Looking west from South Water Street, east of Clark Street, Chicago. Lithography 1866

The scene presented in this picture of one of the central business points of the city, is by no means exaggerated. The view is taken from South Water Street, east of Clark, looking west. It exhibits the southern approach to Clark Street bridge being open and travel suspended.

The block west of the approach to the bridge is devoted to commercial business, and is occupied by insurance agencies, forwarding and commission merchants, brokers and others. The view extends westward to Franklin Street.

ADDITIONAL INFO: South Water Street, Chicago. "The Busiest Street in the World" from the late 19th and early 20th Centuries, in the Digital Research Library of Illinois History Journal™


Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.

The Crilly Court Apartments, Crilly Court (on the 1700 block of Wells Street between St. Paul and Eugenie Streets), Chicago, Illinois.

Crilly Court Apartments were built in 1877 by a south-side developer named Daniel Crilly who is credited with developing much of Chicago's Old Town. In 1885, Crilly purchased all of the property between Eugenie and St. Paul from Wells Street to North Park and proceeded to construct his very own planned community, leasing only to young married couples and personalities connected with the arts: writers, actors, musicians, dancers, and painters. He and his son Edgar kept to this plan, for the most part, until the area fell on hard times after World War I ended (November 11, 1918). 

By the mid-1920s, they had become seedy tenements whose landladies sat on their front stoops barefoot and tossed bones to dogs passing by. They also threw their trash directly into the back yards.

By the late 1920s, the family had to give up pieces of Crilly, a house here, an apartment complex there. Later, they tried to buy them back, but it was too late. Finally, in 1963, they sold off everything they had left: the houses, the apartments, and the stores on Wells Street for just over two million dollars.

Things began to change in the late 1930s. In 1937, a young couple named Kappy and Alexander Maley decided to bite the bullet and rent the house at 1716 N. Crilly Court. It took some courage because they were appalled at what they saw when they first walked inside. The already-small rooms had been chopped in half and had beds in every cubby-hole. Payphones hung on partitions all over the house. There was only one bathroom, and it was in such terrible condition that it had to be completely gutted. 

Despite its shabby appearance, the Maley's fell in love with the place, and when Edgar Crilly agreed to tear out the partitions, remove the phones, put in new carpeting, build a second bathroom, and have the entire house painted, they signed a lease--promising to pay $50 per month in rent. Irma O'Toole, daughter of a well-known Old Town saloon keeper, bought the house at 1706 for a whopping $3,000. She and her husband did a complete rehab on their place and turned it into an early Old Town showpiece.

The house at 1704, though still a rental, had a nice, cared-for appearance, displaying "clean windows" and polished brass plates and door knockers. Kappy Maley, who by then was becoming seriously invested in the neighborhood, decided to drop by one afternoon and get some decorating tips for her place. She knocked on the door and was courteously received by a handsome woman of a certain age. She walked into a glitzy parlor and found several young ladies all made up and lounging around in their robes, albeit fairly elaborate robes, and looking askance (with doubt, disapproval, or no trust) at their visitor.

Now, this was odd. A few minutes into the conversation, Kappy realized that she had not walked into just an ordinary house. The "older woman" was, in fact, the Madame of a "call house", and the younger women were her "girls". 

The tiny row of two-plus story Queen Anne-style houses, fronted by wrought iron fences, tiny gardens, and wooden stairs leading to the main floor entry, makes you think of Victorian England. Crilly Court just oozes charm. Bay windows, iron columns, and the engraved names of Crilly's four children above four entrances — Isabelle, Edgar, Eugene, and Erminie -- distinguish the apartment building facing Crilly Court. There is space for shops on the first floor of the building along Wells Street, and they continue to operate as such. 

 

 

Now listed in the National Register of Historic Places, the 80-unit complex has survived the ups and downs of the changing neighborhood.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

The Women's World's Fair of 1925, Chicago, Illinois.

The Women's World's Fair of 1925 was held April 18-25 in the American Exposition Palace at 666 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago (changed address to 680 North Lake Shore Drive because of superstition). It attracted more than 160,000 visitors and consisted of 280 booths representing 100 occupations in which women were engaged.

The fair was the idea of Helen Bennett, the manager of the Chicago Collegiate Bureau of Occupations, and Ruth Hanna McCormick, a leading club woman. Women publicized and ran the fair; its managers and board of directors were all women.

American Furniture Mart, 680 N. Lake Shore Dr. (formerly 666 N. Lake Shore Dr.)
Built-in 1924.

The fair had the double purpose of displaying women's ideas, work, and products, and raising funds to help support women's Republican Party organizations. 

The Famous Women's Luncheon at the Women's World's Fair, there were six distinguished speakers, and two of them were fliers. A scene at the banquet. Left to right, Mrs. Joseph Coleman, Mrs. Mary Hastings Bradley, Mrs. Edith Rockefeller McCormick, Katherine Stinson, Mrs. Joseph T. Bowen, Miss Herta Junkers, whose father built the Bremen, and Jane Addams of the Hull House. 1925

The booths at the fair showed women's accomplishments in the arts, literature, science, and industry. These exhibits were also intended as a source for young women seeking information on careers. Among the exhibitors at the fair were major corporations, such as Illinois Bell Telephone Company and the major national and regional newspapers. 

Local manufacturers, banks, stores, and shops, area hospitals, and women inventors, artists, and lawyers set up booths demonstrating women's contributions in these fields and possibilities for employment. Women's groups were represented by such organizations as the Women's Trade Union League, Business and Professional Women's Club, the Visiting Nurse Association, the YWCA, Hull House, the Illinois Club for Catholic Women, and the Auxiliary House of the Good Shepherd. The 1925 fair raised $50,000 ($741,500 today) and was so successful that it was held for three more years.

Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.

The Kranz Confectionery Store, Chicago, Illinois.

Kranz Confectionery Store opened its doors in 1868 on Blue Island Avenue, Chicago. John Krantz immigrated to America from Germany at the age of 15. 

Kranz moved the Confectionery to 126-30 State Street in 1881. Very little changed until the building was remodeled in the mid-1880s by architects Adler & Sullivan. Electric fixtures replaced the Gaslights. Kranz opened a second location at 78-80 State Street, Chicago. 

Although only pastries, ice cream, candies, and beverages were served, Mr. Kranz's fame continued over the years as he continually introduced the very latest creations made by highly specialized candy artists from Europe.

INDEX TO MY ILLINOIS AND CHICAGO FOOD & RESTAURANT ARTICLES.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

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.