallest building in Chicago, was, in fact, raised fully 6 feet without a hitch. Property owners found creative uses for the empty spaces beneath the vaulted sidewalks, from outhouses to storage for businesses.

Another notable feat was raising the Robbins Building, an iron building 150 feet long, 80 feet wide, and five stories high, located at the corner of South Water Street and Wells Street. This was a big building; its ornate iron frame, twelve-inch thick masonry wall-filling, and "floors filled with heavy goods" made for a weight estimated at 27,000 tons, a large load to raise over a relatively small area. Hollingsworth and Coughlin took the contract and, in November 1865, lifted not only the building but also the 230 feet of stone sidewalk outside it. The total mass of iron and masonry was raised 27.5 inches, "without the slightest crack or damage. 

There is evidence in primary document sources that at least one building in Chicago, the Franklin House on Franklin Street, was raised hydraulically by the engineer John C. Lane of the Lane and Stratton partnership. These gentlemen had been using this method of lifting buildings in San Francisco since 1853.

Many of central Chicago's hurriedly erected wooden frame buildings were now considered wholly inappropriate to the burgeoning and increasingly wealthy city. Rather than raise them several feet, proprietors often preferred to relocate these old frame buildings, replacing them with new masonry blocks built to the latest grade. Consequently, the practice of putting the old multi-story, intact and furnished wooden buildings, sometimes entire rows of them all at the same time — on rollers and moving them to the outskirts of town or to the suburbs was so common as to be considered nothing more than routine traffic. 

The raising of Chicago became the talk of the nation. Still, for the people of Chicago, the enormous undertaking solved a problem and testified to the young city's character. "Nothing," noted an early historian, "better illustrates the energy and determination with which the makers of Chicago set about a task when once they had made up their minds than the speed and thoroughness with which they solved the problem of the city's drainage and sewage."

It still stands at 1478 West Webster Avenue, Lincoln Park, Chicago, 1988.

Raised this house to new street level.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

The History of 19th & 20th Century Vault Lights (prism glass used in sidewalks) used in Illinois Towns and Cities.

Vault Lights, also known as Sidewalk Lights (or Pavement Lights in the UK), are those old glass prisms set into sidewalks to let light into vaults and basements below. Prisms were used instead of flat glass to disperse the light, diffusing it over a large area; plain flat glass would simply form a bright spot on the floor below, not providing much useful general lighting. 

Cross-cut of Basement using Vault Lights.

Invented in 1845 by Thaddeus Hyatt, sidewalk vault lights started being used in urban areas beginning around the 1850s and continued to be popular into the 1920s. The first vault lights were engineered to have glass blocks placed into a cast-iron framework.

Later, with the introduction of Portland cement, setting them into reinforced concrete panels was more common.

These “glass blocks” provided a way to get light into the useful basement and void areas under the sidewalks. This also made the space rentable in some cases. The first attempts at vault lights proved unfruitful because the design basically allowed a single shaft of light to shine straight down into the space below.

Marshall Field Vault Lights on State Street, Chicago.

With Hyatt’s invention, the design incorporated a prism shape (“saw-tooth”) on the underside while the surface above remained smooth to walk across.

This provided a way for the light to be directed over a broader area in the dark underground.

 

The idea caught on; by the late 19th century they were common in larger cities downtown areas, especially cities like Chicago, New York, and San Francisco. Their use declined as electric light became cheaper and better, and by the 1930s they were not considered in construction any longer. 

Now, they are now endangered architectural relics.

Vault lights on the second floor of the atrium of The Rookery Building, Chicago.

Chicago locations where prism glass installations were known to exist (via Google Map).

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.  

Glass Blocks; a Chicago Invention for the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition.

Glass block, or glass brick, has an interesting history and connection to Chicago via two Chicago World's Fairs and multiple Chicago-based companies.

Gustave Falconnier
Glass Designer

The 1893 World's Columbian Exposition is known for introducing many things to the United States. One lesser-known first at the World's Fair showed the United States the first glass bricks made by Gustave Falconnier. 

Falconnier, an architect, Chicago city council member, prefect of Nyon, France, and a graduate of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris, held many patents in the 1880s for various types of glass blocks of interesting geometric shapes.

At the Columbian Exposition, Falconnier exhibited his glass in buildings outside the Horticultural Building, showing their potential uses in architecture and horticulture. Falconnier was awarded by the fair commission for "a new departure in glass buildings."

Despite being shown in the horticultural pavilion, the fair commission gave him a somewhat backhanded compliment, saying, "Their adaptability for conservatories intended for plant cultivation has not yet been fully demonstrated, but for conservatory vestibules and other rural effects, they are well adapted." And finally, "In the construction of surgical, photographic, and other experimental laboratories, where extra subdued light is required, they possess great merit."

The Northern Pavillion of the Horticultural Building and Exhibit of Hot-Houses and Summer Houses.

Falconnier's glass block had a flaw that prevented it from taking hold in America. Because they were blown glass, the blocks needed a hole. Even a tiny hole eventually plugged up, leading to fogging. Once fogged, the bricks would need to be replaced. A tall order indeed for something that is meant to be permanently put into a wall.

Glass Block would get a second chance at Chicago's Century of Progress International Exposition in 1933 before it took hold in US architecture. However, other types of architectural glass that would be formative to the glass block's future were taking shape in Chicago.

The popularization of Art Deco glass block walls came via the crowd-pleasing thirteen houses of the future displayed at the 1933–34 Chicago World's Fair. Glass block walls gave builders an avant-garde 20th-Century sensibility that people really liked.

At the time, the Chicago World's Fair buildings were considered the height of American modernity and influenced United States architectural design for many years. The Century of Progress, planned before the crash of 1929, opened in the middle of a worldwide economic crisis. Despite that fact, or perhaps because of it, the Century of Progress resolutely focused on an optimistic vision of the United States yet to come, a premise that proved to be a wise move as it attracted so many visitors that organizers kept the fair open for a second year.

Owens-Illinois exhibit at the Chicago Century of Progress International Exposition, 1933-34.

Keck's design, which the Fair billed as the "House of Tomorrow," made the June 1933 cover of Popular Mechanics.

One of the Fair's most popular exhibits featured thirteen futuristic houses clustered together on the shores of Lake Michigan. Those houses, built from innovative construction materials and with several examples clearly paying homage to the European "International Style" or the colloquial "Streamline Moderne," turned out to be a crowd-pleaser. 

Few fairgoers actually contemplated living in homes like George Fred Keck's Glass House, a three-story, glass-clad, polygonal tower suspended from a central pole that clearly owed a lot to Le Corbusier's idea of the house as a "machine for living," but most attendees marveled at the technology displayed within and without. 

Keck's house controlled its own climate via central systems and sealed windows. It included a garage for the car and a hanger for the family plane. Keck's design, which the Fair billed as the "House of Tomorrow," made the June 1933 cover of Popular Mechanics. The idea of an "automatic" house that heated and cooled itself, rotated to face the sun and opened its own Venetian blinds caught the fancy of fairgoers. It likewise influenced architects throughout the United States in the subsequent years before World War II. Bits and pieces of the Fair's dramatic architecture appeared on the cultural periphery. 

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.