John Singer Sargent (1856–1925) was the most sought-after portraitist of his generation on both sides of the Atlantic, creating powerful, vibrant likenesses of his models. Best known for his portraits, Sargent nevertheless excelled in a variety of genres, including landscapes, watercolors, and murals. Born in Florence to American parents, he lived his life abroad, traveling the world in search of his subjects and working professionally for more than 50 years. A truly cosmopolitan artist, Sargent’s Chicago story has yet to be told. The first major exhibition of the painter’s work at the museum in over 30 years, John Singer Sargent and Chicago’s Gilded Age presents the full range of Sargent’s talents, tracing his Chicago connections while also illuminating the city’s vibrant art scene at the turn of the 20th century. Sargent first showed at the Art Institute—at the time located at Michigan Avenue and Van Buren Street—in 1890, the year Chicago officially became the nation’s “second city” in terms of population. Among his paintings on view was La Carmencita, a striking portrait of a Spanish dancer that is at once old and new—a tribute to Old Master painting that is also an Impressionist exploration of color and brushwork. The composition drew crowds of visitors to the museum, helping to put Chicago on the map as a recognized center for contemporary art and culture.
Madame X, John Singer Sargent
Summer Women, John Singer Sargent
Miss Elsie Palmer, John Singer Sargent (1890)
This dramatic early showing was followed by many more Chicago exhibitions. Between 1888 and 1925, Sargent’s paintings were included in more than 20 public displays in the city, among them the Inter-State Industrial Exposition, the World’s Columbian Exposition, exhibitions at the Arts Club of Chicago, and the Art Institute’s American Annuals.
Bridge of Sighs, Venice, Italy, John Singer Sargent watercolor
In a Levantine Port, John Singer Sargent watercolor (1905-6)
The artist’s presence in Chicago owed much to local businessman Charles Deering, who built an important collection of his work over a lifetime of friendship. Other Art Institute supporters such as Martin A. Ryerson, Annie Swan Coburn, and Robert Allerton helped establish a Sargent legacy for the city. Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.
Businesswoman, educator, inventor and philanthropist Annie Turnbo Malone was born to Robert Turnbo and Isabella Cook in Metropolis, Illinois, on August 9, 1869. Her parents were former slaves, and her father joined the Union Army during the Civil War. Malone attended school in Peoria, Illinois, but she never finished high school. Instead, she practiced hairdressing with her sister. When she and her family moved to Lovejoy, Illinois, Annie decided she wanted to become a "beauty doctor." At age 20, she had already developed her own shampoo and scalp treatment to grow and straighten hair. Taking her creation to the streets, she went around in a buggy, making speeches to demonstrate and promote the new shampoo. By 1902, Annie Malone's home shampoo venture thrived, and she moved to St. Louis, Missouri, home to the nation's fourth-largest African American population, to expand her business. She was largely successful and trademarked her beauty products under the name "Poro." sidebar
Annie Malone called it Poro, a West African (Mende) male secret or devotional society ─ an organization located throughout Liberia and Sierra Leone dedicated to disciplining and enhancing the body spiritually and physically. There were some elements of the term that seem to indicate beauty. Even though it was not in vogue during that era, Annie wanted to connect her "Poro Agents" to their African roots, and this was her way of doing that. She and her assistants sold her unique brand of hair care products door to door.
She had launched her hair care business four years before Sarah Breedlove (later known as Madam C. J. Walker). In the early 1900s, Madam Walker worked as a "Poro Agent" for Annie for about one year. Turnbo married in 1903, but soon after her marriage, her husband sought to control her business venture, and she divorced him. She married again on April 28, 1914, to school principal Aaron Eugene Malone. The marriage lasted 13 years but ended in divorce, but they kept the name Malone. In her lifetime, Malone became one of the nation's wealthiest black women. She became a leading cosmetic entrepreneur and a leader in the St. Louis black community. In 1918, Poro's success allowed Malone to build a four-story, million-dollar factory and beauty school complex in the historic black neighborhood of "The Ville" in St. Louis. It employed over 175 people and enabled young black women to pursue their high school and college educations by providing them with jobs and lodging.
She donated the first $10,000 to build the St. Louis Colored Orphan's Home new building in 1919 and served as board President from 1919 to 1943. During the 1920s, Malone's philanthropy included financing the education of two full-time students in every historically black college and university in the country. Her $25,000 donation to Howard University was among the largest gifts the university had received from a private donor of African descent. She also contributed to the Tuskegee Institute. She donated thousands of dollars to educational programs, universities, the YMCA, and nearly every black orphanage.
In 1930, Malone relocated her business to Chicago; the St. Louis Poro College and Malone's fortune declined. At the time of her death in Chicago on May 10, 1957, Poro Beauty Colleges still operated in over 30 cities nationwide. Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.
A brief background about the competition between the Chicago Herald-Examiner and the Chicago Tribune newspapers: The Chicago Herald-Examiner was William Randolph Hearst's Chicago newspaper. Its reporters were among the most aggressive and creative in the city. The paper was founded as the "Chicago Morning American" in 1902 and was renamed the "Chicago Examiner" in 1907. After a merger caused in part by circulation wars with the Tribune Company, the paper was combined with the Chicago Record-Herald and became the "Chicago Herald-Examiner." The paper was never highly profitable, but it vied with the Tribune as a leader in the city’s morning circulation. The rivalry with the Tribune became increasingly unsuccessful in the 1930s. After additional mergers, the paper was sold to the Tribune Company in 1956. After WWI, the Chicago Herald-Examiner was Chicago's only other major daily morning newspaper, second only to McCormick-Patterson's Chicago Tribune. The Tribune Company faced formidable competition from Hearst. In the early 1920s, the Tribune Company owned only three U.S. newspapers. Hearst, on the other hand, spanned the country with an empire consisting of twenty daily papers, eleven Sunday papers, and a Sunday supplement. The circulation wars between the Chicago Tribune and Chicago Herald-Examiner grew heated and sometimes even violent as gangs hired by each of the circulation departments ambushed their rival's trucks and pressured newsagents into displaying only their own company's newspaper. There were personal and political dimensions to this rivalry as well. The Chicago Herald-Examiner supported the democrats, the Chicago Tribune had a long history of supporting the Republican Party. Moreover, Hearst, who aspired unsuccessfully to be the mayor of New York City, governor of New York, and the president of the United States had contributed through attacks in his paper, to the demise of Robert McCormick's own political career. Increasingly outlandish publicity stunts bounced circulation up and down and back and forth between the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Herald-Examiner. One of the most expensive promotions occurred during the 1921 Christmas season.
So, with the background covered, here is the story: On December 4, 1921, the United States government ordered Chicago area citizens to stop smiling. It said so on the front page of the morning paper.
The saga began in late October of 1921 when the Chicago Herald-Examiner published an article about eccentric millionaire Harry Phillips. He was passing out money to complete strangers, just to see them smile. The Chicago Herald-Examiner was the Hearst-owned morning daily. The paper was trying to overtake the ChicagoTribune, and the Phillips story was just the sort of stunt that Hearst often used. Then the Chicago Herald-Examiner reported that Phillips had left town. But never fear—Hearst’s paper would carry on the philanthropy. Each weekday copy of the Chicago Herald-Examiner would now contain a Smile Coupon with a different serial number. On Sunday there would be a raffle, with a $1,000 grand prize. That would keep Chicago smiling!
The drawing took place on November 13th. The $1,000 winner was a Sears clerk—and sure enough, she smiled. So the Chicago Herald-Examiner announced it was putting $25,000 ($355,750 today) into a pot, to be paid out in $1,000 daily raffles. At first, the Chicago Tribune took no notice of its rival’s stunt. But during the first weeks of the Smile campaign, the Hearst paper’s circulation jumped 25% to 500,000, about the same as the Chicago Tribune. And on Thanksgiving Day, the Chicago Herald-Examiner increased its pot to $100,000, with $3,000 in daily prizes.
So now the ChicagoTribune launched its own giveaway. With Christmas approaching, the paper would start printing Cheer Checks. And the ChicagoTribune‘s program would be bigger and better. The World’s Greatest Newspaper would be distributing $200,000 ($711,500 today) — $5,000 ($71,150 today) each day. Now the whole city was caught up in the frenzy. News dealers reported people buying armloads of papers, ripping out the coupons, and tossing the rest into the street. Fights broke out among customers trying to purchase papers. The daily prizes went to $6,000, then $7,000. The special Sunday drawing reached $20,000 ($284,600 today).
By December 4th, the circulation of each paper was over 1,000,000. On that day, both the Chicago Herald-Examiner and the ChicagoTribune received telegrams from the U.S. Postmaster General accusing them of holding lotteries and shut the whole thing down. From then on, people would have to find their own reasons to smile. Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.
We’re always being told to save more money. But this time, did a Chicago bank go too far? The First National Bank of Englewood was located at 347-349 West 63rd Street in Chicago. In 1910 the neighborhood was upper-middle-class, and booming. The bank was doing fine. But like any smart business, officials at First Englewood knew they could do better.
First National Bank of Englewood, 347-349 West 63rd Street, Chicago, Illinois
The bank began publishing a small monthly magazine called Savings. It was distributed free in the community, and had the usual tips on how to save money. All pretty bland and innocent. Then, in the December 1909 issue, readers were treated to the following advice from the fine folks at First Englewood:
“One woman’s method of saving money—or perhaps we should say one of a woman’s methods of saving money—is to go through her husband’s pockets every night while he gently slumbers. All the loose change she finds she deposits in our bank at interest.”
Now a month had passed. During that time, the bank had added 500 new depositors. The head cashier said there was only one way to explain this—the wives of Englewood had been inspired by the article, and were filching coin from their sleeping mates. Strange as it might seem, some men thought First Englewood’s savings campaign was unethical. The editor of Savings didn’t agree. The bank was merely helping the community become more thrifty. “For the last ten years we have made a close study of the people of Englewood,” he said. “At last we have the combination.”
As for the wives, many said they’d taken advantage of Christmas celebrations to acquire some of hubby’s cash. This had caused some excitement for one lady on Normal Avenue. “The first time I tried separating my husband from his money, he came to me all out of breath and said that thieves had entered the house,” the woman recalled. “I said nothing until he rushed for the telephone to inform the police. Then I asked him to wait a minute and maybe I might explain.” With that, the woman fetched her copy of Savings and pointed to the appropriate paragraph. Her husband laughed. All was well again on Normal Avenue. The First National Bank of Englewood continued building its business in the years ahead, thriving along with the community. During the 1930s the bank became involved in a long dispute with the federal government. It closed in 1941. by John R. Schmidt
She was born on October 26, 1911, as Mahala Jackson and nicknamed "Halie." Jackson grew up in the Black Pearl section of the Carrollton neighborhood of uptown New Orleans. In 1927, at the age of 16, Mahalia Jackson moved to Chicago, Illinois, in the midst of the Great Migration. In 1929, Jackson met the composer Thomas A. Dorsey, known as the Father of Gospel Music. He gave her musical advice, and in the mid-1930s they began a 14-year association of touring, with Jackson singing Dorsey's songs in church programs and at conventions. His "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" became her signature song. In 1930 or 1931 she added the "i" to her name, changing it from Mahala to Mahalia, so people would pronounce her name properly. Jackson liked to practice her singing at night while she cooked and cleaned her flat. The landlord complained about the noise, so Jackson saved her money and bought her own apartment building. That didn’t work, either—now her tenants were saying she was too loud.
"I sing God's music because it makes me feel free," Jackson once said about her choice of gospel, adding, "It gives me hope. With the blues, when you finish, you still have the blues."
In 1950, Jackson became the first gospel singer to perform at Carnegie Hall when Joe Bostic produced the Negro Gospel and Religious Music Festival. She started touring Europe in 1952 and was hailed by critics as the "world's greatest gospel singer". In Paris she was called the "Angel of Peace," and throughout the continent she sang to capacity audiences. The tour, however, had to be cut short due to exhaustion.
In 1956 Jackson decided the only solution was to buy a house for herself. Driving around the Chatham neighborhood on Chicago's South Side, she stopped at a number of homes with “For Sale” signs out front. At each one, she was told that the property had just been sold. Chatham was an all-white area. Though restrictive covenants had been outlawed by the U.S. Supreme Court, that didn’t seem to matter. “The attention I had been getting from white people for my singing had sort of confused me,” Jackson wrote later. “They still didn’t want me as their neighbor.” Jackson then went to a real estate agent. A white surgeon had a house on the market at 84th and Indiana. When told the identity of the prospective buyer, the surgeon said he was “proud to sell my house to Mahalia Jackson.” The news of Jackson’s purchase at 8358 South Indiana Avenue in Chicago (Historical Marker outside the house) sent the neighborhood into a frenzy.
Mahalia Jackson's House at 8358 South Indiana Avenue, Chicago, Illinois
A local Catholic priest who tried to calm things was ignored. Protest meetings were held. Jackson received hostile phone calls at all hours of the night, threatening to dynamite the house. The situation didn’t improve when she moved in. Rifle bullets were fired through her window. A police guard was posted, and remained in front of the house for nearly a year. “I hadn’t intended to start a crusade,” Jackson recalled. “All I wanted was a quiet, pretty home to live in.” Early in 1958 Edward R. Murrow brought his Person-to-Person interview program to Jackson’s home. Jackson used the occasion to invite the local kids over for ice cream and cake, and a chance to appear on TV. When many of the children show up, Jackson thought she was finally being accepted. A cynic once described integration as “the time between the first black family moving in, and the last white family moving out.” Jackson’s neighborhood followed that course. Scared by panic-peddling realtors and afflicted by their own prejudice, all the whites eventually cleared out. At the March on Washington in 1963, Jackson sang in front of 250,000 people "How I Got Over" and "I Been 'Buked and I Been Scorned." Martin Luther King Jr. made his famous "I Have a Dream" speech there. She also sang "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" at his funeral after he was assassinated in 1968. “The white people swore we would ruin it,” Jackson wrote about the neighborhood in her 1966 autobiography. “They said it would be a slum overnight. But it hasn’t changed. The grass is still green. The lawns are as neat as ever. Children still whiz up and down on their bikes.” So it was in 1966. And so it still is today.
Mahalia Jackson sings Amazing Grace.
She was described by entertainer Harry Belafonte as "the single most powerful black woman in the United States." She recorded about 30 albums (mostly for Columbia Records) during her career, and her 45 rpm records included a dozen "golds"—million-sellers. She ended her career in 1971 and devoted much of her time and energy to helping others. She established the Mahalia Jackson Scholarship Foundation for young people who wanted to attend college. For her efforts in helping international understanding, she received the Silver Dove Award. Chicago remained her home until the end. She opened a beauty parlor and a florist shop with her earnings, while also investing in real estate ($100,000 a year at her peak). Jackson died on January 27, 1972, at Little Company of Mary Hospital in Evergreen Park, Illinois, of heart failure and diabetes complications. Two cities paid tribute: Chicago and New Orleans. Beginning in Chicago, outside the Greater Salem Baptist Church, 50,000 people filed silently past her mahogany, glass-topped coffin in final tribute to the queen of gospel song. The next day, as many people who could—6,000 or more—filled every seat and stood along the walls of the city's public concert hall, the Arie Crown Theater of McCormick Place, for a two-hour funeral service. Her pastor, Rev. Leon Jenkins, Mayor Richard J. Daley and Mrs. Coretta Scott King eulogized her during the Chicago funeral as "a friend – proud, black and beautiful". Sammy Davis Jr. and Ella Fitzgerald paid their respects. Joseph H. Jackson, president of the National Baptist Convention, U.S.A., Inc., delivered the eulogy at the Chicago funeral. Aretha Franklin closed the Chicago rites with a moving rendition of "Precious Lord, Take My Hand." Three days later, a thousand miles away, the scene repeated itself: again the long lines, again the silent tribute, again the thousands filling the great hall of the Rivergate Convention Center in downtown New Orleans this time. Mahalia Jackson was inducted as a Laureate of The Lincoln Academy of Illinois and awarded the Order of Lincoln (the State’s highest honor) by the Governor of Illinois in 1967 in the area of The Performing Arts. Mahalia Jackson won Grammy Awards in 1961, 1962, 1972 and 1976. Jackson was posthumously inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame, a special Grammy award established in 1973 to honor artists whose recordings are at least twenty-five years old and have "qualitative or historical significance," in 1947, 1956 and 1958. Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.
