CHICAGO AND ITS MAKERS—THE CITY OF THE 20TH CENTURY.
THE first purpose of our tourists was to see Chicago, the wonder of
the West.
They began at the Art Palace, where the statue of La Salle met
their view on the boulevard, bringing to mind those December days
of 1681, when the bold explorer coasted along the southern shore of
Lake Michigan, and ascended the Chicago River, on his way to the
Mississippi. Did he dream on that day that he entered the Chicago that
the live city of the West would be there?
There were great arches of bridges between the statue and the Art
Palace, and all the world seemed passing to the railroad and the
boats. The Lake rolled in splendor before the towering buildings, but
everything, the Art Palace included, seemed discolored with smoke. The
doors of the great Art Palace stood open, as it were, to receive
the homeless multitudes, coming from everywhere. It was the hospitable
door of Chicago.
[Illustration: CHICAGO FROM THE AUDITORIUM.]
It was a short walk from the Art Palace to the Auditorium Building,
which is a grand hotel and a theatre, and whose corridors might have
been halls of the Pharaohs, they are so dazzling, airy, and beautiful.
Every one here seemed to be in a hurry. If each one’s life were to be
fated to end with the day, no one could be more in a hurry. Yet every
one looked happy; it was not an anxious hurry, but an inspired hurry.
New York is slow and Boston slower, but here is the clock of destiny,
and one must _do_, ere it strike. The Chicagoan loves Chicago, and
resolves to make it the grandest city in the world.
[Illustration: LA SALLE.]
The dream is likely to be fulfilled. Our good Quaker friend said to a
boy in the pillared waiting-room of the Auditorium:
“My boy, how many miles is it to Boston?”
The boy gave a lightning glance, gathered up his mouth for one long
breath, and answered:—
“Thirty-two hours from Boston (1150 miles); twenty-nine hours from
Montreal; twenty-six hours from New York; twenty-four hours from
Philadelphia; twenty-six hours from Washington; three and a half days
from San Francisco; five days from the City of Mexico; nine days from
Queenstown; ten days from Paris; fifteen days from Rome, and sixteen
from St. Petersburg. Are there any other places that you would like to
inquire about?”
“The land of the ocean! No, not now. You seem to know all about the
world. Who is your father, my lad?”
“Daddyism don’t count in Chicago. You came from the East.”
“Yes, I came from the East; and how might a man from the East best see
Chicago?”
“Take an elevator—don’t you know the dining-room here is up top, and
the roof sweeps the city, the Lake, the Fair and everything!”
“Take an elevator?” said our sedate friend. “I never take any; I favor
temperance principles.”
“Oh, then take _the_ elevator. There, it is running now!”
“How many inhabitants do you claim, my lad?”
The answer was as extraordinary as the first:—
“South Division, half a million and more; West Division, half a
million and more; North Division, quarter of a million and more. I
reckon we are about two million in all. Can’t keep the run of the
census here.”
“My boy, if I should conclude to go to Lincoln’s tomb at Springfield,
what road would I take?”
The answer was more amazing still:—
“Oh, take the C. A. or the A. T. S. F. and change, or the C. A. and
change, or the C. I. If you take the C. A. or the A. T. S. F. or the
C. I., you will have to change in this way”—Here the boy began such a
distortion of the alphabet as could only be heard in a primary school.
“Do you know all the railroads that go out of Chicago?” asked the
Quaker.
“Most of them. There’s the A. T. and S. F; the B. and O.; the C. B.
and Q.; the C. E. and L. S.; the C. M. and S. P.; the C. R. I. and P.;
the C. S. P. and K. C.; the C. and A.; the C. and E.; the C. and E.
I.; the C. and G. T.; the C. and N.; the C. and N. P.; the C. and S.;
the C. and W. M.; the C. and W. I.; the C. C. C. and S. L., which is
the Big 4; the I. C.; the L. S. and M. C.; the M. C.; the M. L. S. and
W.; the M. P.; the N. Y. C. and St. L. Nickle Plate; the P. F. W. and
W.; and the W. C.”
[Illustration: ILLINOIS CENTRAL TERMINUS AND THE HARBOR.]
“If you wish to go to Springfield by a zigzag, picturesque kind of
route, take the—” Here the boy went off into the alphabet again.
“I am afraid I would never get there,” said our good friend, with
uplifted hands. “I think that we have about concluded to go to Lincoln
Park.”
The party did not find this an easy matter. They went to State Street;
the sidewalks were thronged with hurrying crowds; high buildings
towered in the sunny and smoky air.
“If I were to come to Chicago,” said the confused Quaker, “I would go
into the business of collars and cuffs. Mine were clean when I started
out—just see them now! But everybody looks clean; how do they do it?”
After many directions from policemen, the party found the car for
the famous park which is the delight and summer rest of Chicago. How
lovely it was! The great bronze statue of Lincoln arose before the
province of greenery; the Lake rippled near, expanding in purple
glory. They hurried toward the Zoölogical Gardens, which are among the
finest in the world. The parks and park lands of Chicago are many, and
cover nearly two thousand acres. But Lincoln Park, with its lake view
and animal shows, has a charm that exceeds all others, and not the
least of its attractions is “Admission Free.”
On their return from the park, where they visited the Grant Statue,
the flower gardens, and the wonderful collections of tamed animals,
the party went to the Auditorium Building, and looked down from the
top on the city as it lay spread out in the sunset. How different
was the scene from the fort and little hamlet in 1830! The city
practically filled the view.
The Post Office and Masonic Buildings are works of marvellous strength
and beauty; the stranger would pause in awe before them, did not the
crowd at all hours of the day hurry him on. One cannot conveniently
stop to talk on the streets in the activity of this rapid city. The
Women’s Temple is one of the noblest structures ever erected for
benevolent work by women, and the Produce Exchange fittingly expresses
its purpose.
[Illustration: PRODUCE EXCHANGE.]
The Palmer House is associated with the history of the city since the
fire, as few other buildings have been. There are few business men in
the country who have not at some time stopped there. The beautiful
private residence of its proprietor is famous for its hospitality,
and is as unique as it is noble. The women of America are proud of the
record of Mrs. Potter Palmer, and are glad that a woman of such public
spirit can organize her plans in such a liberal home. The private
residences of Mr. Kimball, Mr. McVeach, and the long procession of
mansions on Michigan Avenue, display an air, not of ease and rest, but
of purpose and energy. They picture the spirit of the times.
[Illustration: STATE STREET.]
[Illustration: MR. POTTER PALMER.]
[Illustration: MRS. POTTER PALMER.]
There are few public buildings in Europe that display a more massive
grandeur than the City Hall. It looks like a colossal palace reared
upon lofty foundations, and one from abroad would think that such a
structure would have cost the labor of a score of years. The city is
full of buildings from eight to sixteen or more stories high, that
look like towers.
The Union Stock-Yards here are the largest in the world. They cover
three hundred and fifty or more acres with more than eight miles of
streets,—a city of cattle. More than $200,000,000 worth of live-stock
are sold here annually.
Chicago is the world’s granary. Her grain-elevators would make a city.
She handles some 150,000,000 bushels of grain a year.
The Chicago River in 1830 flowed clear and full in view. It is now
shut into bridges, and is hardly noticed. The arrival and clearances
of vessels in Chicago harbor greatly exceed those of New York, and are
probably as many as or more than at the ports of New York and Boston
combined.
The lofty and substantial buildings greatly interested the good
Quaker, and on returning to the waiting-room of the Auditorium, he met
the bright boy who had given him such luminous instructions in regard
to the railroads.
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF MR. McVEACH.]
“Well, I found the park,” said our friend.
“Took the N. C. S. or W. S. cable, I suppose?” said the boy.
“I think so; the X. Y. Z. or Q. R. S. T. it might have been. I like
that park; it is like the story that had no end. What are your very
tallest houses here, my lad?”
“There’s the Ashland Block, sixteen stories high; this Auditorium,
seventeen stories high; C. C. B., thirteen stories high; C. M. B.,
fourteen stories high; M. B., sixteen stories high; and the Masonic
Building, twenty stories high.”
“There, there, that will do—twenty stories high!”
[Illustration: GREAT UNION STOCK-YARD.]
“There are many others, sir; the U. B., sixteen stories high, and—”
“You needn’t go over the alphabet any more. Why, boy, it would make me
crazy to live here. My house isn’t but two stories high; it is an A.
B. C. D. house in the perpendicular style of architecture.”
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF MR. KIMBALL.]
The party went to the great pork-packing establishment. Here the
poor pig has hardly a chance to squeal between his easy rural life
and sausage meat. The name of Mr. P. D. Armour is associated with
an industry, or business, such as the good New England farmer never
dreamed of in his simple life, when two pigs, killed after an heroic
struggle, were the supply for his frugal pork barrel. Corn, beef, and
pork are supply cities by themselves.
The railroad stations, too, would constitute a city. What wonder that
the boys say C. B. Q. and I. C. and C. N. W. and C. S. M. W. D.!
[Illustration: HIGH BUILDINGS IN CHICAGO.]
The city stretches into suburbs, which themselves widen away and
exhibit the outlines of new suburbs. The Hyde Park suburb, Pullman,
and other towns that make a semi-circle, are in themselves famous.
The Mississippi Valley, the old East, the great lake country of
the North,—all seem to focus here. Chicago will be the City of the
Twentieth Century.
[Illustration: A TEN-STORY HOUSE.]
[Illustration: A PORK-PACKING ESTABLISHMENT.]
The eastern and the old world tourists come here, with narrow views
and criticism, to which the true Chicagoan has neither the time nor
the interest to so much as listen. When this type of man enters into
the spirit of Chicago, and feels the new life, he often becomes
wonderfully enthusiastic. He lives for the future, and under new
horizons; his soul becomes prophetic; he feels that the age of
humanity is at hand, and that the city by the great inland sea is
to be the capital; and he merges himself in the multitude, and his
private interest becomes the good of the whole. All of the enterprises
are his; all of the builders are building for him. He has a part
in every new structure, enterprise, and beautiful house. One cannot
understand this spirit until he has felt it.
The men who lead, inspire him. Davis, Palmer, Pullman, Armour, the
grain-merchants, the public officers, are self-made men. Invention
and energy are here rewarded. The whole spirit of the place says
“Advance;” progress proclaims “I will.” Force and Chicago are one.
[Illustration: MR. P. D. ARMOUR.]
Go to the Temple, the scene of the activities of the Woman’s Christian
Temperance Union. It cost a million of dollars. It is the centre of
the work of the largest organization of women in the world; of ten
thousand moral reform societies in the country. All its directors are
women.
[Illustration: A PIG KILLER.]
Glance at the life of its President, Miss Frances Elizabeth Willard:
of New England ancestry, educated at Oberlin, taking a front rank
as an educator, living now on the platform, and wherever she goes
carrying her pen in hand. She projected the Woman’s Christian
Temperance Union, is the leader of the White Cross work, and one of
the leaders of the National Council of Women. She has set her New
England character everywhere in the West. She represents what the true
Chicago woman means to be to her age and generation. What does such an
example say to girls? What to all aspirators towards a worthy life?
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF MR. POTTER PALMER.]
[Illustration: MR. PULLMAN.]
Stand before the hospitable doors of the castle-like mansion where
Mrs. Potter Palmer has been accustomed to receive all worthy workers
in the cause of humanity and progress. One is proud to feel, in the
atmosphere of such a place, that in America queens are born, and that
their social thrones are won by nobility. That woman and her friends
gave to the Exposition a soul, or made the White City voice what is
spiritual. Such women put reform into stone and called it the Temple.
They will one day begin a daily journalism that shall lead all that is
best in the mind and heart of mankind.
Go to Pullman, some ten miles away. It has been called the model town
of the working-men. What does such a suburb say to the American youth?
Mr. George M. Pullman once rode on an old-fashioned sleeping-car.
He found it a hard experience. He did not sleep. But out of that
experience he invented. The Pullman Sleeping Car was the result.
People now travel and sleep. “Invent what is needed,” so says Pullman.
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF MR. PULLMAN.]
Mr. Pullman began life as a clerk in a country store. He now owns a
town and employs fifteen thousand people. “Answer the world’s needs,”
says the spirit of the thrifty town, “and you shall be supplied in the
supply.”
The builders of the expanding city by the Lake were poor boys.
Invention, energy, honesty made their success. Like Dr. Livingston,
when he graduated from Glasgow University, most of them can say,—“I
never had a dollar that I did not earn!” They do not merely
exist,—they live. When they have passed their generation they will
have left behind them a new creation of life.
[Illustration: BYZANTINE DOOR OF THE TRANSPORTATION BUILDING.]