Some of Chicago's Public Baths

If you're a Chicago history type, you may know about Chicago's public bathhouses.  These were built from the 1890s through the 1910s in working-class neighborhoods.  At that time, many Chicagoans (especially immigrants) lived in cheap apartment buildings lacking hot water, with only a shared bathroom.  If you've heard the term "cold water flat," that's what it describes. 

So, the Chicago City Council stepped in and required every landlord to install a central water heater and private baths for their tenants. HA HA HA, THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN!  That would have alienated their wealthiest voters and resulted in a blizzard of lawsuits.  Instead, city administrators bought property, designed no-frills bathhouses, and built a few where they were most needed. And it really was just a few.  Imagine 20 bathhouses serving the entire city in 1910. 

I don't mean to belittle this.  It was a major Progressive Era accomplishment.  It was also an important achievement for women reformers looking to improve the city.  During this very sexist time, women were permitted to participate in public health initiatives, which were seen as more appropriate for their "natural" inclinations.  In this case, the Municipal Order League, a women's reform organization established in 1892, actively advocated for bathhouses.

Most people imagine a huge shower room, but it was actually individual cubbies where you could change, then access a private shower stall.  Although the bathhouse was free, you could pay a nominal fee to rent a towel and buy some soap.  The basement held the water heater and laundry equipment. The second floor had an apartment for the bathhouse attendant.  Men and women used the same building, but on different days.  If you said you were busy washing your hair, that was valid-- the lines were long...

Eventually, the building codes were changed, and new construction was required to provide private bathrooms and bathing facilities.  After WWII, attendance at public baths fell rapidly.

A good book on bathhouses is "Washing the Great Unwashed: Public Baths in Urban America, 1840-1920," by Marilyn Thornton Williams.  There's also a good article on the old Forgotten Chicago website: Public Bath Houses | Forgotten Chicago | History, Architecture, and Infrastructure.  

But a 1969 report put together by Chicago's Department of Development and Planning is maybe the most interesting.  It can be read here:  1969 A Report Concerning The Chicago Public Bath House System DPD : City of Chicago : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Primarily a planning report, it provides an overview of the public bath program, along with strong photography. It's also clear that the architecture is not considered notable.  Even so, it suggests landmarking the Ogden Public Bathhouse for its importance to Chicago's social history and as a representative example of its type.  The Commission on Chicago Landmarks, established by ordinance in 1968, presumably considered this recommendation. 

None of these public baths were ever landmarked, and I really don't know why. They were all city-owned, so who would have objected? Today, most have been demolished, though a few survivors were converted into single-family homes or adapted as park district buildings. But for a city that basically invented the public bath system, it's become just another historical footnote.  

These illustrations are adapted from photos included in the 1969 report.  For the ones that are long gone (all of them except Medill), I had to guess the color scheme.  I drew the buildings in pen, then scanned and colored them in Photoshop.

Some Gambrel Roof Homes of Chicago

Back in 2022, I had this idea to do a series of illustrations of homes in Chicago with gambrel roofs.  For the uninitiated, that's the roof commonly described as "you know, like a barn." Maybe it had to do with an interest in the differences between style and form, and how various styles can utilize the same form for very different effects.

But that ultimately wasn't as interesting as just drawing and digitally coloring a variety of thematically similar buildings and letting them play off one another.  These run the gamut from high-style interpretations of the Classical Revival to vernacular frame homes covered in stone-patterned concrete.  

I liked these so much I had the crazy idea of putting a print on Etsy and watching the money roll in!  That did not work out. But I still like them enough to share.

In another iteration of this blog, I would give some history and background of each one.  But if I'm going to try to post here again, I need to make it easy on myself...

Mid-Century Buildings on Peterson Avenue

Lately there's been interest in the extraordinary mid-century architecture on Peterson Avenue, from the Edgewater neighborhood west through West Ridge, North Park and Forest Glen.  This is a good time to take a closer look Peterson, since many of the most interesting buildings have been vacant for an uncomfortably long time...

Peterson is not an attractive street.  It basically functions as an urban speedway, with four lanes and enormous intersections.   If you're on Peterson, you're probably in a car.  These buildings are designed to catch the eye of someone moving by quickly.  The three office buildings on top use a combination of textured materials, patterns, and colors to spark interest, while the façades are designed to create a sense of enclosure and protection from the nearby speedway.  

But they still follow an earlier pattern of commercial design: close to the street, with parking in the back. Later development would often put the parking lot front and center, which solved some of the proximity problems, but created an uncomfortable, auto-dominated environment.

In contrast, the building on the bottom (a former furniture showroom) uses its enormous windows to create an immediate visual connection between the interior and exterior.  An undulating concrete canopy above the second floor adds interest and maybe even a little shade. Sadly, the old sign framed with roman columns is long gone.  I had to use an old Google Street View image to get its details.

All of these buildings, constructed in the 1960s, hold a significant place in the history of Peterson Avenue. The third one down has already been demolished, but I hope that's not a sign of things to come.

Some shoebox houses in the K-Town Historic District of Chicago on the West Side.  Documenting and illustrating these buildings was one way I stayed sane during quarantine.  Dates of construction range from the 1900s through the 1910s.  

I can't help but be impressed by the level of detail lavished on homes that are comparable in size to a 2-bedroom apartment!  It was only possible due to inexpensive land and materials and the craftsmanship of Czech immigrants. Architectural styles represented include Queen Anne, Classical Revival, Prairie, and Craftsman.

ADM Silos, 1300 W. Carroll Ave. (1947-2021)

This was developed from a sketch I did of this about 11 years ago. I intended to do a study of industrial structures but ended up just drawing a few and not really going in-depth on the history and technology of what I was seeing.  Anyway, these have recently been demolished for redevelopment, along with a pretty nice attached loft building.  I definitely never imagined the real estate boom in Fulton Market.  My strongest memory of the area was the smell of bleach used to wash down the sidewalks in front of the meat packers every morning.  

Cottage Chicago

I can't remember why I started this series, but the original post was very annoying.  Did I think I could teach people about the Chicago cottage? Maybe I could, but that might be boring... Instead, here are a few images to illustrate the exuberant variety of the form!  

The more of Chicago I see, the more I realize how many of these cottages remain, especially in underserved communities.  They may not be as elaborate as what's shown here, but they're still functional and an important part of the city's history.

These examples were identified by the Chicago Historic Resources Survey, which was outdated at the time of its completion in the 1990s and is even more so now.  I think my next cottage series might focus on some of the underappreciated versions...

Rowhouse Chicago: 1970s

Row houses in the 1970s continued to be utilized as infill housing in established neighborhoods, often replacing older homes in areas undergoing redevelopment. But they also filled vacant lots in developing neighborhoods where single-family homes were no longer viable due to the land's underlying cost.

Some were strictly modernist in design, utilizing geometric arrangements of glass and masonry.  Others referred back to historic row house designs but simplified and reconfigured them for contemporary needs.  Many utilized more advanced site planning, with groups of buildings arranged on a single lot and accommodating shared and private spaces as well as car parking and storage.



Rowhouse Chicago: 1960s

In the 1960s, row houses were incorporated into many urban renewal projects, both government-funded and privately developed.  A new generation of architects was evaluating established building types and developing new designs and approaches. 

At the same time, the city became the frontier again, and many designs included walls for both visual privacy and protection. And of course, one of my favorite elements became commonplace- the hanging patio.  Better known as a balcony.

 



Rowhouse Chicago: 1950s

In the 1950s, row houses came roaring back in Chicago.  The cost of land and the demand for moderate-density housing again aligned.  New materials and construction technologies, many developed during the war, were now available for private development.  The simplified architectural designs dictated by strict federal requirements and wartime shortages still informed the design of this new generation of row houses, even as those designs were enlivened with new materials, colors, and textures. 

But traditional designs were still popular and could be adapted to the long horizontal configuration.  I don't have many examples here, but there are many Colonial Revival and Georgian rows from the 1950s...

Just a note: most of these examples are from West Ridge, either on or near Granville.  

Rowhouse Chicago: 1930s and 1940s

In the 1930s and 40s, the row house became an important form for government-subsidized public housing.  This program was interrupted by WWII and resumed afterward at a much larger scale. 

Some early examples utilized a simplified Classicism, or a Moderne design aesthetic.  But as the program continued, ornamental details were stripped away.

I want to write more about these, but for now I'll settle for getting them on-screen.  If you're familiar with the topic, you'll notice that the Lathrop Homes (recently redeveloped) are missing. Those will be included once I get some good reference photos.


Rowhouse Chicago: 1900s through 1920s

After the 1890s it became much harder for me to find row houses.  Since this isn't exactly a scientific study, I might just be missing them, but it seems to be more than that...

My guess is that urban land became expensive enough to support the construction of larger apartment buildings with greater amenities (ballrooms, swimming pools, balconies) while other affluent buyers disappeared into the suburbs, where they could have as much space and privacy as they wanted.

Anyway, I'm hoping to add more examples from these decades as I find them.

For the LeClaire building, I had to restore a demolished unit using old survey photographs.  And I believe another unit has been demolished since I finished this drawing. It's unfortunate, since the variety of materials, colors, and styles really gave it a unique appearance.  Kind of like an instant village. 

On the 5300 block of South Wabash is this restrained example of a classical revival.  I had to restore some altered porches, balconies, and cornice sections to recapture its original appearance. 

Rowhouse Chicago: 1890s

Hands down, the 1890s were the decade of the most elaborate row houses, with an astounding combination of styles.  Here you have Queen Anne, Beaux Arts, and Classical Revival rows.  And they're never predictable; one style often borrows from another in ways that would make a purist blush.  This is a good example of learning the rules of color, texture, proportion, and rhythm, but not always using them in a traditional manner.

Rowhouse Chicago: 1880s

Perhaps the golden age of the Chicago row
house?  

Looking back on this entry, I can hardly believe it has just one sentence.  I was completely obsessed with creating these graphics, but not so much with exploring the history and architecture.  But maybe that's OK.  Sometimes the image triggers the research, and sometimes it doesn't.  Or maybe it stirs someone else's interest... But I remember being too burned out to sit in front of a computer when I wasn't being paid...  Maybe I should revisit some of these buildings, but it might be better just to move forward. 

I also thought these would be really popular online among the Chicago aficionados!  That was never the case.  Ha ha!                     

Rowhouse Chicago: 1870s

These are some of the oldest row houses in Chicago, built soon after the Chicago Fire of 1871.  These have been drawn to represent their original appearance, as closely as I could determine. In the real world, all have lost some structural or ornamental features. 

The building on Monroe is classified by the Chicago Historic Resources Survey as Neo-Grec, which is just a fancy way of saying simplified classical revival with a mix of Greek and Roman details. The projecting bays break up the flat facade and allow views up and down the street.  The front of the building is clad with Joliet limestone, often described as marble in early Chicago advertisements. That makes sense when you know that freshly quarried Joliet limestone was nearly white, with the butter-yellow color resulting from later weathering. Joliet limestone is a good building stone, but its grain doesn't really lend itself to complex carving.  Much of the stone ornamentation consisted of symmetrically carved lines and arabesques, which were less likely to damage the surface.  The elaborate pressed-metal cornice was intended to resemble stone (or maybe wood?) but was a far less expensive way to cap the building.  Of course, replacing such a thing today would be exorbitant. 







Rowhouse Chicago - Circling the Wagons

In the 1960s and 70s, many rowhouse designs in Chicago began to incorporate solid walls and barriers.  Traditionally, rowhouses had addressed the street with small setbacks and a generous stoop, allowing residents the opportunity to participate in neighborhood street life.

But now many turned away from the street, setting the structure further back on the lot and protecting the front yard. The designs themselves also become more defensive —in some cases, almost bunker-like, as if they were intended to occupy the neighborhood by force.   These designs were most common in areas undergoing urban renewal and conveyed some of the racial and economic anxiety of the time.  My examples here are from the Mid-North and Old Town neighborhoods, where they typically replaced older building types.  The term "social control" became a common phrase for planners and developers.

At the same time, this was a very creative period for rowhouse design, with an emphasis on geometry and massing that used both traditional and new ornamental materials. There were also some notable strides in site planning, often using several lots to create rowhouse arrangements with shared common spaces. 

 

In Sandburg Village, the rowhouse components were part of a larger plan that incorporated a variety of building types and sizes.  Rowhouses were one way to connect the new development with existing buildings at the periphery, utilizing a similar scale.  My image shows the homes' rear yards.  This portion of the development turned its back on Clark Street, creating new interior streets that could be better regulated.

This generation of rowhouses also addressed the needs of cars, often through clustered parking or even below-grade parking structures.  In some cases, the occupant could step from their car directly into their townhouse, without encountering any intervening space. This was really a suburban pleasure brought into the city for the middle class.

Rowhouse Chicago - Facade Rhythm

This blog entry looks at some typical façade organizations of the Chicago rowhouse and theorizes a bit about the intent of various approaches.  But mostly it's a visual essay.


3710-3722 W. Cermak, 1870s.

This Second Empire style rowhouse basically reads as a single structure. Sure the entrances allow you to visually separate the individual units, but the unifying treatment of the third floor ties it all together.  The constituent parts step forward and backward slightly to create an interlocking but symmetrical mass, with a varied roofline.  The ornamentation is limited to the carved stone lintels, pressed metal cornice and roof coping. I've never seen another building like this in Chicago, and it basically kicked off my interest in rowhouses.

2300-2310 W. Monroe, 1871.

These Joliet limestone rowhouses (Neo-Grec/Italianate Style) are comprised of six identical units.   Combined they create an undulating façade which can fill a few lots or an entire block, depending on the budget and available land.  The homes have individual as well as collective character.  But mostly collective. This is the type of rowhouse that most clearly says "Chicago" to me.  They once filled entire blocks on the near south and west sides, but only pockets remain.

1106-1114 E. 62nd, 1888.

This Classical Revival limestone rowhouse utilizes two alternating designs.  The "B" design is more elaborate, with a 5-sided bay, elaborate parapet, and stained-glass oval windows.  Even rowhouses in the same building with identical square footage allow for a bit of individuality and variety.  The A-B-A-B pattern seems to be the most common choice for historic Chicago rowhouses.

2814-2826 W. Warren Boulevard, 1896

This unusual design combines two façade treatments in a A-B-B-A pattern.  Combining modules in different ways allows rowhouses to approach a variety of architectural styles.  In this case a combination of Queen Ann and Classical detailing.

2415-2457 W. Jackson, 1890.

And finally, some buildings are so complex that no two units are designed in the same manner, even when the interior plans are nearly identical.  This is a combination of Classical and Romanesque styles.  A fifth row house was demolished here prior to the 1970s, and I have no clue what it might have looked like.

Rowhouse Chicago - Introduction

Recently I've been looking at the rowhouse in Chicago.  This is a building type that appears again and again, from elaborate 1890s versions to low-income housing of the 1940s and geometric mid-century townhomes. Because there are thousands of these in Chicago, I developed some selection criteria to maintain my sanity. These are a bit arbitrary, but I had to start somewhere:

-Constructed between 1870 and 1970

-A minimum of 3 units

-Shared common walls

-Separate entrances

-At least two stories

-Linear arrangement

-Not a designated Chicago Landmark (I'd rather focus on less recognized stuff.)



These are presented with minimal elaboration.  In many cases, windows, porches, and rooflines have been restored (as much as a drawing can restore anything) based on whatever evidence or expertise I could muster.  In some cases, these buildings were included in the Chicago Historic Resources Survey, which included very small photos from the 1980s or early 1990s.  But in many cases, those are the only available images before Google Street View began in 2007.

To preserve an accurate sense of proportion, I've drawn the buildings in elevation using photos as reference.  The line drawings are then scanned, and color/tone added digitally.  I tried to avoid perspective, although I've had to break that rule on occasion...


I won't be going into too much detail about source material, but when I use ideas that aren't my own, I'll provide a reference.

For previous series, I would write and draw as I went.  In this case, I need to make sense of a few dozen images chosen mostly by my subconscious.  New entries will be added irregularly.  If it turns out OK, I'll look into putting it on paper.

If you have comments or suggestions, feel free to post below or email (larryshure at gmail dot com).  I know I don't need to say this, but all images are protected and cannot be reposted without permission.

View of the back of Mision Cristiana Elim

I'm continuing my series looking into some of the areas of the neighborhood that were never really meant to be on display.  You can't do much better than the church at Morse and Ashland.

This was originally the reform synagogue Temple Mizpah, and I've written about it a bit here.  There's a substantial parking lot on the east, which was intended to be the main sanctuary but was never built.  The result is that the building (and the block) remains forever unfinished.  

The property's unfinished nature allows for a glimpse across the parking lot and into the service areas. All of the loading and unloading spaces and mechanical accommodations are on full display. In many ways, it's more complex than the primary facade, constantly adapting to meet the owners' needs. How many more changes before it finds equilibrium? Or until the whole property converts to condos...

View from Goldberg Park

Looking up from Goldberg Pocket Park.

I'm interested in parts of buildings that were never meant to be displayed.  These are the spaces that most honestly respond to the needs of the structure and the limitations of the materials.  Sometimes these are visible when an adjacent building is demolished, but you can also walk down any alley in the city. I find pocket parks create some great viewing galleries, and sometimes even a bench.  This view from Goldberg Park is one of my favorites.  
It's really a streetscape in its own right, following a set of rules just as compelling as those which govern the finished facades. 

View at Sheridan and Pratt

View from Sheridan looking Northeast towards Pratt.

Sometimes the spaces created between buildings are just as interesting as the buildings themselves.  I'm especially drawn to taller buildings with irregular footprints and deep courtyards.  The negative space creates  complex pinwheeling shapes that most people sense, but don't consciously appreciate.

I've written about both of these buildings before.  They represent the transition of Sheridan Road from a leisurely lane lined with mansions to a more dense and urban thoroughfare.

Here are the previous posts:

6801 N. Sheridan- Rogers Park Hotel, 1922

6757-6765 N. Sheridan, 1917