Category Archives: Chicago

Monastery of the Holy Cross and Ling Shen Ching Tze Buddhist Temple

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Two stops on the churches by bus tour in the Bridgeport neighborhood of Chicago on Saturday weren’t churches any more, not at least as they’d originally been built. One was the Monastery of the Holy Cross on S. Aberdeen St.

Hermann Gaul designed the Gothic structure as Immaculate Conception Church in 1908. You have to like a tower that sports gargoyles.
It occurred to me that Gargoyle or the Gargoyles would be a good name for a punk or metal band, but as usual keener minds are ahead of me.

Eventually the church closed due to declining attendance, and some Benedictines took the place over in 1991. I understand that the monks have to be self-sustaining, so they operate a bed and breakfast on the property (which we did not see), and also sell coffins and CDs of their plainsong.

I’d say the brothers have done a pretty good job of keeping up the place.

As well as providing sacred art.
Here’s an unusual subject for a stained glass window, but it does reference the original name of the church. The glass depicts Pius IX promulgating Ineffabilis Deus, which defined the dogma of the Immaculate Conception, in 1854.
A block away from Monastery of the Holy Cross is Ling Shen Ching Tze Buddhist Temple, on W. 31st St. For most of its existence, the structure was Emmanuel Presbyterian Church. Which looks better, at least at the time of day I visited, in monochrome.

John Wellborn Root designed the church before his unfortunate death at 41, and Daniel Burnham oversaw its construction in 1894. In 1994, Ling Shen Ching Tze acquired the property.

A service was going on when we visited, so we could only peek inside.
The temple’s headquarters is in Washington state. As far as I can tell, it’s devoted to the teaching of Taoism, Sutrayana and Tantric philosophies. A mite different from Presbyterianism, no doubt.

St. Mary of Perpetual Help

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It’s been a few years since we took a church bus tour — 2014 and ’15, as it happens — so a while ago I looked into this year’s offerings from the newly renamed and relocated Chicago Architecture Center on E. Wacker Dr.

Formerly, Chicago Architecture Foundation. Why did the organization give up the solidity of foundation for the generic center?

Never mind, the tours look as good as ever. The church bus tour selection this year was a cluster of churches in the Bridgeport neighborhood of Chicago. Actually, four Christian churches, one monastery, and one Buddhist temple in a building that used to be a church, but has been modified to meet the needs of the Chinese-American population moving into Bridgeport from nearby Chinatown.

Even now, Bridgeport evokes the Irish. After all, that’s the neighborhood that gave Chicago the Daleys and, going back a little further, Mr. Dooley. Of course in our time, other ethnicities are in the mix, such as the aforementioned Chinese, but also an Hispanic population. As far as I can tell, Bridgeport never really was home to just one group, because even in the early days there were Irish, but also Germans, Poles, Lithuanians, Italians and Bohemians.

It hasn’t always been a peaceful place. “Bridgeport once stood as a bastion of white ethnic communities,” the Encyclopedia of Chicago says. “Racial and ethnic strife has always been part of its history. An almost legendary clash between the Germans and the Irish occurred in 1856. During the Civil War pro-Confederate rallies were held in the neighborhood. In the twentieth century Polish and Lithuanian gangs often clashed along Morgan Street.”

St. Mary of Perpetual Help, tucked away on W. 32nd St. in Bridgeport, originally had a Polish congregation. It’s a magnificent blend of styles, with Romanesque on the outside.
Inside, a handsome Byzantine style.

With impressive domes, though I didn’t manage a good shot of any of their exteriors.
Henry Engelbert designed the church, which was completed in 1892. He’s listed as one of the designers of Our Lady of Sorrows Basilica in Chicago, but he’s better known for his work in New York City. St. Mary of Perpetual Help’s interior was by John A. Mallin, who did the interiors of a lot of churches in his long career.

Here’s the resplendent altar.

Stations of the Cross, with original Polish.

First-rate stained glass, as you’d expect.

Everything looks impressively new, but that’s because during the decades of the 21st century so far, the parish has undertaken major restoration work both exterior and interior. Being able to raise that kind of money must count as a minor miracle, though probably not in the theological sense.

I Am What I Am, Even on Thursdays

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Something else I snapped while on foot downtown Chicago last week: the front of the I AM Temple on W. Washington St.

I didn’t go in. A sign on the door says ring bell and wait for someone. I prefer my religious sites to be self-service.

The organization’s HQ happens to be in the northwest suburbs, not downtown. Without digressing into detail — a foray into the rabbit hole, that is — it’s enough to say that, according to Britannica, “I AM movement, theosophical movement founded in Chicago in the early 1930s by Guy W. Ballard (1878–1939), a mining engineer, and his wife, Edna W. Ballard (1886–1971)…. Ballard claimed that in 1930 during a visit to Mount Shasta (a dormant volcano in northern California), he was contacted by St. Germain, one of the Ascended Masters of the Great White Brotherhood.”

Is it possible that Popeye is a prophet of this movement? After all, he appeared ca. 1930 and was known to say, “I yam what I yam.”

Also, why are rabbit holes a metaphor for endless, bewildering complications? Are rabbit holes that complex? Maybe warrens are, but that isn’t the way the saying goes. Wouldn’t ant nests or prairie dog towns be more suitable?

Another day, another stash of Roman coins dug up in Italy. Late Roman imperial era, the article says.

Bonus: they were gold coins. That’s something I’d like to find in the basement, though strictly speaking, we don’t have a basement. Roman gold-coin hordes must be pretty scarce in the New World, anyway.

Late Roman imperial era, eh? I can imagine it: “Quick, find a place to bury the gold! The Visigoths are coming! We’ll come back for it later.”

The event probably wasn’t that dramatic, but someone put the horde there, presumably not to lose track of it — but they did, for 1,500 or more years. Distant posterity is the beneficiary.

Strictly by coincidence, Ann and I watched the first episode of I, Claudius last weekend, which is available on disk (but not on demand: what kind of world is this?). Been a long time since I’ve seen it. Early ’90s, I think, as it was available in Japan on VHS. I also saw it when I was roughly Ann’s age, on PBS when it was pretty new.

The other day I used bifurcation in an article. That’s more common in business writing than one might think, since it’s sometimes used to describe markets dividing in some way or other (often, winners and losers). It’s also I word I can never remember how to spell, so I always look it up.

Google has replaced a trip to a dictionary as the default for spelling. Sad to say, since the possibility of lateral learning is rife while thumbing through a dictionary. Many times in earlier years I spied an entry, not the one I was looking for, and thought, I didn’t know that word.

Then again, there can be sideways learning with Google. If you let it. Not satisfied with mere spelling, I fed “bifurcation” into Google News to see what would happen. Every single hit on the first page linked to items in the Indian English-language media.

From the Times of India:

GMDA can’t plan drain bifurcation now, say greens

Bifurcate HC too: Centre backs Telangana’s petition in SC

Bifurcation of Badshapur drain on cards to avert flooding in Hero …

From The Hindu:

‘Telangana drawing water from NSP without KRMB approval’

Demand for bifurcation of municipal corporation getting stronger

From the New Indian Express:

Centre to expedite High Court bifurcation: Vinod Kumar

Clearly, the word gets more mileage on the Subcontinent than in this country.

Two Downtown Chicago Churches

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Yesterday evening at about 8:15 I was out walking the dog — sometimes it’s an after-dark activity now that there’s more darkness — and I spotted a pale yellow slender crescent moon hanging just over the western horizon. Low enough to appear luminously large. Quite a sight.

Just after the new moon signifying Rosh Hashanah, I realized. I couldn’t remember the year’s number, so I looked that up: 5779.

While downtown last week, on the way back to Union Station to return home, I ducked briefly into two churches. I’d been in them before, but they’re always good for a look.
One was St. Peter’s in the Loop, a Catholic church on W. Madison St.
The enormous crucifix is by Latvian artist Arvid Strauss. The building dates from 1953. According to Heavenly City: The Architectural Tradition of Catholic Chicago by Denis McNamara, “the stepped-back roof profile of the exterior recalls the Art Deco skyscapers [architects Vitzthum and Burns] had designed and gave the church a modern sensibility, but the facade retained the sign value of churchliness with Gothic decorative elements, pink Georgia marble, and [the] monumental exterior cruxifix…”

The interior. Sacred deco, you might call it.
The building is more just the sanctuary. Tucked away in the structure, hidden from casual visitors like me, are an auditorium, library, offices, meeting rooms and friary completed with living quarters, kitchen and a chapel for the Franciscans who run the place.

Not far away is the First United Methodist Church at the Chicago Temple, an unusual arrangement for a church. It’s at the base and top floors of a 568-foot skyscraper on W. Washington St. I didn’t take any exteriors, but this is what it looks like. A Holabird & Roche design from the 1920s.

It features another handsome interior.
With fine stained glass.

I had no time to tour the Sky Chapel again — I visited ca. 2002 — which is at top of the building and open every day at 2 p.m. It’s a sacred space unlike any other I know.

Views From 151 N. Franklin St.

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Last week I attended an event on the top floor of 151 N. Franklin St., a new office building in downtown Chicago. I had a few moments to admire the excellent views.

Looking slightly to east-northeast, roughly. In a gap far to the right is a slice of Lake Michigan.

To the south-southwest, roughly. The tower formerly known as Sears rises above all, including annoying reflections.

Straight north.

The building with the four roof features — maybe those count as cupolas — is 225 W. Wacker Dr., a 30-story late ’80s development designed by Kohn Pedersen Fox. A vertical shot of that building.
Behind it, or rather to the north, across the Chicago River, is the much more horizontal Merchandise Mart.

More about the 35-story 151 N. Franklin is here, including a mention of the views from the top. Here’s the thing that struck me: the building was just completed. That means these are spanking-new views of Chicago.

The Henry C. Palmisano Nature Park (Mount Bridgeport)

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Not long ago, I found myself looking up this hill.

I climbed the steps, since I still have the energy for that kind of thing sometimes, and at the top of the hill is this vista.
That only goes to show how easy it is for an image to mislead. How would someone merely looking at the first image know that the hilltop has a fine view of downtown Chicago from the southwest?

Anyway, I was at the Henry C. Palmisano Nature Park, though I have a good source that tells me its informal name is Mount Bridgeport, after the surrounding neighborhood, and it rises 33 feet above street level.

“In the late 1830s, the land was purchased by the Illinois Stone and Lime Company which began quarry operations,” says the Chicago Park District. “Within a short time, one of its partners, Marcus Cicero Stearns, took over and renamed the quarry. Stearns was an early Chicago settler who got his start by opening a supply store for workmen who blasted out rock to build the Illinois and Michigan Canal.

“Even after Stearns died in 1890, the quarry continued operating under his name until 1970. For the next few decades, the site was used as a landfill for clean construction debris. After the dumping ended, the idea of transforming the site into a new park emerged.”

The transformation took some time, but a park finally opened on the site in 2009, named for a man who died in 2006. It’s more than a grassy hill with a view, though that’s a standout feature in flatland like Illinois.

The path goes off in other directions.
Other parts of the city are visible from the hill.
Part of the old quarry hole is now a pond, available for catch-and-release fishing, according to a nearby sign.
This may be the closest waterfall to downtown Chicago. Modest, but nice to look at. The stream goes to the quarry-pond.
“This is a dynamic park, with a fishing pond, interpretive wetlands, preserved quarry walls, trails, an athletic field, a running track, and a hill that offers dramatic views,” the Park District notes. “Over 1.7 miles of paths, including recycled timber boardwalks, concrete walks, a crushed stone running path, and metal grating walkways traverse the park.”

The Stevenson Expressway is visible, and very much audible, from the park. How many of the many drivers on that highway have any notion of such an excellent park nearby?

I never did for some years. “What’s that park?” I wondered some time ago while looking at a map of Chicago, making a mental note to visit when I would be nearby, which happened to be just before Labor Day. Being a map enthusiast has its rewards.

Allen J. Benson Park. Or, the Illinois-Indiana Border Obelisk.

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I have a certain fascination with borders, probably dating back as long as I’ve been looking at maps just for fun, which is a long time now. I seem to have written about them a lot as well, something I didn’t realize until I checked.

Such as the posting about the meeting of British Columbia and Alberta; of Banff National Park and Kootenay National Park; and on the Continental Divide. Or the U.S. Canadian border just south of Vancouver. Or the borders we crossed in 2005 and 2006 and another posting about them again. Or the Tennessee-North Carolina border. Or Missouri-Kansas. Or Texas-Louisiana.

Not long ago, I had an encounter with a closer border: Illinois-Indiana. But not just any point on that long line — as far northwest as you can go in Indiana and still be on land, because the NW corner of the state is actually a point in Lake Michigan.

This is what you see at the Illinois-Indiana line just a few feet from Lake Michigan, while you are standing in Indiana.
A weatherworn, graffiti-scarred limestone obelisk. This is a closer view.
“In 1833, as Chicago and the Midwest were starting to grow, Congress ordered a new survey of the boundary between Illinois and Indiana,” says Chicago History Today, which asserts that the obelisk is the oldest public monument in Chicago. “When the survey was completed, a 15-foot high limestone obelisk was put in place on the shore of Lake Michigan, straddling the state line.

“By the 1980s the marker was isolated and neglected among the rail yards. Allen J. Benson, a ComEd executive, convinced the company to sponsor its restoration, in conjunction with the East Side Historical Society and other interested groups. In 1988 the marker was moved 190 feet north to its present location, just outside the [ComEd coal-fired power plant] gate. A new base was added at that time.”

Though moved into an area created by landfill, I understand that the obelisk still straddles the north-south Illinois-Indiana border, which a few feet further north heads out into Lake Michigan. It’s also the border between the city of Chicago and the city of Hammond. (Chicago extended out this far in massive 1889 annexation, which is yellow on the map.)

There’s a plaque near the obelisk that says the small area (maybe inside the fence) is Allen J. Benson Park to honor the exec, who has since died. The power plant closed in 2012, and its former site, a brownfield on the Indiana side of the line, is being redeveloped to be home to a data center.

When the plant was up and running, the marker didn’t look quite so forlorn: in the 2011, according to a Wikimedia image, three flagpoles and some trees were in the vicinity — but no metal fence — and there were plaques on the side of the obelisk with the state names. Guess they were stolen. Such is life in the big city, but I’m glad this curiosity from the 19th century still stands.

Oz Park

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Oz Park is a mid-sized green space on the North Side of Chicago, bounded by W. Webster Ave. on the north and W. Dickens Ave. on the south, though there’s a patch of it south of Dickens; and N. Larrabee St. on the east and N. Burling St. on the west, which is a block east of Halsted.

After strolling north on Halsted recently, I visited Oz Park. Baseball fields and tennis courts take up much of the park, and people were using them to the fullest the day I wandered by. A fair share of the park is wooded or grassy, with walking or bicycling paths snaking through. Occasionally life is a walk in the park.

Oz Park is a successful example of urban renewal. That movement gets a bad rap, and it mostly should, but there are worthwhile spots as a result.

“In the 1960s, the Lincoln Park Conservation Association approached the City of Chicago in efforts to improve the community, and the neighborhood was soon designated as the Lincoln Park Urban Renewal Area,” the Chicago Park District says.

“The urban renewal plan identified a 13 acre-site for a new park, and in 1974, the Chicago Park District acquired the land. In 1976, the park was officially named Oz Park in honor of Lyman Frank Baum (1856-1919), the author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.”

Baum didn’t live in Lincoln Park, but he did live in Chicago, so close enough. Certain aspects of the park honor his work, such as the Emerald Garden.

In more recent decades, Wizard of Oz characters have come to the park, such as the Scarecrow, who’s at one of the Emerald Garden entrances.
“In the early 1990s, the Oz Park Advisory Council and the Lincoln Park Chamber of Commerce commissioned artist John Kearney to create a Tin Man sculpture, installed in October 1995, the Cowardly Lion, installed in May 2001, and the 7 ft., 800 lb. cast bronze Scarecrow, installed June 2005,” the park district says. “In Spring 2007 Dorothy & Toto joined their friends in the park.”

Being first, the Tin Man is the most prominent, standing in a highly visible spot where Larabee, Webster and Lincoln Ave. meet (Lincoln’s a diagonal that passes by the northeast corner of the park).

West of the Tin Man are Dorothy and Toto, standing back a bit in the shade.
Note the Ruby Slippers, not Silver Shoes. Artist’s prerogative, I guess.

I didn’t see the Cowardly Lion, but I figured he was elsewhere was in the park. As he is.

North Halsted, North to Dickens

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Recently while in the city I took a stroll on N. Halsted St. from North Ave. to W. Dickens Ave. It was a pleasant summer day, but a little hot, so I spent most of my walk on the east side of the street — the shady side.

Sure, the song says to direct your feet to the sunny side of the street. That might be all right some times of the year, but not so much on a clear summer day.

As I wandered along, I decided to take pictures of ordinary North Side buildings along Halsted. I didn’t keep careful notes, but anyone wanting to know exact locations can consult Google Streetview.

Here’s the corner of Halsted and Dickens. Nice building. Then I turned east on Dickens.

Just a small sample. Halsted is a long street, passing through interesting areas both north and south in the city.

Last Thursday in June Olla Podrida

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A few days ago, when it was cloudy and cool, I happened to be at the Schaumburg Town Center. The place has an underappreciated garden. Underappreciated by me, anyway.Since then, genuine summer has returned in the form of warmer temps. High 90s are forecast for the weekend. It’s been a rainy summer so far, though.

One detail I forgot to mention about the Lincoln Museum. Ann said she was most amused by learning that in his youth, the president was a talented ax-thrower. I was amused too. They took entertainment where they could get it in the 19th century.

One more picture from the Lincoln Museum. Don’t recognize them? On Jeopardy, the clue would be “Maj. Henry Rathbone and Clara Harris.”

The question: Which couple was in the presidential box with the Lincolns at Ford’s Theatre?

Their story is as sad as that of the Lincolns, or even worse. Rathbone later married Harris, but his mental health deteriorated in the following years, and he eventually murdered her. He died in 1911 in an insane asylum.

Saw this not long ago in Chicago, on Irving Park Blvd.
A bust of Jose P. Rizal, ophthalmologist and martyred Philippine nationalist. How many ophthalmologists get to be national heroes as well? I can’t think of any others.