A 1905 Advertisement; Lincoln Park Hospital, 500 La Salle Avenue, Chicago, Ill.

Lincoln Park Hospital, located at 500 La Salle Avenue (1332 North La Salle Street today), three blocks south of Lincoln Park, is the finest residence part of the North Side of Chicago, and in its construction, equipment, furnishings, and sanitary environment is unexcelled. The building is a four-story brick and stone structure, rebuilt for its present use, after years of hospital experience, and has a capacity of fifty beds for patients.

Lincoln Park Hospital, 500 La Salle Avenue, Chicago, Ill. 1905
Long Distance Telephone, North 1934

The most exacting surgical cleanliness is maintained at all times and through all parts of the house. The rooms are newly finished, and the building is completely detached on all sides, giving perfect light and ventilation in every room. A new steam plant has been installed. All floors are hardwood, and there are baths on every floor with modern plumbing throughout. Since being completed, the hospital has been inspected by a large number of professional and non-professional men and women, and their criticisms have been those of approval and approbation. Any physician may bring cases here, have full charge of his patients, and prescribe his own treatment.

RATE—Private rooms with general nursing $15, $20, $25, $30, $35 ($1,150 today) per week. Wards with general nursing $8, $15 per week. Special nurse $15 per week. Nurse for cases outside the Hospital graduates $25 per week. The Hospital has equipped an X-Ray and Electro-therapeutical laboratory to aid physicians and surgeons who patronize the Hospital in making or confirming their diagnoses of doubtful cases.

B. S. Henderson, M.D., President

J. A. Raithel, M.D., Sec. and Treas.

Chicago Medical Directory, 1905 Advertisement.

The Bagel Nosh Deli unlox their new restaurant in Chicago's Rush Street area. (1978-1984)

On a Personal Note: From Wally's to Rush Street.

When the Bagel Nosh first opened, I was still working part-time evenings at Wally's Deli in the Milk Pail in Lincolnwood. I was in high school, juggling classes and shifts, learning the ropes of deli life one sandwich at a time. One day, Al Marcus—who knew Wally—called to ask if he knew anyone looking for a weekend gig. Wally turned to me: "How'd you like a Saturday and Sunday breakfast and lunch job at a new place on Rush Street? Cash under the table. Free meals too.

The Bagel Nosh began in New York City in 1976.

Al Marcus and Sanford Adams co-owned the franchise rights for Illinois and opened the company's 41st restaurant in 1978 at 1135 North State Street in Chicago. They hoped to woo the Rush Street drinking crowd and affluent residents of Chicago's wealthy Gold Coast neighborhood.

1135 North State Street, in the Gold Coast neighborhood of the Near North Side community of Chicago.

The interior was chic-rustic, featuring large circular windows (replaced), thick, rough-cut wood walls, bentwood chairs, industrial steel light fixtures, butcher block tables, and plenty of live hanging plants. A very calming environment, with the entire 2nd floor available for additional seating to accommodate approximately 60 people. 

They did a bang-up take-out business. The line never stopped, or so it seemed. Customers would line up northbound on State Street, then the line would turn east on Elm Street. Once inside, customers waited in a cafeteria line, finally being confronted with a ceiling-high wall-mounted menu that would turn old-time deli owners pickle-green with envy.

The "water" bagels were made behind a glass wall next to a deli counter that customers passed while in line, making the entire area viewable. The bagels were made with high-gluten flour. The dough was formed into its doughnut shape by machine, refrigerated until needed, boiled for 30 seconds, and then baked in batches of 35 for 17 minutes at 500° F. The result was a larger, chewier Bagel with a crunchy outside.

Bagels (plain, salt, onion, poppy seed, sesame seed, garlic, cinnamon raisin, pumpernickel, and rye) at 15¢; lox or Nova, and smoked sturgeon sandwich at $3.25; corned beef, roast beef, hot pastrami, tongue, brisket, and turkey sandwiches on your choice of bagel at $2.45; cream cheese, chive cream cheese, vegetable cream cheese, lox cream cheese, whitefish salad, shrimp salad, baked salmon salad, chopped liver, gefilte fish, herring in wine sauce with onions, potato knishes, cheese blintzes, and 'homemade chicken soup' (Yiddish: khoummeyd hindl zup) ...

I was interested in finding out how much a 15¢ bagel in 1978 would cost now. The Inflation Calculator says 15¢ in 1978 is 75¢ today (2025). So I called three popular Delis for the cost of one bagel:

• New York Bagel & Bialy in Lincolnwood charges $1.75 per bagel.
• Manny's Cafeteria & Delicatessen in Chicago charges $2.00 per bagel.
• The Bagel Restaurant and Deli in Chicago charges $2.15 per bagel.

The lox, Nova lox, and Belly lox (about 1/4 to 1 lb. of belly lox per salmon, depending upon the size and the salmon species) were premium quality, flown in weekly from an old fish house in Philadelphia. The same fish house provided smoked fish, including sturgeon, sable, chubs, and whitefish.

The food was cooked in view of the customers on one 24-foot, 12-burner flat-top grill and one 4-foot, 4-burner flat-top grill. One person could handle about 15 egg orders on the 24-foot grill at a time, while the smaller grill was used for lunch items. It was like a fast-paced cooking show with people watching you cook over your shoulder. 

Al Marcus explained to me why they placed the grills at the front of the restaurant, as Bagel Nosh does in New York. The grill would be the last point before the customer pays, ensuring they receive the hottest food before finding a table or taking it to go. He also quoted Steak' n Shake, whose famous slogan is "In Sight, It Must Be Right," from the 1930s.

In the first week, thousands of noshers consumed or bought 200 pounds of lox and 150 pounds of hand-sliced lox. 

Most deli countermen never got the hang of slicing lox this thin. Since lox is sold by weight, slicing it paper-thin would nearly guarantee a customer's return.

Also sold the first week was 300 pounds of corned beef, 130 pounds of pastrami and hot pastrami, 90 pounds of roast beef, 100 pounds of chopped liver, 500 pounds of coleslaw, 600 pounds of cream cheeses, 1,500 pickles, and 16,000 bagels, which were made in the traditional method of boiling first, then baking them.

Lox, Egg, and Onion Omelet.

The best breakfast seller was a 3-egg Lox and Onion omelet or scramble, served with a bagel and cream cheese, or a Lox and cream cheese bagel sandwich during the weekend late-night hours.

A second Bagel Nosh opened at Plaza Del Prado at Willow and Pfingsten roads in Glenview, Illinois.

What's the Difference Between Lox,

Smoked Salmon and Gravadlax.

ON A PERSONAL NOTE

When Bagel Nosh opened, I was working part-time at Wally's Deli in the Milk Pail in Lincolnwood, Illinois, during evenings in High School. Al Marcus knew Wally and called him to see if he knew someone who wanted a part-time, 16-hour, weekend job. Wally asked me if I'd like a Saturday and Sunday breakfast and lunch job at the Bagel Nosh, where I'd be paid under the table and receive free meals while working. 

I said yes.

Initially, the Bagel Nosh opened at 6 a.m. on Fridays. But the Rush Street crowds didn't sleep, and neither did we. Within weeks, the hours shifted: the store was now open at 5 a.m. Friday and closed at 10 p.m. on Sunday. Nonstop Service. The line wrapped around the block, and the grill never cooled.

After a couple of weekends, they taught me how to use the grill. It took about 150 eggs, but I finally nailed it—cracking four eggs at once with two hands, straight onto the flat-top. I learned to manage orders, maintain the rhythm, and navigate the chaos. The grill was 24 feet long, and I used every inch of it. Onions and potatoes cooked low and slow at either end, filling the air with that unmistakable aroma that drifted out to the street and pulled people in.

One day, one of the countermen handed me a raw cinnamon raisin bagel and said,

"Neil, drop this into the deep fryer for about four minutes until it's medium-deep brown. Flip it, cook the other side the same, then let it drain and cool for a minute."

I buttered mine.

Wow. It was phenomenal—crispy on the outside, warm and chewy inside, with the raisins caramelized just enough to make it feel like a secret dessert disguised as breakfast. A cinnamon raisin bagel Donut.

That job wasn't just a paycheck. It was a masterclass in speed, precision, and flavor. And it gave me stories I'll never forget—stories that still smell like onions and sound like spatulas on steel.

The Grill Was the Show: A Morning at Bagel Nosh, Rush Street (circa 1980)

You could smell it before you saw it.

Somewhere between the perfume of late-night clubs and the diesel of early morning delivery trucks, the scent of caramelized onions and fresh bagels would hit you like a warm slap. That's when you knew you were close. Bagel Nosh, tucked into the Rush Street scene like a secret you hoped wouldn't get out, was already alive. And if you weren't in line by 7 a.m., you were in for a wait.

The line wrapped around the block, 200 deep on a good day. But no one complained. You waited because you knew what was coming. You stayed because Bagel Nosh wasn't just a deli—it was a ritual.

Inside, the place buzzed like a subway platform at rush hour. Orders flew, coffee poured, and the grill was the main event. Twenty-four feet of flat-top fury, manned by a kid who couldn't have been more than seventeen, moving like he was born with a spatula in each hand. I  cracked four eggs at once, flipped pancakes without looking, and kept a mountain of onions and potatoes cooking low and slow at either end of the grill, as if it were a sacred offering.

You didn't need a menu. You just needed to know your bagel. Rye, if you were old-school. Salt, if you had a hangover. Everything if you couldn't decide. They were boiled first—30 seconds in the kettle to get that glossy snap—then baked until the crust blistered just right. You could hear the crunch when someone bit into one across the room.

And the schmear? Not a whisper of cream cheese. A slab. A drift. A geological layer. If you were lucky, you got the house-made lox spread—salmon blended into cream cheese so smooth and salty that it should have come with a warning label. The real lox, hand-sliced behind the counter, was $32 a pound in the 1970s. That was steakhouse money. But people paid it, gladly.

You'd sit down with your plate—maybe a sesame bagel, toasted, with lox spread and a side of those griddled potatoes—and you'd watch the show. The grill guy never stopped moving. He was part short-order cook, part magician, part rock star. And when your food hit the table, hot and heavy on a ceramic plate, it felt like you'd earned it.

Bagel Nosh didn't last forever. Places like that never do. But if you were there—if you stood in that line, smelled those onions, heard the hiss of the grill—you remember. You remember because it wasn't just breakfast. It was Chicago, in all its noisy, greasy, glorious soul.

---

The hours changed shortly after the Bagel Nosh opened. They opened at 5 a.m. on Friday and didn't close until Sunday at 10 p.m. due to the crowds on Rush Street during the weekends.

After a couple of weekends, I was taught grill cooking and order management. It took me about 150 eggs, but I learned to break four eggs at once with two hands, cracking them straight on the grill.

One day, one of the countermen handed me a raw cinnamon raisin bagel. "Neil, drop this into the deep-fryer for about 4 minutes until medium-deep brown. Flip and cook the other side for the same amount of time, then remove and let drain and cool for a minute." I buttered mine... WOW... It's Phenomenal. 

A deep-fried cinnamon raisin bagel with a light sugar glaze.

I asked Marcus why the deep-fried cinnamon raisin bagel wasn't on the menu. It was on the menu the very next weekend. In my Illinois history group, a few people mentioned that those deep-fried cinnamon raisin bagels were incredible! 

INDEX TO MY ILLINOIS AND CHICAGO FOOD & RESTAURANT ARTICLES.

Copyright © 2022 by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

#Jewish #JewishThemed #JewishLife

A Discovery of an Indian Effigy Mound in the Lake View Community of Chicago, May Date Before 1,000 AD.

Effigy mounds are sacred burial places built by Indians between 800 AD and 1,000 AD. They are extensive earthworks made from soil, usually about 3 to 7 feet high, forming shapes that can be seen from overhead. Some look like bears, and others resemble lizards or turtles.

CLICK TO ENLARGE THE MAP

Map of American Indian trails and villages of Chicago and of Cook, DuPage, and Will counties in 1804 was drawn by Albert F. Scharf 1900, a surveyor and cartographer who took an interest in Chicago’s 19th-century geography.

We'll look for evidence that a lizard-shaped effigy mound existed in Chicago's Lake View neighborhood, who built it, and why it disappeared. The answers to these questions illustrate how racism among early archaeologists prevented them from getting to the bottom of the effigies’ origins.

Scharf’s map shows the text 'LIZARD' (an “Effigy Mound"), located in Chicago's Lake View neighborhood. Effigy mounds are large earthworks made from soil that form shapes that can be seen from overhead.

Archeologists haven’t confirmed the existence of the effigy mound in Lake View, but there is some archival evidence of its location. 

The Scharf map reconstructed a landscape that had been vastly transformed from an area with a few villages and trails to a major city with several outlying suburbs and roads. Scharf relied on accounts from Chicagoans old enough to remember the area before 1833.

His source for the location of the lizard effigy mound was likely an artist and amateur archaeologist named Carl Dilg, who was obsessed with Chicago’s archaeological history and on a personal quest to document the ancient sites of Chicago. As he wrote in a private letter, Dilg wanted to make sure Chicago’s history was not “smothered and killed.”

The Chicago History Museum (formerly the Chicago Historical Society) has an extensive collection of Dilg’s papers, including notes he made from dozens of excursions to archaeological sites around Chicago in the 1880s and 1890s. They contain multiple references to a mound in Lake View, which he referred to as a “lizard” or a “serpent.” Dilg made several sketches of artifacts found near the mound and a map of the area now known as Lake View, showing the exact location of the mound, which you can see on his map.

In Dilg's sketch of the side profile of the lizard mound,
he compares it to another archaeological site in California.

But Dilg didn’t include a precise description of the mound’s length, width, or makeup.

Still, there seems to be significant circumstantial evidence that he’d actually seen it. For one, his depiction of the mound shows the head facing south and the tail facing north, as though the creature was walking south. This is consistent with other water spirit effigies that archaeologists have found in places like Wisconsin. Dilg’s sketches and notes also show the lizard-shaped mound had another round-shaped mound built adjacent to or directly on the “lizard.” This is consistent with the Potawatomi burial practice: The Potawatomi typically constructed conical burial mounds on the site of older effigy mounds. Finally, effigy mounds have been documented as close to Chicago as Aurora, so it’s possible effigy builders’ could have made it to Chicago.

But we know that there’s no lizard mound in Lake View today, so if it did exist, then what happened to it?

About 15 years after Dilg made his sketches, Charles Brown, a distinguished archaeologist from Wisconsin, visited Chicago to review Dilg’s extensive work. Brown wrote about Dilg’s observations, including one sentence about the Lake View effigy mound:

“A ‘lizard mound’ of doubtful origin was located on Oakdale Avenue and Wellington Street, under the present elevated station,” Brown wrote.

Brown’s notes suggest there was some kind of mound that was probably destroyed by the construction of the elevated train line that eventually became the Chicago Transit Authority’s Brown-Line. His use of the phrase “of doubtful origin” suggests Brown, a leading expert on effigy mounds at the time, doubted the mound in Lake View was a true effigy mound like those 800 to 1,200-year-old mounds in Wisconsin.

But archaeologist Amy Rosebrough says Brown has “been known to be wrong.” Brown’s doubt may simply reflect his own disdain at Dilg’s amateur approach to archaeology or his belief that Chicago was not part of the effigy mound builders’ territory, Rosebrough says.

Without a more complete record, Rosebrough and other archaeologists cannot verify if the Lake View mound was an authentic effigy mound or merely a lump of earth that Dilg’s romantic imagination transformed into an ancient sculpture.

If we assume Dilg was correct and the Lake View mound was, in fact, the same kind of effigy mound found in Wisconsin, that raises another critical question that scholars and archaeologists have been asking for 200 years: Who built it?

Early American archaeologists believed the mounds may have been built by a mysterious “lost race” of “mound builders,” sometimes thought to be an earlier Native American civilization connected to Mayan, Aztec, or Incan cultures. Some have theorized the mound builders weren’t indigenous to the Americas, but instead, they were a lost tribe of Israel or a traveling culture, like the Phoenicians or Egyptians.

These hypotheses, which range from unlikely to absurd, reveal a bias common among white Americans in the 19th century: They didn’t believe contemporary groups like the Ho-Chunk, Potawatomi, or Ojibwe, who all lived in areas with effigy mounds, were sophisticated enough to build them.

Richard C Taylor, a writer who traveled through Wisconsin in the 1830s, was typical of the time. He wrote:

“But to a far different race, assuredly, and to a far different period, must we look when seeking to trace the authors of these singular mounds. … But who were they who left almost imperishable memorials on the soil, attesting to the superiority of their race?”

This prejudice made archaeologists slow to accept the idea that these mounds were built by the ancestors of the Indians who lived near the mounds. But eventually, beginning in the early 1900s, American archaeologists began a more deliberate effort to talk with Native Americans about effigy mounds. Charles Brown and Paul Radin, two Wisconsin-based archaeologists, documented extensive conversations with Ho-Chunk people (then known as the Winnebago tribe).

The current consensus among archaeologists is that the mounds were built by several tribes or groups who might have been closely related and treated mound building as a ceremony. Archaeologists believe the Ho-Chunk of Wisconsin is one of several tribal groups descended from people who built effigy mounds, including the Iowa and Winnebago of Nebraska.

Over the years, the Ho-Chunk have claimed to be the descendants of effigy mound builders. In an interview with the Portage Daily Register in 2016, Bill Quackenbush, the cultural resources officer for the Ho-Chunk, said he prefers not to explain the significance of the mounds to outsiders. He said people should try to appreciate the mounds rather than analyze and understand their exact meaning.  

Digging into effigy mounds was a popular pastime during the late 19th century.

“The culture we live in today and society 100 years ago, they tried to do that,” he said. “They dug through them, took screens out there, shook the dirt, and looked for every little piece of information found. They couldn't find what they were trying to get. They had a preconceived notion in their heads already.”

So early settlers destroyed hundreds if not thousands of ancient sculptures, along with the historical record. They plowed under mounds to farm the land or leveled them and built homes on the sites. In some cases, early settlers claimed to have asked local Native Americans about the origins of the mounds without receiving a clear answer.

John Low, a Potawatomi Indian, and professor of American Indian studies, says he’s suspicious of these accounts, given that they took place during a power struggle over land.

“The natives may have said that because they aren’t going to share with people, they regard as the enemy, the specialness they know about a site.” Or, Low suggests, the white settlers may have displayed selective memory.

“We may have been written out of the narrative,” he says. “If the knowledge the natives have about these sites had been transcribed, gosh, that sounds like the natives have more of a claim, and it sounds icky to walk them out to Kansas or Oklahoma.”

By the late 1800s, when Indians were no longer seen as a threat to westward expansion, white Americans became interested in many aspects of their culture, including effigy mounds. But that interest was not necessarily respectful, especially considering mounds often contain human remains, and archaeologists felt free to dig through burial sites and take home human remains for display. Amy Rosebrough describes the popular pastime of “mounding”:

“You take a family out on a picnic and give the kids a shovel and bucket, and they would dig into a mound and see what was there.”

Unless we find new evidence in an archive somewhere (perhaps missing pages from Carl Dilg’s manuscript), Lake View's “lizard effigy” will remain a mystery. That’s because so much of the historical record was lost when the mounds were destroyed, says scholar and Potawatomi Indian John Low. As a Native American, he feels like the destruction of the mounds represents a desecration and willful disrespect of his culture. But he also sees a universal human tragedy.

“It’s something we should all feel sad about when they’re lost,” he says. “Like when the acropolis is lost. Or the pyramids. Or Stonehenge is lost. These, too, are part of the human record of achievement. What a shame.”

ADDITIONAL READING:

Ancient and Frontier Fortifications in Illinois.
Ancient Chicago Indian Mounds.
Ancient Illinois Indian Mounds - A Technical Examination. 
Is a Native American tribe one of the Lost Tribes of Israel?
Looters of Prehistoric Archeological Sites a Big Problem in Illinois.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.
Excerpts from WBEZ.