After the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, the city was in ruins. The first fire, the Saturday Night Fire on October 7th and the Great Chicago Fire on the 8th had struck in early October, and winter was coming. Just over 90,000 people lost their homes. Tens of thousands of people left the city, and others were taken in by friends.
The Chicago General Committee and the Chicago Relief and Aid Society stepped in to provide kits – plans and materials – so people could build their own shelter cottages (aka 'fire relief shelters' and 'fire relief cottages').
They came in two sizes; both were tiny, small ($100 or $2,165 today) and smaller ($75 or $1,622 today). The kits contained pre-cut lumber, windows, a door, a chimney and a flexible room partition offering a modicum of privacy. The 12-by-16 foot (192 sq ft) model was for those with families of three or fewer; the 16-by-20 foot (320 sq ft) version was for everyone else. More than 5,200 of these cottages were built in the month following October 18, 1871. They didn't last long, as people moved on to more permanent housing. This one is located at 216 W Menomonee Street, in the Old Town neighborhood of Chicago.
Year Built: 1872 (estimated)
Estimate Value: $687,250 (2016 Cook County Assessor's Office)
2,800 sq ft lot
780 sq ft house, including a basement (140 sq ft total add-ons to the front & rear)
1 Bed.
1 Bath.
Full and unfinished basement.
This Old Town cottage is one of the two remaining free-standing fire cottages left. The other is an in-law/guest flat in a nearby backyard.
ARTICLE With its cheerful yellow clapboard facade and white picket fence, the little house on Menomonee Street seems a bit lost among the imposing stone buildings and brick townhouses that surround it, as if it were dropped into the Old Town section of the city from another place and time. "How cute!" passers-by often remark, even if they're alone. There's just something about it that makes people stop and smile.
So it isn't surprising that David Hawkanson immediately knew which house his real estate agent was talking about when she suggested the reasonably priced but somewhat impractical one-bedroom cottage. This was in early 2007, and he was in a bit of a pickle, still living in an extended-stay condominium a few years into his tenure as executive director of the Steppenwolf Theater Company. People were starting to talk.
"One of the trustees suggested it would be good for my reputation if I actually put down roots," said Mr. Hawkanson, 67. So he decided to take it as a sign when he learned that the curious little house that drew him to Old Town in the first place was suddenly on the market. "Something in my gut told me, 'This is just what you want right now!'" he said.
The idea of living smaller and owning less was so exhilarating he bought the 780-square-foot house that afternoon and then rushed home to make a list of the things he could not live without. It was a bit like eloping after a boozy first date, for there was so much he didn't know about the house and its origins. He certainly had no idea about the extent of its celebrity, which made living there, as a previous owner had observed, "like living in a fishbowl."
That would all come later, long after he realized that the large Robert Kelly painting on his must-keep list would not fit on a single interior wall. Although the house is an anomaly today, back in the fall of 1871, thousands of others exactly like it was being slapped together in the aftermath of the Great Chicago Fire that had burned for two days that October, claiming about 300 lives and leaving one-third of the city's 300,000 residents homeless.
The idea behind the kits, which were distributed, often for free, by the Chicago Relief and Aid Society, was to get the city back on its feet as quickly as possible. By mid-November, some 5,200 cottages had gone up; by May of 1872, 3,000 more had been built. "The whole idea of framing mass numbers of buildings quickly using dimensional lumber, that's a development that happened in the 19th century," said John Russick, director of curatorial affairs for the Chicago History Museum. "Immediately, they were building the wooden city again using the resources at hand."
But it wasn't long before city leaders realized they were repeating an earlier mistake, he said, and new building codes soon outlawed clapboard construction downtown. Old Town was still a bit of a rural outpost, and the ban on wood did not take effect there until 1874, the year Mr. Hawkanson's house was recorded as having been built. Historians and neighborhood preservation advocates are convinced that a number of these cottages are still around. Still, most of them have been obscured by renovations or have become unrecognizable over time. Mr. Hawkanson's and another a few blocks away, in a backyard on Sedgwick Street, are the only two thought to look remotely as they did in the years following the fire. And "David's is the supreme-o one," said Diane Gonzalez, a neighbor and architectural tour guide.
Given how many of its owners have wanted to alter or demolish the house, it's remarkable that it still exists, let alone resembles its original self. Credit goes to those like Ms. Gonzalez and Shirley Baugher, an Old Town historian and author, who fought for landmark protection for the neighborhood; now, street-facing facades of structures deemed historically significant cannot be substantially changed without approval from the Commission on Chicago Landmarks. Ms. Gonzalez, for one, was thrilled to learn that Mr. Hawkanson was single and had no children because she reasoned that meant he would not want to alter the home's appearance or size, as others have tried (and failed) to do. At one point, Ms. Baugher said, an owner sought permission to connect the house to the detached garage and add an extra story, putting a sign in the window that read, "This is not a landmark." Even so, there are a number of changes that have been made in the years since Mr. Hambrock built the house using the larger of the two kits, Ms. Baugher wrote in "At Home in Our Old Town: Every House Has a Story." A kitchen was added in 1900, a bathroom and garage extension in 1930, and a bay window later that century. Jens Bogehegn, who sold the house to Mr. Hawkanson in early 2007, gut-renovated it in 2002, creating an open living area and combining two tiny bedrooms. (With a second child on the way, he and his wife thought they had no choice but to sell.) And during the renovation, he said, he often had to wriggle through the crawl space, where the pungent smell of burned wood remains unmistakable. Although Mr. Hawkanson had been cautioned about it, one fine day during his first spring here, he absent-mindedly ventured out in his skivvies to retrieve the morning paper just as a tour guide was recounting the story of the "cute little house." The guide finished with a dramatic flourish about how the "shanty kit" cost only $100 in materials all those years ago. Then, inspired by Mr. Hawkanson's appearance, he added: "And this guy just paid in the mid-six figures!"
That was Mr. Hawkanson's introduction to the tours that snake by the house at the most inopportune moments — and sometimes through it. Once, he said, he had been working in the garden out back and walked in to find a family of tourists sitting at his dining table eating their bag lunches. He had left the door open, and they had mistaken the house for a public venue. Although he is in the entertainment world, Mr. Hawkanson feigns shyness. This friendly house, his 12th in 20 years, he said, does much of the work for him. "You sit on the front deck, reading or having a drink," he said, "and you talk to people as they walk by. It's so Midwestern." (He can say that; he grew up in Duluth, Minn., and Pittsburgh.) He has even managed to cultivate a philosophical attitude about the constant stream of tourists. "You come to understand when you get a property like this," he said, "that you are not the owner, just the steward."
The DeMoulin Factory - Riding the Goat: A Business is Born.
The founding of DeMoulin Bros. and Co. was the result of a chain of events that began when William A. Northcott, a local attorney joined Greenville's Modern Woodmen of America (MWA) camp and was soon representing the chapter at state and national conventions. In November 1890, Northcott was elected Head Consul of the MWA, the fraternal order's highest position. Faced with the challenge of boosting the organization's membership, he consulted his friend and fellow MWA member, Ed DeMoulin. This request set in motion a small fraternal paraphernalia and regalia business that eventually grew to become the nation's leading band uniform manufacturer.
Ed discussed with his brothers Northcott's dilemma and it was decided that they should create something based on "riding the goat," a prank in which a man was carried on a rail hoisted by two men. The idea quickly met with favor among the Modern Woodmen of America camps. Ed DeMoulin was in the unusual position of having a business but no manufacturing plant so he enlisted the help of his brother, Erastus. Putting his blacksmith talents to the test, Erastus made the earliest DeMoulin goats in his shop and then shipped them by horse and wagon to Greenville.
Wardrobe to Warehouse: 1892-1900
Starting in a side room of Ed DeMoulin's photo studio, the factory's early years saw it move frequently to meet production demands. In May 1894, Ed moved his operation into a brick building on 2nd Street in Greenville, Illinois – now the First Bank parking lot. As orders for Modern Woodmen of America products increased, so did the need for more space. February 1895 brought a move to the former Schlup Wagon building on 3rd Street – now site of the Bond County Senior Citizen's Center.
Orders grew dramatically as the factory expanded its work to the Woodmen of the World, Odd Fellows, and other fraternal groups. Purchasing the site of an old flour mill for $800, the DeMoulin brothers constructed a 35 x 72 three-story building with a basement and rail access.
Opening in September 1896, the new factory's first floor housed the stockroom and shipping department on the east side, and a machine shop at the west end. The second floor contained offices and a sewing room. The smaller third floor was home to the art department. A gas engine, located in the basement, powered the factory's equipment.
In October 1897, the DeMoulins purchased a St. Louis company that specialized in badges, seals, and other metalwork. The operation was relocated to the expanded basement of the Ed DeMoulin & Bro. factory. Further growth led to the spring 1898 construction of a three-story, 35 x 90 addition to the west and in 1901 a two-story, 20 x 16 addition to the south.
When Erastus DeMoulin moved to Greenville in 1901 to oversee the mechanical work, a blacksmith shop was built on the grounds. The brothers were employing 45 men and women in 1899 with an average monthly payroll of $1,000.
The Fire of 1907
On the afternoon of February 12, 1907, a fire broke out in the basement of the building when the gasoline line feeding the 16-horsepower engine operating the sewing machines burst. Ed DeMoulin was entering the front door of his residence when he heard the fire alarm. He ran to the factory and supervised the salvaging of office furniture, files, and the safe. Henry and Phil Diehl, brothers who worked in the office, plunged into the smoke-congested building to save records.
Employees connected the factory's fire hoses to the water main, but due to a lack of pressure had to wait nearly five minutes for the first stream. The pressure was so weak that the water sprayed only five feet. Someone suggested fighting the fire from above, and a hole was cut in the second-story floor. The plan was unsuccessful. The gusting wind pushed the blaze through the factory, and in less than an hour, the building was reduced to smoldering rubble. The loss was estimated at $67,000.
The nearby towns of Highland and Centralia attempted to lure the factory from Greenville, but Ed DeMoulin soon announced that a new factory would be built in the same location. For the next several months, the DeMoulin brothers would manage a makeshift operation from several buildings around Greenville.
Built for the Ages
Scrambling to find a temporary home for their factory after a devastating 1907 fire, the DeMoulins opened an office at the Thomas House hotel on south 2nd Street. Two buildings were leased from the Greenville Lumber Company and replacement machinery was rounded up. On February 25, thirteen days after the fire, production resumed. Ed and U.S. now turned their attention to building a new factory.
Hiring a St. Louis architect, the brothers decided on an "E" shaped building that provided more natural lighting. The new factory would extend farther to the south and the blacksmith shop, the only building to survive the fire, would be demolished. Plans also called for fire doors and a fireproof safe. The brothers broke ground in early May and construction was completed on October 12. From lighting and heating to sewing machinery, the new factory would feature the latest technology.
The building has survived a 1955 fire and a 2002 tornado and witnessed the shift from lodge initiation paraphernalia to band uniforms. And there have been expansions with the largest coming in 1964 – a 22,000-foot facility for the cap and gown division. Perhaps the most welcome addition was air conditioning which came in the 1970s.
ABOUT THE DeMOULIN BROTHERS
Erastus DeMoulin
The oldest of the DeMoulin brothers, Erastus was born September 9, 1860, at Jamestown, Illinois. U.S. DeMoulin once described his brother as "strong and brawny" and "most considerate in every way." Unlike his brothers, "Ras" was content to run the family blacksmith shop in Sebastapol. It was there that the first DeMoulin lodge goats were made by the skillful Erastus.
He officially joined his brothers in their lodge paraphernalia business in October 1901 when he accepted an offer to be the factory superintendent. Erastus' family moved to Greenville the following year. When the company was incorporated in 1905, Ras and his brothers were elected directors, but he held no formal title in the corporation and preferred to work behind the scenes.
Erastus married Leonie Malan in February 1886 and they had three children: Oradelle, Lillie, and Leslie, who would later become the factory president. His granddaughter, Elizabeth DeMoulin Pirtle, fondly remembered Erastus as "one of the sweetest men in the whole world." James McDonald called his grandfather "a very gentle soul." Erastus was the tuba player in the Greenville Concert band.
When Erastus died on March 27, 1936, the pallbearers at his funeral were DeMoulin employees Charlie Lipple, Phil Diehl, Charlie Gum, Ernie Streiff, Joe Clare Sr., and Alvin Watson. It was a fitting tribute to the man who preferred being in the woodworking department to the office.
U.S. DeMoulin
Born two months premature on October 3, 1871, at Jamestown, Illinois, U.S. DeMoulin was saved through the efforts of a Dr. Gordon who rubbed the infant with olive oil, wrapped him in cotton batting, and placed him in a basket in the family's oven. This makeshift incubator must have worked because U.S. lived for 84 years.
U.S. joined his brother Ed in the lodge paraphernalia business on Friday, February 13, 1895. DeMoulin selected that day to prove that he was not a superstitious man. U.S. held patents on several lodge initiation pieces including the Lung Tester, Traitor's Judgment Stand, and the Lifting and Spanking Machine. He served as vice-president of the company until Ed's death in 1935, at which time he assumed the duties of president. U.S. remained company president until his retirement in 1946. He continued to visit the office for the remainder of his life.
Ed DeMoulin
Born June 11, 1862, at Jamestown, Illinois, Ed DeMoulin learned the family blacksmith trade. He may have soured on the vocation when at age fifteen he nearly lost his thumb in a sawing mishap. DeMoulin developed an interest in photography and opened a studio in Greenville. His reputation grew as an outstanding photographer and artist. His first patent was issued in 1892 for a camera attachment that created seamless, dual images of a subject in a single photograph.
Ed became involved in Greenville's fraternal orders including the Modern Woodmen of America (MWA) where he became acquainted with William A. Northcott. The Bond County State's Attorney, Northcott had been elected national president of the MWA in 1890. Seeking to increase membership, Northcott sought the input of Ed DeMoulin who then consulted his brothers. The DeMoulins soon found themselves creating lodge initiation paraphernalia for the MWA and other lodges.
Like his brothers, Ed was a member of the Greenville Concert Band and was often praised for his French horn solos. Technology was perhaps his true love. He was the first person in Greenville to own an automobile, having purchased a two-seat Oldsmobile in 1902. In the summer of 1892, Ed and two other men invested in a steam-operated "merry-go-round and panorama" they toured southern Illinois. In 1899 he spent $300 on a 12 disc music box that automatically changed them after each tune.
DeMoulin, a four-term Greenville mayor (1897, 1899, 1903, and 1905), was instrumental in the community's industrial growth. He also championed infrastructure improvements like electric street lights, a new water tower, and the oiling of streets. He later purchased a home in Los Angeles, California and by 1920 was living there permanently.
Ed's first wife, Constance, died in 1899 after a brief battle with influenza. They had five children: Gladys, Horace, Eric, Adele, and Lillian. Later that year he married Anna Diehl, the sister of U.S. DeMoulin's first wife, Emma. Her brothers, Henry and Phil, would be long-time DeMoulin employees.
Ed DeMoulin died October 29, 1935, at his Los Angeles home. His body was returned by train to Greenville for burial at Montrose Cemetery.
At an early age, he developed an interest in music and played the baritone for decades in the Greenville Municipal Band. DeMoulin was known as an outstanding marksman and co-founded the Greenville Gun Club in 1902. Perhaps his greatest legacy is Greenville Regional Hospital which was built upon land donated by U.S.
His first marriage, to Emma Diehl, ended in divorce when he refused her request to have children. Emma's alleged affair with a St. Louis streetcar conductor was cited as the reason for the break-up leading to the St. Louis Post Dispatch printing the headline "Goat Maker Sues Wife." DeMoulin's second wife, Cora, apparently agreed to his wish to have no children and the couple enjoyed many years together.
He was an avid reader and considered himself well-versed in many topics. U.S. embraced his role as Greenville's elder statesman and was later remembered as tall, dignified, and always dressed in a white shirt and tie.
DeMoulin built his home on 4th Street in 1900 at a cost of $5,000. Greenville's first tennis court was constructed on the grounds in 1912. A garage was added in 1921 and a sunroom in 1925. U.S. lived there until his death on July 11, 1955.
Chicagoans built their first court house in 1835 at the southwest corner of Clark and Randolph streets. They replaced it in 1848 with a second court house, located at the northwest corner of Clark and Washington. Like the first, this building was one story atop a basement that was built above ground. Municipal and county affairs were also conducted in other nearby buildings.
Jevne & Almini, Lithograph, 1866
Pictured here is the city's first combined Court House and City Hall, originally constructed in 1853. The view is from the northwest corner of LaSalle and Randolph Streets. Just south of the Court House, on the southeast corner of LaSalle and Washington streets, is the Chamber of Commerce. The Court House occupied, as the Chicago City Hall and Cook County Building do now, the entire downtown block formed by Randolph, Clark, Washington, and LaSalle streets, though its footprint was small enough to allow the block to include a good deal of landscaping, which gave what was called Court House Square the appearance of a park. The designer of the 1853 structure was John M. Van Osdel, who also built the previous court house. Van Osdel was born in Baltimore in 1811 and moved to Chicago in 1836 at the behest of the enterprising William Ogden, who became the first mayor the following year, when Chicago was incorporated as a city. Van Osdel and William W. Boyington, who arrived in 1853, were the leading pre-fire architects of both commercial enterprises and private homes. Never an aesthetic triumph, this building grew clumsily along with Chicago. It was originally two stories and an above-ground basement. With the raising of the surrounding grade in the late1850s (Raising Chicago Streets Out of the Mud in 1858), the city added five feet of fill to Court House Square, partly burying the basement. It soon added a third floor and the cupola, with a spiral staircase leading to an observatory balcony 120 feet high, which served as a fire watchman's walk. Note the street car. According to the 1871 Chicago city directory, at the time of the Great Chicago Fire the West Division railway ran its cars east and west along Randolph at five-minute intervals between State Street and both Robey Street (now Damen Avenue) and the city limits at Crawford (now Pulaski Avenue). Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.
Arthur Novit, an officer who was "Superman of the Subway," dies at age 89. Chicago Police Officer Arthur Novit was an expert at disguising himself as a vagrant or country bumpkin while he worked as a decoy in the subway to attract would-be robbers.
Arthur Novit, Chicago Police Officer, Superman of the Subway. Circa 1970s.
But one day he decided to have a little fun. The adventure earned him a nickname: "Superman of the Subway." Mr. Novit dressed in a Superman costume and hid in a CTA storage closet while he waited for criminals to make their move on a fellow police decoy slumped on the floor - like a man on a bender - at the Red Line station at Jackson and State. When two robbers pounced, Mr. Novit burst out in full superhero regalia, knocking the closet's steel door to the ground as if it were made of cardboard. (He and other officers had loosened the hinges so they could slip in and out.) And he made a speech that would become a legend. "Halt! In the name of the Law! Law and Order will prevail in the subways of Chicago!" he told Leonard Aronson, who reported the story in a 1976 issue of Chicago magazine. "As long as I'm in this metropolis, law, and order will prevail." When one of his police partners thanked "Superman" for helping officers, he replied, "Any time you need me, I'll be here. It takes me only 10 minutes by cape." When the robbers appeared in court, a judge asked them who made the pinch. "Superman arrested me," one said. The judge sent him to see a court psychiatrist. Mr. Novit died July 8, 2012, at Our Lady of the Resurrection Medical Center at 89. "He was a good policeman; a very active policeman," said his friend, retired Officer Harold Brown, who recalled the Superman adventure. "He did make a lot of arrests." He was a born performer who could play music and sing in the style of Sinatra, said his wife, Arlene. "Being a decoy fit him perfect," she said. He also had boxes full of commendations for his work. With expert use of cosmetics, fake facial hair and changes in clothing, he could transform into a captain of industry or a tourist or a homeless person. Often, he would flash a gold watch to attract the attention of thieves before lying on the subway floor to approximate a drunken stupor. "He used to dress up like a cowboy like he just came from Texas," his wife said. "He had fake mustaches; he had fake sideburns. He put powder in his hair so it looked gray." He was so skilled at disguise that a neighborhood busybody felt it was her duty to inform Mr. Novit about the strange men she thought she saw going in and out of his house. She warned Mr. Novit, "You don't know what your wife does when you're at work," Arlene Novit recalled with a laugh. The woman told him, "When you're not here, I see a wealthy businessman come out; I see an Indian'' Mr. Novit thought her nosiness was so funny that he didn't explain: "He said, 'Thanks for telling me.''' He received many commendations from the Chicago Police Department. "He was a natural police officer who had a sixth sense about the street," said his former partner, Vic Jacobellis. "His best disguise was Superman... I trusted him more than I trusted anyone else I worked with. He would never back down to anyone and always had everybody's back." Mr. Novit grew up in Albany Park at the height of the Great Depression. "Dad went to a lot of different grade schools, eight different grade schools," said his son, Anthonie. "My dad said they kept bouncing; he had to keep moving out of one apartment to another to another." He attended Von Steuben High School. Those early hard times made him especially generous with others, his son said. He always worked two jobs, and he loved to see his kids' faces when he bestowed gifts or shiny new [Schwinn] bicycles. In his prime, Mr. Novit played handball every day at the YMCA, and he enjoyed Chinese food so much, he could eat it all day, every day. He loved his dog, Booboo, a husky mix with powder-blue eyes who lived 15 years. He swore the dog had ESP and could follow commands without a word.
One of the popular eateries in Springfield during the late 1950s and 1960s was Don's Sangamon Dairy Drive-In, located at 2100 South MacArthur Boulevard (at Ash Street), in Springfield, Illinois.
The Sangamon Dairy's products were prominently featured on the restaurant's menu. Hamburgers and milkshakes was the best seller with ice cream cones being the big draw. Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.
The Rose Theatre, in the Logan Square neighborhood of Chicago, opened in 1914 and could seat over 700. It appears to have closed and reopened more than once during the 1930s.
In 1936, the Rose Theatre reopened as the Dale Theatre.
Reopened in 1949 as the Round Up Theater, its operators, the H & E Balaban chain, adopted a Western movies policy.
In the 1950s, the Round-Up Theater used a gimmick as a promotion for its western 'B' films: Any child dressed in a cowboy outfit—boots, chaps, bandana, vest, capguns shoved into holsters on a belt—was admitted at a discount. Once passed the usher at the doorway, the kids were required to check their guns at the candy counter. The outer lobby was separated from the theater and concessions by saloon-type swinging doors. Kids would take off their gun belts and place it on the candy counters glass top. A smiling clerk hung it on a peg on the back wall and handed the child a claim check. It closed sometime during the 1950s. By the late-1950s the building housed a furniture store. In 2001, Zacatecas Restaurant opened and operated out of the former lobby space, while the auditorium was used for storage. It was demolished in June 2009.
Today, it's a 9-unit condominium building. Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.
Ernie Edwards purchased the "Harbor Inn" restaurant in Broadwell, Illinois in 1937. In 1939, he renamed it to the "Pig-Hip Restaurant" after his new, fresh ham sandwich. Ernie says this sandwich was made from fresh ham (not cured), and he claims that the ham came only from the left hip — never, never the right hip.
Ernie claims this distinction was part of the secret of the Pig-Hip’s success (sandwich and restaurant). The other part of the sandwich secret was his special sauce. Ernie’s sandwich motto was–”it made its way by the way it’s made.” His brother ran their Phillips 66 gasoline station next door.
Ernie Edwards, "The Old Coot on Route 66," served thousands of his "Pig-Hip" pork sandwiches from his Pig-Hip Restaurant before he closed the place and retired in 1990. But he and the Pig-Hip didn't go away. Ernie turned the Pig-Hip into a museum about the Pig-Hip (and Route 66), and ran it for another 17 years. It burned down in 2007, but Route 66 fans placed a rock with a plaque on the site, declaring defiantly that, "U.S. Route 66 'The Mother Road' Endures FOREVER." Ernie passed away in 2012 at 94 years old. Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.
In historical writing and analysis, PRESENTISM introduces present-day ideas and perspectives into depictions or interpretations of the past. Presentism is a form of cultural bias that creates a distorted understanding of the subject matter. Reading modern notions of morality into the past is committing the error of presentism. Historical accounts are written by people and can be slanted, so I try my hardest to present fact-based and well-researched articles.
Facts don't require one's approval or acceptance.
I present [PG-13] articles without regard to race, color, political party, or religious beliefs, including Atheism, national origin, citizenship status, gender, LGBTQ+ status, disability, military status, or educational level. What I present are facts — NOT Alternative Facts— about the subject. You won't find articles or readers' comments that spread rumors, lies, hateful statements, and people instigating arguments or fights.
FOR HISTORICAL CLARITY
When I write about the INDIGENOUS PEOPLE, I follow this historical terminology:
The use of old commonly used terms, disrespectful today, i.e., REDMAN or REDMEN, SAVAGES, and HALF-BREED are explained in this article.
Writing about AFRICAN-AMERICAN history, I follow these race terms:
"NEGRO"was the term used until the mid-1960s.
"BLACK"started being used in the mid-1960s.
"AFRICAN-AMERICAN" [Afro-American] began usage in the late 1980s.
— PLEASE PRACTICE HISTORICISM —
THE INTERPRETATION OF THE PAST IN ITS OWN CONTEXT.
Sisters Minna and Ada Simms Everleigh (Lester) became madams of the most famous brothel in America. The Everleigh Club was located in Chicago's notorious Levee district (hand-drawn map of this prostitution district) in a double brownstone at 2131-33 South Dearborn. Erected in 1890, the building was originally designed to accommodate the many male visitors to the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition.
The Brothel opened on February 1, 1900. Their phone number was: CALUMET 412.
Sisters Minna (1866-1948) and Ada (1864-1960) Everleigh ran the “club.” They hosted senators, foreign dignitaries, literary icons, actors, business moguls, and on and on. Edgar Lee Masters, Theodore Dreiser, Ring Lardner, John Warne Gates, Jack Johnson, Diamond Jim Brady, Prince Henry of Prussia went to the Everleigh Club, and Marshall Field Jr.was shot in the Everleigh Club.
The Everleigh Club, Chicago, Illinois - The Most Famous Brothel in USA History.
The Everleigh “butterflies” as the girls were called, pocketed from $100 to $400 each week, an unthinkable salary in other houses. They were expected to be well-read and were even tutored in Balzac [1]. Other requirements were:
look good in an evening gown
be polite
be there of their own free will (they wanted nothing to do with parents selling their children, white slavers, etc.)
be at least 18 years old
visit their doctor (that they kept on retainer) at least once a month
no drugs or alcohol use
Butterflies included the legendary Suzy Poon Tang, one of the club’s most popular girls and a big draw. Hailing from China, Poon Tang was infamously good at satisfying the clientele, so much so that her name would later become synonymous with the now sullied term of “poontang.”
The Everleigh Club might be the only brothel in American history that enhanced, rather than diminished, a man’s reputation. Clients reportedly said, “Want to get Ever-laid?" which helped to popularize the phrase “get laid.” A man wouldn’t want to be seen at the “lower” houses, however.
The early history of the sisters is wrapped up in the War Between the States. The fortune of their family reflected what was happening financially to families all across the south.
Harold Woodward wrote, “a grim reality of poverty & decay … Once fertile fields were covered with scrub oaks and stunted pines, the landscape dotted with decayed fences, half-starved cattle, ramshackle houses and the remnants of crumbling mansions.”
The sisters’ grandparents died. Their dad had to stop practicing law and farm the land. Agricultural prices were low. Taxes & interest were high. Income was scarce. Their father’s brother had stolen most of the family money secretly and moved to Missouri.
Their mother and little sister died when Ada was 12 and Minna was 10. Baby brother George was given to an aunt to raise. The sisters began to detach themselves from life. The family moved to Madison County (VA) where their neighbors were former Virginia governor & confederate general (with 5 children). Visits to his mansion reminded them of everything they lost.
Lula, another sister, died and the family moved from Virginia to Warrensburg, Missouri, where their father had relatives. They grew up believing daddy was the only man that mattered… why marry?
Minna & Ada did marry but needed to flee for their lives because of physical abuse. The sisters concluded from their experiences that men were greedy, brutal, spendthrifts, and not to be trusted. A niece, Evelyn Diment, would later write to Irving Wallace in 1989 about her great aunts; “They were struggling because they were at the end of the Civil War and there were very few ways to make money. Their plantation was lost because they couldn’t pay taxes. They began as prostitutes and they became madams. They inherited approximately $35,000 from their father. Then these women made a marvelous success out of what they knew best. Southern families have a way of keeping things very quiet. And if anyone knew anything, they kept their mouth shut.”
The sisters provided for their family in the only way they knew how. They changed their last name. Their grandmother signed all correspondence with “Everly Yours” and the name of their new club was established, "Everleigh."
Their creation was nothing less than luxurious with its spectacular furnishings and upscale requirements. They provided only the best for their customers making the Everleigh Club an extravagant attraction for its time. Prior to relocating to Chicago, the Everleigh sisters toured brothels in many cities trying to find a location that had "plenty of wealthy men but no superior houses." They were directed to Chicago by Cleo Maitland, a madam in Washington, D.C., who suggested they contact Effie Hankins in Chicago.
After buying Hankins's brothel at 2131-2133 South Dearborn Street, they fired all the women and completely redecorated the entire building with the most luxurious appointments available. Prior to the opening of the Everleigh Club, Ada was responsible for recruiting talent for the club. She started by contacting her former employees in Omaha and spreading the word through brothels across the country. She conducted face-to-face interviews with all the applicants.
The two buildings provided 50 rooms, including 12 soundproof reception parlors where three orchestras played, 30 bedrooms, a library, an art gallery, a dining room, and a Turkish ballroom complete with a huge fountain and a parquet floor.
Silk curtains, oriental rugs, mahogany and walnut paneling, tapestries, oriental rugs, statuary, mahogany tables, gold-rimmed china and silver dinnerware, and perfumed fountains in every room. A $15,000 gold-leafed piano ($420,165.00 in today's dollars) stood in the Music Room with mirrored ceilings, a library filled with finely bound volumes, and an art gallery featuring nudes in gold frames. No expense was spared.
While the heavyweight boxer Jack Johnson thought the $57 gold spittoons in his café were worth boasting about, the patrons of the Everleigh Club were obliged to expectorate in $650 gold cuspidors. The Everleigh Club was described by Chicago's Vice Commission as "the most famous and luxurious house of prostitution in the country."
On the other hand, not many women who participated in this sort of business had it that easy. Prostitution during the early 1900s in Chicago was a very rough experience for most women. While the Everleigh Club charged men fifty dollars for secluded time, most prostitutes were only paid about twenty-five cents for their work. Many of these young women were beaten and taken advantage of by the men who worked for the brothels. Being sold to other brothels was very common. Even though a few women were lucky enough to partake in the glamour that the Everleigh Club had to offer, the majority of prostitutes in used this business as a way to be self-supportive, to get by during hard times, or escape family or spouses.
At a time when the average wage per week was $6, those visiting the Everleigh Club found they were spending anywhere from $200-$1500 per visit ($6,100-$45,7000 today). If a patron only spent $50, they were asked not to return. The business management skills and acumen of the sisters were undebatable.
The sisters' annual operating expenses were $50,000-$75,000. These included $6,000 for rent, $20,000 for servants, plus the salaries of 15 to 25 cooks, three orchestras, the official piano player (nicknamed the "professor"), and the dancers for the circuses. Still, the annual profit was approximately $150,000 ($4,201,700 today).
Clad in a silk gown, bedecked in jewels, including a diamond collar, half a dozen diamond bracelets, and a ring on each finger, Minna greeted the gentlemen customers at one of the two hallway entrances.
The 12 parlors were orientated on the first floor. Each parlor consisted of a certain theme: Gold Room, Silver, Copper, Moorish, Green, Rose, Red, Blue, Egyptian, Chinese, Japanese, and Oriental, all of which appealed to the varying groups of clientele the club received. The upstairs of the Everleigh Club held the private bedrooms where the clientele would experience a more personal encounter with the women of his choosing alongside luxurious divans, damask easy chairs, gilt bathtubs, fresh-cut roses, warbling canaries, and push-buttons to ring for champagne.
The dining room's design emulated a private Pullman car with the corresponding ornate gold and mahogany trimmings. The menu featured only the finest entrees such as duck, caviar, lobster, deviled crab, fried oysters, and an excellent selection of wine and champagne. No other liquors were permitted. The club employed 15 to 25 cooks and maids.
A colorized photograph of the Blue Room's Alcove.
Everleigh Club Admission: $50
Bottle of Champagne in the parlors cost $12 and $15 per bottle in the private rooms upstairs.
Dinner: $50
Dinner in the club’s Pullman Palace Buffet: $150.
There were three orchestras, and musicians played constantly, usually on the piano accompanied by strings. Publishing houses would publicize new songs by having them play at the Everleigh Club. The house was heated with steam in the winter and cooled with electric fans in the summer.
The Everleigh quickly gained a reputation as an upscale gentleman's club, so much so that the Everleigh sisters were forced to turn away prospective clients even on opening day on February 1, 1900. The club's extensive popularity afforded Minna and Ada the opportunity to select their clientele. Only those men deemed suitable by Minna and Ada gained admittance into the Everleigh Club.
The Everleigh sisters deemed a prospective client "worthy" to be admitted into the club if: the prospective client provided a letter of recommendation from an existing member, an engraved card, or a formal introduction by Minna or Ada. These standards made the club extremely exclusive, indulging the desires of only wealthy and influential men. The distinction of being let in, just because they turned down so many people, became an exclusive badge of honor just to be admitted.
By 1902, the club expanded and the sisters were making donations to the First Ward Aldermen, "Bathhouse" John Coughlin and Michael "Hinky-Dink" Kenna, to ensure their continued leeway. After the club was closed, Minna Everleigh claimed in testimony that she "always entertained state legislators free in the club."
One of the notorious scandals that surrounded the Everleigh Club concerned the questionable death of Marshall Field, Jr. On November 22, 1905, Field experienced a fatal gunshot wound. Different theories arose as to how Field received the gunshot wound. It was reported that he shot himself accidentally while cleaning his gun before a hunting trip. However, rumors alleged that Field was actually at the Everleigh Club when he was shot and murdered by an Everleigh butterfly. The actual events that led to the cause of his death still arise suspicion among people. Additional Reading: Woman Clears Mystery of Marshall Field Jr. Death in November of 1905.
The murder of Marshall Field Jr caused competitor Madames to try and frame the Everleigh sisters for this high-profile crime in order to destroy the Everleighs' dominating business.
The beginning of the end for the Everleigh Club started in 1910 with the appointment of a special vice commission by Mayor Fred A. Busse. Dean Walter T. Sumner of the Cathedral of St. Peter and Paul was appointed chairman, and the commission included such other Chicago notables as Julius Rosenwald. Dr. W. A. Evans, and various judges and civic leaders. The City Council allocated $10,000, and the commission began its work. In all, it conducted 98 meetings and interviewed people from all levels of vice in Chicago. Because it was not a prosecuting body, and by its pledge of withholding many names and keeping them only in code, the commission was able to reach many people and obtain reliable data.
The report was presented in April of 1911. Entitled "The Social Evil in Chicago - A Study of Existing Conditions with Recommendations by the Vice Commission of Chicago," the report, with appendices, ran almost 400 pages and was very thorough. It recommended the "constant and persistent repression of prostitution" and the ultimate goal of "absolute annihilation."
The commission's report fueled the fires for a general crackdown on vice, but the references to the Everleigh Club were particularly bothersome to many Chicago reformers. Apart from the references in the commission's report, the club catered to many reporters. it was often referred to in newspaper stories.
The final straw was the advertising booklet that was published in 1911. Filled with 30 photographs, the booklet (extremely rare) is entitled "The Everleigh Club Illustrated, 2131-33 [South] Dearborn Street, Chicago."
While the photos did not depict any girls, in a strict sense, the rooms were all photographed, and many of the photos displayed the famous brass beds. Given the common knowledge about the club, many people found it extremely offensive. Most important of all, while on an out-of-town trip, Mayor Carter H. Harrison Jr., who had recently come into office replacing Mayor Busse, was shown the brochure by an inquisitive host. The closing of the Everleigh Club was now inevitable.
Although Mayor Harrison had good working relations with many of the corrupt elements, especially Bathhouse John Coughlin and Hinky Dink Kenna. the embarrassment of this brochure was more than the mayor could tolerate. On Oct. 24, 1911, at approximately noon, the mayor issued general orders that the club will be closed immediately. Despite the fact that the order was issued early in the afternoon, however, the club's members were not to be deprived of one last night.
The orders for closing were received by Ed McWeeny, general superintendent of police and the news spread to the club and many of its patrons immediately. No action was taken on the order, however, until 2:45 a.m. on October 25th. During the last night, many of the old regulars and, especially reporters. flocked to the club. Attempts were made to contact Mayor Harrison, but he could not be reached: he was supposedly asleep. While many of the people were sad and melancholy, the sisters, clad in the many diamonds, refused to be morbid. Minna reputedly said, "If the ship sinks, we're going down with a cheer and a good drink under our belts anyway." By 1 a.m., cabs were lined up, and gentlemen in silk hats marched out. None of the patrons nor the girls were arrested. At 2:45 a.m., the club was officially closed.
Within 24 hours, once all the girls understood that the club apparently would not reopen, each girl reportedly had offers of jobs from respectable clubs all around the country. The sisters, meanwhile, gathered their resources and decided to evaluate the future by touring Europe. The club was never to open again.
Realizing they could not attain anonymity in Chicago, they retired permanently and moved to New York, living under the name of Lester. Reputedly, at retirement. Ada and Minna had $1 million in cash. $200,000 in jewelry, $250,000 in l.O.U.'s that were never collected, and $150,000 in furnishings, including the gold piano.
The 43-year-old building at 2131-33 S. Dearborn St. was razed in 1933.
