dead in chicago

[deadinchicago]

The Site as Archive

Hello all!

Dead in Chicago is on hiatus once again. With the coming of the New Year, it’s hoped that 2019 will bring out the finalized research and fine tuning needed to turn some of the site’s most fascinating stories into a Dead in Chicago book instead of weekly or daily posts.

If you’re in need of more horror history, be sure to read through the 1,000+ posts in the archives. There will of course be more tales of terror throughout the year in Horror History walking tours. 

If you have questions, words of encouragement on writing, or a request for a private tour, please email me at [email protected]

Wishing you all a warm Winter,

-- Leyla

[deadinchicago]

19 October - Killed by the Fridge, Part 2

The Moskeys passed away when their refrigerator was leaking methyl chloride. Though the poisonous gas was known to kill people and had been used less and less frequently since the 1930s, in the 1940s it was being used in fridges as less poisonous gases were consumed by the war effort. Methyl Chloride, though certainly dangerous, was thought to be fine to use so long as another tracer gas was added, something that smelled terrible. That way, if there was a leak, the noxious smell would be a warning to the inhabitants to leave and get the icebox checked out.

It’s not certain if there just wasn’t enough tracer gas, or if perhaps it had all escaped by the time the Moskeys returned home. But they were found dead in their apartment, both George and Agnes lying naked in their bedroom on the floor two days after passing on. As to the effects, from the gas, “Methyl chloride reacts on its victims somewhat like intoxicating drink. They do not know what is wrong. They feel sleepy, and sometimes take off their clothes to lie down to rest. The gas may make their noses run, and the tracer gas, acrolein, will cause their eyes to burn. Eventually they become insensible,” said a quote from Dr. William D. McNally, toxicologist, from the Chicago Tribune.

Dr. McNally also came to the conclusion that escaping methyl chloride from a fridge leak was the cause of the confusing illness that Mr. and Mrs. Russell Cadwallader suffered from in their Rogers Park apartment. They remembered nothing of multiple days after they recovered, and the only reason that they’d even been rescued was because neighbors noticed their strange behavior. They’d been wandering in and out of their apartment and into the hallway and back naked a few times, causing quite the stir. They were fortunate enough to recover from the accident, unlike the Moskeys.

Sometimes, even the foul smell that went with the methyl chloride wasn’t enough to save people. Hyman Le Burkein and his 1 year old son Gary were victims of a gas leak in 1947. His wife Francine had noticed a strange smell in their apartment and told authorities, but no leak could be found and it was ignored. All three were taken ill, with Hyman and Gary dying from the poison.

Perhaps the most tragic death from an icebox was that of 6 year old Le Roy Barton, and it has nothing to do with methyl chloride. He was the only child to a single mother, his father having been killed in an auto accident. His mother Oma lived with two other young women. One afternoon, as per the usual, she prepared to go to work, leaving the boy home alone with their small dog Baby until her roommates returned. Le Roy promised to clean up all his things and put them away once he was finished playing with the dog. Oma smiled and left him alone, then went to work.

It wasn’t until 1 AM, when the roommates came home, that they noticed that Le Roy wasn’t in bed like he ought to be. They grabbed his mother and a frantic search for him was held in the neighborhood, but no one could find him. Upon returning home, they noticed the contents of the fridge had been left out on the counter. When they opened the refrigerator, they found Le Roy, curled up inside. He’d suffocated to death in the fridge.

It was thought that he’d crawled inside to play hide and seek with the dog, and when he went inside the fridge the dog must have pushed the door shut, trapping him.

Today, methyl chloride is no longer used in household fridges, and we don’t have to worry about that particular gas in our everyday life.

Happy October 19th, and beware of quick close fridges.

[deadinchicago]

18 October - Killed by the Fridge, Part 1

The vintage fridge. Photo source.

Refrigerators, the old ice box, is a standard appliance in any home today. We take them for granted, being able to keep our food for long. We count on them to help keep us safe by preventing the food from spoiling. But it wasn’t so long ago when the icebox was a potentially lethal household item.

The first inklings that the methyl chloride gas used in old fashioned iceboxes was lethal came in the 1920s, specifically in a flurry in 1929. Multiple people that year died from the leaks in gas, including two parents and their one year old child in an apartment building. A heavy leak of methyl chloride from the refrigeration unit for the building caused their deaths, and despite the building maintenance man noticing a hissing that sounded like a leak, he was unable to find one and left it for a night, the night in which the Painter family met their end. This was a catalyst event, causing fear in the city about the potential for ice box deaths due to the refrigerant.

The Painter family were only a small example of the dangers of the gas. Immediately, city officials called for a ban on the gas, which companies seemed to be in favor for, though they preferred to have it as an option until a better refrigerant could be found. Eventually ordinances came into place noting that all deadly gases must have smells with them to alert homeowners to any leaks that might occur. This new rule, along with the hunt for something to use beyond methyl chloride, seemed to slow the ice box deaths for the next decade, but they would resume in the 1940s.

More on methyl chloride, its effects, and the 1940s soon.

Happy October 18th, and watch out for your fridge.

[deadinchicago]

17 October - Frozen to Death

The deep freeze is coming. Photo source.

With the cold starting to creep in, it’s natural for us today to start turning on the central heating, or in older buildings start up the radiators. Keeping the ice at bay is something we have all struggled with at some point, but perhaps not quite in the same way as these Chicagoans.

It was nearly Christmas, and so Scanislaw Cacocz went out to get presents for his five children. That’s at least what he told his children and his wife, though we’ll never know if he actually meant to get presents or not. What we do know is that instead of shopping (or maybe just after shopping) Cacocz found his way to a saloon not far from his house. He stayed there until the early hours of Christmas morning, and then drunkenly endeavoured to find his way him.

Instead, Cacocz stumbled around the streets, crawling upon the sidewalks raised above street level. As he searched for his home, he found himself falling from the sidewalk, receiving a few bruises and a nasty cut just over his eyebrow. Cold, drunk, and unsure where he was, Cacocz then crawled under the sidewalk to try to keep warm.

There, he drunkenly fell asleep and froze to death. It wasn’t until his worried wife inquired at the police station the next day, her children saddened that Father Christmas hadn’t shown that morning, that his body was found.

In Elgin, Walter Brennan had been missing for months. He’d disappeared one day from work, and while people searched for him no one could find him. It wasn’t until the next February, 1948, that he was finally found, frozen in the ice of a millrace. He’d somehow fallen off a ledge while at work and was dragged into the swirling water, then frozen into it sometime that winter.

Sometimes, pure accidents with ice could cause death. Timed just when the practice of taking ice blocks from lakes in winter and using them for cooling in summer was starting to fall out of practice, Gottlieb Natke was walking down the street carrying a 100 lb block of ice. Being that it was February, there was still plenty of ice on the ground. Natke stepped on the wrong spot on the sidewalk and found himself falling to the ground. The giant block of ice he carried came with him, fracturing his skull and killing him.

Happy October 17th, and be careful of the cold.

[deadinchicago]

16 October - The Thought of Death

The Death of Rats from Discworld. Photo source.

To most, the thought of Death is one we try to avoid. Yes, you’re reading this website which is dedicated to the strange ways people have died, but usually those interested in the subject aren’t necessarily happy to think of their own eventual demise. Sometimes people get to a point in their life when they’ve had enough, and sometimes people get convinced that death is right around the corner from them.

A bizarre story on death comes not from Chicago but a small town in Wisconsin. James Crawford was ready to die. His wife had passed away a decade prior and he saw no reason to continue on. Life, as he thought it, should end by the time one was seventy. At 76 years old, Crawford certainly felt that he’d overstayed his welcome.

One day, a homeless man came to his door, asking for food. Crawford was kind and invited the man in, who said his name was Patheus de Grasso. Through his meal the two talked, and Crawford learned that Grasso was a fortune teller. Crawford said he had one question he wanted to ask of the man, and for the answer he’d pay $25: When was to be the date of his death?

Grasso gave the man a date about a month out and went on his way, $25 in hand. Crawford was relieved by the news, figuring he finally knew when it would all happily end. A month was plenty of time for him to enjoy himself, and he set about spending his money, hosting lavish parties and hiring orchestras, inviting all of his friends over. As the day of his death approached, Crawford felt better than ever, but still prepared for his demise. Perhaps it was to be sudden? Who knew? Regardless, he made all sorts of preparations for his death day. The night before he was to depart, he held a grand ball and feast, inviting everyone he knew. On the day of his death he hosted his funeral at his house, inviting everyone over including the undertaker, his friends dressed in mouring clothes.

The minute approached. Crawford smiled and waved goodbye to everyone, crawled into his coffin which lay prepared for him by the undertaker, and waited.

And waited.

Over an hour passed, yet still no sign of death came upon Crawford. Eventually he got out and cursed the false fortune teller who had swindled him. (Police noted it was likely a local man who had been recently released from the workhouse. The day after the man’s encounter with Crawford, he was arrested again for being drunk and disorderly).

Crawford remained furious and stated that he would continue to seek the false prophet. In the meantime, he would retire to the east coast to live with family, vowing to spend as much of his fortune as he could before he passed away.

Though the shadow of death was a welcome thought to Crawford, it was not to Marie Malagoli. Her husband had sent it upon her, trying to rid his wife for a younger woman. Marie married Abrams Malagoli when she was 39, he only 21. She knew he only married her for her money and her farm, but she let it happen anyway. Abrams had a chance for love, a beautiful young woman named Julia, but in 1907 he opted to turn away from Julia and marry for wealth.

Several decades later, Abrams met Julia again. Marie knew their marriage was doomed after that; she said that her face was too wrinkled and Julia’s still young, it was nothing of interest anymore to her husband. He could divorce her, but then he wouldn’t get her money. Instead, he started reading dream books, and soon started telling his wife that the shadow of death was upon her.

He said this so much that she became worried and paranoid, fearful that Death really was following her. She took him to court, and the judge ordered a restraining order against him and the specter of death while their divorce proceedings went on.

Happy 16 October, and you never know what you might think of Death when you face him.

[deadinchicago]

15 October - Dance of Death

Don’t get too rowdy. Photo source.

A dance of death seems to be a common theme amongst parties gone wrong, especially back in the day. Whether a dance preceding a strange death, a dance in which someone is shot, or even a dance that seems to cause death, Chicago has seen it all.

In 1938, in the quiet suburb just north of city called Evanston, a woman gaily danced upon the streets. It was late out and she twirled so furiously that she managed to lose a shoe, leaving it a block behind her as she ran on. A sole onlooker watched her in confusion, mistaking her for a drunken Halloween partygoer - it was October, after all. She kicked high and threw  a shoe up into the air, dancing down the street, then tossed her coat to the side. A few minutes later she was found laying on the side of the road with a head injury, and though she was quickly whisked away to the hospital, she soon died.

The woman, Marion Nichols, was only 30 years old and left behind her 2 year old child and her husband. No one could figure out what happened, except that she had been acting strangely that day. According to her husband, she’d tried to leave the house through the bathroom window at one point, and fell down the basement stairs, hitting her head. It was thought the head trauma might have caused her dance to death. A coroner’s jury eventually ruled her death an accident from a fall, either at home or on the street. It was thought she might have been near a nervous breakdown.

Just a few years before the Chicago fire, in 1867, Death came to the dance for Albert Kraft. It stalked around him, tempting him to dance with the ladies present and to feel his feet bounce to the music. It was a lively affair with many young people, and merriment rung out amongst everyone.

Kraft was told to not dance. He had a bad heart, and his friends worried what might happen if he joined the excitement of the dance floor. But, as the Tribune stated, “young blood is heedless” and Kraft took up with a woman. They frolicked to a waltz, their hands on each other, when suddenly the woman looked up to notice a deathly pallor take over her companion’s face. She screamed, the music stopped, and Kraft fell dead to the floor. Nearly everyone panicked, with some people even tripping over his body lying haphazardly in the middle of the room. Someone called a doctor, even though it was obvious that Kraft was certainly dead.

The young man was only 25, and his death was blamed on heart disease.

That same year saw a “dance of death” in a “fashionable brothel” on Monroe between Franklin and Wells. A grand party was planned for the evening with the house done up as much as possible. “All evening carriages filled with dandified males and gaudily-attired females rolled towards the rendezvous, and when they arrived, discharged their contents, only to return for more...Of its kind, it [the party] was never equalled in all the history of the Garden City”, claimed the Tribune. At the party was Dennis O’Brien from St. Louis, a “well-known prize-fighter, and the recognized backer of Mike McCoole, the king of the bruisers. Men of his stamp are apt to feel their “dignity” in a motley crowd...and will brook few words in the way of contradiction before telling blows are struck.” Another man present was local saloon owner Tom Daley, also a man unwilling to budge from his dignity and “whose most exalted ambition it is to be classed among the cultivators of the manly art.”

As a new dance started up, both men tried to lay claim to the same part of the dance floor. A fight quickly ensued and the men punched it out until Daley drew a pistol and shot O’Brien in the chest and the knee. Panicked and drunk partygoers fled to the streets, only to be arrested and put in jail for the whole debacle. Luckily for both men, O’Brien survived the shootings, only to continue his work in the prizefighting world.

Happy October 15th, and watch your feet when you’re dancing.

[deadinchicago]

14 October - On the Run Part 3

The number of monkeys that have been loose in Chicago over the years is a lot higher than you’d think. While we don’t have an exact number of free range apes that have roamed the city through the centuries, we do have a few unique tales of their escapades, for better or (usually) worse.

The front picture today comes from an article in the Chicago Tribune from 1892, when Mr. Charley Champlin’s monkey decided to make a run for it. Charley Champlin was the son of George Champlin, a prominent businessman at the time, which is probably why this story got so much press. Feeling that his son had everything else, George decided to buy Charley the monkey for $25. George seemed pretty proud of his purchase, saying “I paid twenty-five for him. He is not one of your bird-store monkeys. Not him. This monk is a traveler, he is, and he’s been out three years on the road. He knows all kinds of money, hard and soft, and can make change. That monkey actually can tell the difference between a five-cent piece and a quarter. Take him, Charley; you can have a lot of fun with him.”

In an attempt to apparently jam as many stereotypes as possible into one article, the Trib goes on to recount how one evening the monkey was out for a stroll with Charley when the monkey bit Charley (it doesn’t say where, but does say “fasten his teeth in the anatomy of Mr. Charles Champlin”) and then took up a tree in the front yard. George came out and they all tried everything they could think of to get the monkey to come down from the perch, including hiring a classical music organ grinder to come play, then hiring a popular music organ grinder when the classical music didn’t work. The men assumed that the monkey was probably more used to pop tunes. In both cases, working organ grinders roaming the street and asking for donations for songs were near enough to the residence that the Champlins could simply run out and grab them. The popular music organ grinder played tunes such as “The Marseiliaise”, “Maggie Murphey’s Home”, “Peek-a-Boo”, “Down Went McGinty”, and more.

When the music failed to bring the monkey out of the tree, the men found people to try speaking in Italian to the monkey, then in English but with Italian accents. By this time a large crowd had been drawn around the tree, what with multiple organ grinders and people speaking up at a monkey resting on a branch. Several men then climbed nearby trees to try and roust the monkey, but the monkey leapt to a far reaching branch and held on by its tail. They tried to burn him out by holding a pole with burning lampwick by him, but the monkey ran down the pole, bit the man in the face, and then ran away again.

A camp was set out under the monkey after that, the men and their organ grinders hanging out until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, one managed to snag the monkey’s chain and recapture him. This story is hilarious and hard to believe; perhaps the original writer took some liberties with the details, however it’s not the only story I’ve found from the time concerning escaped monkeys and Italian organ grinders.

Everyone not going after the monkey was relatively safe in this instance, but it wasn’t always the case. In September of 1915 there were multiple instances of people being attacked by loose monkeys inside of theatres. In one theatre, the monkey Prince Charles skipped his usual role of tickling the ears of the drummer and went straight for his eyes instead. That same week, chimpanzee Romeo the Great attacked a theatregoer and emotional wounded her so bad that she fainted when she saw the same chimp in the street just a few days later.

Happy October 14th, and if you see a monkey in a tree, it’s probably best to just leave it alone.

[deadinchicago]

13 October - Suspicions Run High

13 has traditionally been seen as an unlucky number for decades. The thirteenth of the month, while decidedly spookier if it falls on a Friday, can still give some people the heebie jeebies. Such was the case in Chicago at the turn of the century. Of course, you can always find coincidences if you look for them, that’s definitely what happened at least some of the time.

In 1903, the Chicago Fire Department’s Company 13 was starting to raise its eyebrows a bit. Sure, the accident was unexpected but not necessarily out of the ordinary. But, it was weird that a brand new fire engine, No. 13, had its steel axle break in the middle of the run. And of course, there was also the fact that the company had only 13 members, with two of them having joined on the 13th of the month, and one on the ride had been with the company for 13 years. It was definitely all coincidence, right?

Jim O’Leary, the son of the famed Catherine O’Leary who was blamed for the Chicago fire, also held his suspicions about the day if it landed on a Friday. Though he ran a saloon and gambled, O’Leary stated “Now I’m not what you would call superstitious, but I believe there’s something to this Friday the 13th business. I”m willing to make any kind of a bet on anything any other day in the year, but I absolutely and positively refuse to do any gambling on the hoodoo day.”

Others took to the day much like people do in Chicago in the modern age, seeing it only as a silly superstition. One private club called the Thirteen Club made sure to have a banquet with 13 tables, 13 items on each table, 13 options on the menu, that ended at 13:13, with 13 people at each table. It was held at John Vogelsang’s restaurant because he had 13 letters in his name.

Still others used the number as an excuse for their own failings. Richard Nash blame the number as the reason why he’d been fired from the police force. He was in the West 13th district, had joined just prior on Friday the 13th. His captain’s name had 13 letters in it, and he was the captain of the 26th street district, 13 twice through. As Nash saw it, the number was obviously the reason he was fired, and not due to the fact that Nash told his sergeant that he’d “kick thirteen different kinds of stuffing out of him” for reprimanding him.

In 1901, Anson Gifford also blamed the number on a (probable) murder. He’d been out with James Kane, the owner of a saloon that was to open in the evening, helping get ready for the night. While in a shop, Kane saw a shiny new revolver and decided to purchase it. He bought the gun and as many bullets as he could afford - only 13. Gifford remarked on the number being unlucky, Kane shrugged, and put the bullets in one pocket, the gun in the other. Later that day, Gifford walked into the saloon to see the new revolver resting on the bar. He picked it up and jokingly put it to Fern Beinke’s stomach, a friend of his. Gifford pulled the trigger and to everyone’s surprise the gun went off, mortally wounding him. Gifford didn’t realize that Kane had loaded the gun after bringing it back to his bar. Of course, they blamed the number 13 on the incident, not gross mishandling of a firearm.

Happy October 13th, and don’t take any superstitions too seriously.

[deadinchicago]

11 October - On the Run, Part 2

Not what you want to find in the graveyard. Photo source.

Today’s story has it all — escaped hyenas! Breeding programs in zoos! Visions of what seems to be a strange cryptid sneaking through Edgewater! A police vs. hyena standoff on Burnham Island in Graceland Cemetery!

And the story starts with one gnarly hyena named “Jim”.

Hyenas have been a feature at Lincoln Park Zoo since at least the 1890s. The Tribune writes lovingly of all the animals, but not of the hyenas. They were seen as a feared, snarling, angry group that chewed up metal and anything that came near them. In one report from June 1896 on the arrival of two new hyenas to the zoo, the Tribune wrote that “Gaping thousands...thanked their lucky stars that there were bars for the bloody jaws of the animals to exercise themselves on.” (link) Another report from just a couple months prior recorded the arrival of spring and the coming of moving all the animals to their outdoor cages. Again, the Tribune lovingly praised all the animals except the hyenas:

“There is one animal in a nice, big cage all by his lonesome, with whom the keeper attempts no familiarities. It is Jack, the great striped hyena. Day and night he paces back and forth behind the bars, and refuses to take the slightest friendly notice of anybody. He never sleeps until after midnight, and then only a few moments at a time. He will curl himself up in the middle of the cage, as far away from the bars on all sides as he can get, and drop off into a light doze. He springs up as though he had been shot at whenever the slightest unusual noise is made, and is away on his restless, sneaking, half gallop from side to side, with an ugly gleam in his wicked green eyes. ‘I have no use for that fellow,’ said the keeper. ‘He is agin (sic) everybody, and you cannot make friends with him. He will take no bribe of any kind, and you cannot coax him to do anything. He is a bad lot, but I suppose he cannot help it, as he was born that way.’” (link)

Obviously, the hyena was hardly the most liked animal at the zoo.

Wiley Jim, likely a different hyena (but of the same temperament) as Jack, was in a bad mood. He was the recent father of the first hyena born in captivity (according to the Tribune article from 1897), but he’d been taken from his mate (called Mrs. Jim in the article) and child and locked in a separate cage. One day, the keepers realized he’d been rather quiet, and when they went to check on him found that he’d chewed through the bars on his cage. He was spotted trying to free Mrs. Jim by gnawing on her cage, but a watchman threw a club at him and scared him off. Wiley Jim then ran away, snarling as he went, and soon the Lincoln Park neighborhood was in an uproar on the missing mad hyena.

Jim had been missing for a day, and that day turned into night. He was somewhere in the Buena Park neighborhood, and mothers kept their children inside for the day, all frightened about what an angry hyena might do to a small child. There was one man who hadn’t heard the story however, the Night Watchman of Graceland Cemetery, Fred Brooks. Brooks was doing his evening rounds in the graveyard when he noticed something on the path in front of him. It was a huge animal, snarling, meandering about. Brooks looked at it for a while, not shooting it, but not moving towards it, either. As a night watchman, he might have expected to see something strange in the cemetery at night, but likely not a spitting ethereal beast roaming amongst the mausoleums. Brooks turned the other way and didn’t tell anyone about the creature, fearing he’d be laughed at. It wasn’t until the next day he spotted the article on the missing hyena and gave a call to the zoo.

Officials immediately swept in to the cemetery, where they found nearly all the workers in a tizzy about seeing the great beast ambling down the road. A great hyena hunt then ensued, with the animal keepers trying to catch him alive, the Graceland crew advancing with gardening trowels and pitchforks, and even some random locals attempting to hunt him down with rifles. But it was the keepers who chased him to the northern part of Graceland, towards Lake Windemere. There, they managed to corner him on a small island in the lake (what would eventually become the final resting place of famed Chicago architect Daniel Burnham). The keepers slowly cornered him, getting closer and closer with a pole and ropes, but the hyena outmaneuvered them and dashed past with a snarl, no doubt terrifying the poor zookeepers. Once again, he was on the run.

For several days there were no concrete sightings of Wiley Jim, despite searching areas to which he was likely to run. Officials even searched Calvary Cemetery in Evanston, playing on the idea that the hyena had already been in one local cemetery, and that hyenas were grave desecrators. It wasn’t until a few days later that he was sighted near a retirement home several miles away. One man woke in the middle of the night to hear his hounds going crazy. He went outside and spotted the strange looking beast, which started to charge. The man then proceeded to climb the tree he was standing under without a second thought, and the hyena disappeared again.

The next morning was his last. Wiley Jim came upon Superintendent Mertens of the retirement home, who was picking strawberries in the garden outside. Mertens heard a strange russling behind him, and when he turned around he locked eyes with the animal. Mertens ran off and sounded the alarm, grabbing a gun. As the hyena tried to escape, he was shot dead.

If he hadn’t been found that morning, he might had disappeared forever. Officials had decided that the chase had been going on for long enough, and if they didn’t find him in the next day or so they would give up.

Happy October 12th, and watch out for loose hyenas.

[deadinchicago]

11 October - On the Run, Part 1

We like to think that in Chicago we’re fairly safe from wild animals, especially today. There are coyotes, but they generally stay to themselves, living in parks and cemeteries. There’s also stories here and there about escaped animals that eventually become part of the Chicago backdrop, like the bright green Monk Parakeets of Hyde Park, now a welcome sign of spring in the neighborhood. While you might not expect to see these on a day to day basis, you wouldn’t necessarily be surprised if you saw one. Not like if you, say, found a bear in your living room.

That’s exactly what happened at the M.G. McGuire home in 1893. A brown bear, a new acquisition to Lincoln Park Zoo, had somehow escaped. He’d only been in his new location for a few weeks, but had refused to eat that entire time and didn’t get along with the other bears. It’s not stated how he was able to leave his confines, but leave he did. He ambled through the park until he got to the McGuire home a few blocks away, where he smashed his way through the front windows and into the parlor.

There, the bear made a general mess of things for a few minutes until the family dared to look to see what in the world the noise was. Upon seeing a bear eating preserves in her parlor, Mrs. McGuire immediately screamed, bringing Mr. McGuire into the room. McGuire comforted his wife and then called for his bull dog to attend to the bear. In moments, the bear and the dog were in a massive fight while McGuire acted as a cheerleader on the side, yelling encouragement to his dog.

Out of nowhere, a St. Bernard then leapt through the broken window to join the fight momentarily, but was soon gravely injured by the bear. The Bernard immediately ran away, knowing when he’d been licked.

Meanwhile, the dog and the bear kept fighting, McGuire poking the bear with a pitchfork to no effect. The tussle soon found its way outdoors, with the bear leaving the fight and climbing a tree. The dog barked up the tree at it while McGuire and his son stood guard between the house and the tree, armed with a pitchfork and an ax. The police, having been notified likely by one of the many neighbors watching in fascinated horror, soon showed up. The bear then descended from the tree and made for the house again, with McGuire and son trying to chase him away. Cornered between the house and the bear, the men opened up the back door. A policeman stood there with his gun pointed at the bear — but as soon as the cop saw the bear he dropped his gun and ran away. The McGuires hit it with a frying pan, the bear hit back, and eventually it left their residence, headed up the road.

Many people gave chase to the bear, who soon met his end. Though he did not enter another home, he did seem to think about it. A braver policeman managed to lasso it around the neck, though he did not weigh enough to actually stop the bear and was soon dragged along (and on top) of it. Eventually, more people grabbed onto the rope and the poor creature was strangled to death. (The bear was then to be skinned with the fur to be given to the McGuire family for their ordeal).

In 1923, it was noted that Dr. Max Thorek had lost a monkey. He’d imported several of the animals, all born in the wild, and kept at the basement of the American Hospital in the Uptown neighborhood. One managed to escape while they were being taken upstairs to get some air, and immediately the police (and about 5,000 people in the neighborhood) chased after it. The monkey found its way to the top of the bell tower of the St. Mary of the Lake church. The cops ran inside to roust the animal from its high hiding spot, but the priest stated that the wild animal deserved sanctuary and refused to let the cops enter. It was left alone and soon moved along.

What might be stranger about that story is exactly why Dr. Max Thorek had recently purchased wild monkeys to keep at a hospital. He likely intended to use them for their glands; in the 1920s several doctors were holding to the (incredibly faulty) theory that inserting monkey glands into human patients could help fight aging and increase libido. Dr. Thorek had announced in 1920 that he was going to study the procedure until the doctor who perfected it and would install a laboratory on the subject at the American Hospital.

Tomorrow we’ll continue tales of escaped beasts in Chicago, including more monkeys and even a hyena.

Happy October 11th, and don’t let anyone graft monkey glands to you.

[deadinchicago]

10 October - Grip of Death

The cable car system in Chicago, when installed in the 1880s, was ahead of its time. For a while, Chicago was even home to more cable cars than anywhere else in the United States. Their dominance on local traffic was short lived however, lasting only until the early 1900s. Their effect on transit — and the fear they instilled in passengers — strike locals today as more than a little bizarre.

To get past the river, tunnels were dug out under the water. These meant that the grip cars had to go down an incline to enter the tunnel and then crawl back up the opposite side. Multiple car lines would go through each tunnel, relying heavily on their brakes to make sure the descent and ascent were controlled. These cars also frequently had multiple trolleys attached, usually two or three, to accommodate more passengers. The cars were open, allowing for ample room for the passengers to embark and alight as needed.

Unfortunately for many Chicagoans, the brakes on the grip cars failed from time to time, sending terrified passengers on an uncontrolled ride to the bottom of a tunnel under the river.

In February of 1894, H.S. Holden met a terrible fate when his fear of an impending accident overruled his judgement of the situation. He was on a packed Wells street car on which the conductor was having trouble. The driver found that the grip weren’t quite working right, and it was decided that the car would be taken in to be fixed before continuing on its way. It went off its path, still full of passengers, and towards LaSalle street, where there was a turnaround in the track. This way, it could reverse its course to head back to the car barns so that an engineer could examine it. Horses were attached to the front, pulling it along the turn, and as the car picked up some speed they were unhitched so that the car could use momentum to move forwards.

It turned out to be too much. The car started towards the tunnel, and it wasn’t till then that the conductor realized the brakes had completely failed. He started to panic as the car entered the descent towards the tunnel, picking up speed. Passengers inside saw what was going on and began to leap off the moving car. Those on the edges of the car were nearly pushed off as everyone panicked, realizing that they were headed for potentially a huge crash at the bottom of the tunnel.

People leapt without abandon. Several were injured, including a few who almost hit the tunnel wall, leaping out just before the car went underground. Holden, though the conductor tried to hold him back from jumping, leapt once they were inside the tunnel. He made a fatal mistake however and jumped just at a slight curve, managing to crush his head against a brick wall. His body lay limp over the tracks as the car hit the bottom of the descent and started up the other side from the momentum, and then came back down. It ran over Holden’s body, taking off the top of his head and ensuring that he was dead, if there had been any doubt prior.

In December of that same year, another terrifying accident with grip cars and the tunnels occured that, strangely, caused no loss of life. A Milwaukee street car with several trolleys attached, all full of people, was in the Washington tunnel, halfway through its ascent to the exit when the conductor realized the grip was failing. He could do little as the car started to fall backwards, and the panicked passengers began jumping off into the darkness of the tunnel.

Just behind him a Madison street car in the same tunnel began its ascent when it saw the falling Milwaukee car in front. The Madison street conductor at first stopped his progress, then decided to hurry up to try to meet the falling car. He figured if he could stop it before it gathered too much speed, the accident would be slight. He might even be able to stop it, using the brakes on his own car.

The two cars hit, causing a small collision, no injuries, but much horror to all the riders. Both cars then slide backwards to the bottom of the tunnel, the Milwaukee one having hit the Madison car hard enough to push it off its tracks and turn it sideways. They came to a rest at the deepest part under the river, the Madison car drunkenly laid horizontally across the tracks. Thankfully, no injuries were to be had, though 150 people had been at risk on both of the cars.

It was obvious that new brakes needed to be tested for the grip cars and the tunnels. With these incidents in mind, it was likely that Chicagoans rode cable cars with a bit of fear, adrenaline pumping up every time they had to enter the tunnels. Despite this, for some horrifying reason the companies decided to test the new brakes in a rather unconventional matter.

Shortly after midnight one summer day in 1895, a Madison street car was entering the Washington tunnel. The sleepy passengers didn’t realize anything was amiss at first, but soon the car began to pick up speed, careening out of control. Just when they realized that they were about to hit the bottom, the conductor slammed on the brakes and the car stopped suddenly. Everyone lurched forward at the sudden stop and smoke drifted over the car, caused by the friction of the brakes against the steel. The passengers were upset and confused, and the conductor told them that they’d just been part of an experiment to test out new brakes.

Thankfully, they worked!

Everyone grumbled as the car went on its way. Yet once again, as soon as it reached the top of the incline to get out of the tunnel, the conductor let it slide backwards, picking up speed until again he hit the brakes, and again everyone was jerked out of their seats.

Happy October 10th, and don’t let anyone try new brakes on you without your consent.

[deadinchicago]

9 October - The (un) Safeness of Bridges, Part 3

The bridges today. Photo source.

You’d think three children drowning in a bridge accident would be enough for the city to start to impose some safety measures, but this wasn’t the case. In 1883, James Bezey and his three children, Christina (16), Josephine (12), and James (10) got into a hansom and told their driver their destination. The driver, James Madden, nodded and started off, headed towards the Polk Street Bridge. As he approached, he noticed that the bridge was open and in front of them was a straight drop to the river. But this was normal, and Madden didn’t even give it a second thought. He slowed the horses down to wait until the bridge swung back in place.

As they walked slowly over the viaduct, a passing train blew its whistle. Just opposite the horses, an engine roared to life. The team spooked, pulling frantically at their lines while Madden tried to hold them in place. But a rein snapped, and he was left without control. Wildly, the horses ran towards the river’s edge, with nothing to prevent them from going over.

Madden struggled to stop the horses, but he could see that nothing would prevent them from hitting the water. He jumped out of his seat as the carriage fell, landing in the river just next to the cab and the horses. Bezey also jumped out, managing to grab on to the river’s edge, but unable to help his children in the moment of the fall. He clung pathetically to the side as he watched the hansom with his children plunge into the river, screams echoing from inside.

Passerbys watched in horror and tried vainly to help those trapped in the river. Madden managed to swim to shore, but the children were stuck inside. Despite efforts to pull out the wreckage, only Josephine’s body was found right away, the other two swept away in the current and not recovered until the next day.

Outrage swept through the public as they demanded to know why there weren’t any safety gates for the bridges in Chicago. Everyone seemed to blame the city for the accident, including the coroner’s jury into the deaths of the Bezey children. In their report, they said: “We, the jury, are at a loss to account for the total indifference of the city authorities in not providing safeguards at the approaches to our city river bridges, they having had their attention called to it by a similar accident, where life was lost in the same way, on a former occasion. We are constrained on this occasion to denounce this neglect on the part of our city as nothing short of criminal negligence.”

The city’s response was that of statistics: they stated that millions crossed the bridges without accident, so while the loss of life of the children was sad it was, numerically, an insignificant amount. Gates at the bridges would of course be ideal, but they weren’t practical. Automatic gates were at the river’s edge and wouldn’t provide help if a team of horses wanted to go through them, plus they weren’t as reliable as manned gates. Thus, the city would have to hire 66 men to man each side of the 33 bridges in downtown, not mentioning building the gates, and it was cost prohibitive.

According to Commissioner Cregler, “When you come to look at it, the percentage of deaths resulting from this cause will not exceed those occurring from other accidents...There are millions of passengers that cross the bridges every year, and yet within the last year I know of but four accidents that have occurred. This affair of Thursday night was a very sad one, and I am in favor of adopting any measure that would save one human life.” However, when asked if the city would do anything about putting up gates, the Commissioner said, “Nothing but what it now has. We have tried all kinds of gates...Heretofore all the gates have been automatic and have been close to the edge of the river. This is wrong as we want such gates to be worked intelligently...this would require a force of sixty-six men to attend to each approach. But, as I said, I do not think the number of deaths from this cause is very great, and there does not seem to be any need of more precaution.”

Mayor Harrison was against putting in gates and manning each bridge, and a measure to do so was shot down by city government. By the 1890s however, it was evident that the city had to do something about the bridge horrors and put up gates. Chicago tried a bunch of different ideas, all by different inventors, allowing people to construct and try out gates at their own expense. In 1891, chains were in use. These would lay in a hollow post on one side of the sidewalk and as the bridge was about to open, a policeman would dodge traffic to put up the iron chain — which probably wouldn’t actually stop a team of frightened horses. It wasn’t used at night either, when most of the accidents occurred. As one article from the Chicago Tribune stated, “It if is a good thing it ought to be used night and day and on both ends of the bridge, and that means the muscular services of four policemen.”

We’ll continue on with bridge safety in the 1900s next week. Happy 9th of October, and always look where you put your feet.

[deadinchicago]

8 October - The (un)Safety of Bridges, Part 2

The State Street Bridge in 1911, many years after the accident. Photo source. 

If you missed Part 1 of this story, you can check it out at this link here.

The State Street Bridge was still swing style in the 1870s, and safety features were still pretty limited — limited as in the bridge had a couple of lights on the ends which threw off almost no light and couldn’t be seen at all if the bridge was open. It was the middle of the night in June of 1879 when the fire alarm rang for the downtown district.

Immediately the unit just north of the river heard the call and responded. They flew out of bed, jumped into their clothes and jumped on the wagon, the horse anxious from the excitement and ready to head towards the action. It took only 70 seconds for the horse, the fire cart, and five men on board to reach the State Street bridge. The horse descended the slope towards the river at a slow gallop, as usual. It was in the rulebook that the firemen couldn’t go any faster than a walk over bridges, but after a bad fire in 1874 no one had followed that rule. In fact, most units took it as a challenge to make it to the scene of a blaze before anyone else.

The horse wouldn’t go any faster than a slow gallop anyway; he was called “moon-eyed” and “nearsighted”, interesting terms for a horse and their vision. Besides, there was very little light to see by, and the horse eagerly awaited directions from the driver.

It wasn’t until they were about 40 feet from the river’s edge that they could see that the bridge was swung open. The driver immediately tried to pull up, but the panicked horse simply went faster, down to the river’s edge. The men tried to stop the horse, but being panicked with a large fire truck attached there was no hope. All men jumped from the cart at the last second except for Pipeman Henry Coyle. A splash was heard, and nothing more seen.

The bridgetender heard the crash and started to worry, working to finish turning the bridge as fast as he could. The firemen, stuck at the water’s edge, looked frantically in the river for Pipeman Coyle, for any sign of the horse cart. They could see nothing, and soon a passing boat churned up the water leaving any hope for rescue that night fairly slim. It was a few days before the department was able to retrieve both the fire cart (which was sent for repairs to be put back in service) and the body of Pipeman Coyle. A coroner’s inquest found that, had the cart been actually going at a walk, the accident would not have happened. They recommended (as did the fire department and many editorials) that signals needed to be placed on bridges to prevent such accidents. Even the bridgetenders said that they were unsafe.

Despite this, still nothing was done to make the bridges more safe. Even an accident which caused the death of three children in 1883 could not convince the city to take action. But, more on that tomorrow…

Happy October 8th, and beware of fires today.

[deadinchicago]

7 October - Dying upon Death’s Grounds

Candles to honor our dearly departed. Photo source.

Victorians were known for building garden cemeteries. Instead of places jammed to the brim with corpses, they desired to create beautiful grounds with sad monuments to remember their loved ones. You could visit your ancestors while also enjoying a beautiful park, old trees, a lake. Today, many of these garden cemeteries still exist in Chicago and around the country. But while they might be a final resting place for the deceased, they were never meant to be a place for people to expire.

In 1959, Lt. William Byrne was heading home to Glenview to visit his living family, his wife and child. He was a fighter pilot in the Marine Corps, headed to the Glenview naval air station. Unfortunately for him, the weather that day was terrible with visibility nearly zero, and Lt. Byrne could not quite land his plane correctly. He veered around, swinging too close to the trees, even taking off the front porch of someone’s home. As the plane careened out of control, he managed to find his way to the local graveyard, skimming over the top of a large monument. It took out the plane’s fuselage and wheels, the vehicle crashing forwards another 500 feet and tearing up trees and smaller graves. One it finally came to a stop and the authorities came to survey the damage, the discovered Lt. Byrne’s body among the wreckage.

Mary Kamratke only wanted to honor her parents on All Soul’s Day in 1893. She did as many others did, heading to St. Adalbert’s cemetery to visit the graves of her mother and father. The ritual was simple, and it supposedly helped the dead in their eternal rest. At the least, it was time for Kamratke to focus on her parents and her memories of them. She sat by their graves, admiring their tombstones. She then pulled out several candles and matches, lighting them. One by one they each caught fire, and she would sit in honor of her mother and father until the candles burned out.

As she reached for the last candle, she found the smell of burning cloth entering her nose. Kamratke looked down only to notice that part of her skirt caught fire, and the hungry flames licked at her skin underneath, devouring her clothing. Her screams caught the attention of others engaged in the same remembrance ritual nearby along with the grave digger. He ran over, covered her in his coat, and rolled her on top of a new grave, snuffing out the fire with the damp earth. Despite this quick action, it took nearly three hours for a doctor to arrive to tend to her wounds. Mary Kamratke didn’t have that long to wait, and her injuries soon overtook her.

Happy October 7th, and just because the cemetery is a place to worship those who have past does not mean that you yourself might find your end.

[deadinchicago]

6 October - The Trapped Thieves

The death trap. Photo from the Chicago Tribune, 28 January 1929.

Perhaps this wasn’t a way that most Chicagoans would end up dying, but it was a reality for some. It’s still an issue today on occasion, unfortunately. So long as you’re on the up and up, you likely won’t have to worry about getting caught in the middle of a burglary — literally finding yourself trapped by the place you were trying to rob.

In 1960, Clarence Anthony was hoping to rob the Groceryland market, but it seemed like kind of a difficult target. The shop had been burgled several times recently, and all the doors and windows had bars in front of them. But, as Anthony soon discovered, the skylight was unprotected.

He jumped on it and through, landing roughly in the store below. He ransacked the store as best he could, but soon hear the police coming. Anthony knew he had to get out quickly and ran to the window, but realized too late that while he could drop down from it it was too high for him to reach and pull himself back up. So, he tried the front door...but it was locked. Every entrance for him was locked. He could hear the police outside and knew he was in a dire situation.

Anthony ran to another door and opened it, only to find a metal accordion gate locked in place. He worked desperately to open it, reaching his hands through to the outside to see if he could bust the lock that way. As he did, a police officer discovered him and quickly cuffed his hands through the gate. They had to wait three hours for the owner to show up and finally let him out.

A much more dire situation happened on a cold January night in 1928, 16 year old Burley Gilmore decided he wanted to rapidly increase his wealth by entering the A&P store in Old Town afterhours. He’d seemingly found the perfect way to get in as well. Gilmore wasn’t expecting anyone to show up to stop him should they hear a noise, either; it was terribly cold, a night which ended up freezing six other Chicagoans to death. No one would dare leave their homes to check on a store.

Gilmore walked up to the back of the building and spotted the window that had been broken up, now covered in boards. He walked up to it and chopped through them, creating a hole just big enough for him to look through and see if he really wanted to rob the place. He stepped up on the window ledge and stuck his head through the hole. His feet took another easy step forward and managed to land on the bottom of the window frame. It snapped the upper part of the window down on his neck, trapping him. His head was stuck in the building, his body on the ledge outside, and there was no way he could escape.

No one did come out on that cold night to find Burley Gilmore on the ledge. If he had been screaming, perhaps no one would have heard — his head was stuck inside the store. It wasn’t until morning that he was discovered on the ledge. In the bitter cold, his body left to the elements, Gilmore had frozen to death while trapped in a burglary gone wrong.

Perhaps the most novel trap occured not in Chicago, but in Grand Rapids, Michigan. These three men ended up losing not their life but their freedom when they tried to rob the store of Foster, Stevens, & Co. in 1893. They snuck in after hours and opened up the register together, taking what they could. As soon as the drawer clicked open, the thieves heard a few strange clicks and were blinded by a flash of light, right in their faces. They froze, worried they’d been seen, but nothing more happened. They finished ransacking the till and went on their way.

What they didn’t know was that the store had been robbed several times recently, and management had come up with a novel way to protect themselves. A camera and flash bulb had been rigged up to the register, so that when it opened it triggered the camera to take a photo. The store took the photo to the police, who recognized the criminals. They were taken in and denied the robbery until confronted with the photo. It might be one of the earliest examples of using a photo surveillance system to combat thieves.

Happy October 6th, and don’t try to rob buildings that might end up trapping you.

[deadinchicago]

5 October - Gus Amadeo

Gus Amadeo, as show in the Chicago Tribune on October 28th, 1954.

Gus Amadeo might have killed a cop, but it didn’t mean he should have been shot fourteen times in the middle of a busy intersection.

Amadeo had been in and out of Joliet prison twice by 1955 at only 26 years old. He was likely headed there a third time, and was stuck in jail downtown with another criminal, Anthony Gambino. Despite all this, neither man planned on actually staying locked up for long. Amadeo had his girlfriend, Dolores Del Genio Marcus, sneak in a gun. Amadeo used this weapon to escape from prison, and the pair got away. Gambino was caught shortly afterwards. But Gus managed to stay in hiding for a bit longer.

Several months after his escape, Amadeo was still in Chicago. He was laying low at various hideouts, moving from place to place with his friends as avoided the police as best as he could. It wasn’t until one fateful night when Amadeo was at the Circle Lounge, by Lawrence and Ravenswood, when he was spotted.

Officer Charles Annerino walked through the front doors and spotted Amadeo. He recognized the fugitive after a few moments and approached when he was sure he’d found the runaway convict. Annerino wasn’t scared of the man; in his 8 year career as a cop he’d already shot three robbers and gunmen to death and wounded four others. Amadeo didn’t seem like he’d be a problem.

A scuffle ensued, and in the chaos Amadeo shot Annerino, killing him. Amadeo immediately fled the scene, realizing that what he’d done now made his escape that much worse for himself. With a reputation as a cop killer, he could guarantee that every officer in town would be looking for him.

With Annerino’s murder, Gus Amadeo ended up the focus of attention for Lieutenant Frank Pape. Pape was known as a tough cop, someone who wasn’t scared to shoot first and ask questions later. He told reporters later that year that he’d probably shot “10 or 12” criminals, killing half of them or so. Pape’s belief was that if you saw a dangerous (or potentially dangerous) criminal and he didn’t do exactly what you asked or seemed to be reaching for a weapon, you should shoot him before he could shoot you. Pape always remembered a fellow officer who had fired a warning shot at a criminal, and the gunman fired into the officer’s stomach, killing him.

And Pape was extremely mad that a thief like Amadeo would kill another officer.

Pape was immediately on the case, doing his best to track down Amadeo before he could escape. The police found a lucky break when Amadeo tried to leave the city. He found his girlfriend’s sister in law Dorothy Del Genio and told her to bring him a car to Andersonville. Dorothy immediately told the police, upset that this man had already caused her family so much pain and blaming him for the reason her sister was in jail.

The police created a setup. Dorothy was to appear with the car at an appointed time. Over a dozen police officers swarmed the area in plainclothes, posing as pedestrians and workers. Frank Pape set up a rifle in a second floor office across the street, one with a perfect view of Dorothy and the car. Then, they waited, wondering if the criminal would keep his appointment.

Amadeo did show up. As he walked up to the car he thought he would escape in, , an officer shouted at him to give up. What happened next is hard to discern exactly, but Amadeo either started to run or started to go for a gun, or perhaps both. With this movement he was immediately hit with a hail of bullets, some from Pape, some from the plainclothes officers around him. He tried to run but eventually fell, dying on the sidewalk. Amadeo was struck 14 times, and around him were pockmarks from bullets that missed their mark.

In their frenzy, the police had nearly killed a woman - a bullet shattered a display just next to where she had been standing - and another man ended up at the hospital for a flesh wound from a stray bullet. Over two thousand people showed up to view the body of Amadeo as it lay in the streets, and the newspapers printed pictures of his tattoos with bullet wounds the next day.  

Happy October 5th, and you never know when a shootout could happen in your neighborhood.

[deadinchicago]

4 October - Where the Sidewalk Collapses

A vaulted sidewalk. Photo source.

As we walk through the streets, we take the sidewalks for granted, assuming that of course they would hold our weights. This unfortunately hasn’t always been the case in Chicago. While now we might not have to hold a collapsing sidewalk as a major worry, it was something that happened fairly regularly back in the day.

Chicago has, to this day, a large amount of vaulted sidewalks. They came about when the city was raised in the mid 1800s. In an attempt to lay sewers and raise the city out of the muddy swamp it was built on, early Chicagoans came to a decision that they would install a sewer system at street level and then simply lift up every building, installing a new foundation underneath. People were left on their own to raise buildings. Some did, others chose to turn the second floor into the first floor and convert the first floor to a basement or storage. With this in place, the city then laid sidewalks at the new street level, often between 4-14 feet higher than it had been. Rather than filling in the void, often it was left empty so that building owners could use the space as extra storage. Unfortunately, these vaulted sidewalks weren’t always maintained, and usually weren’t constructed with the idea of holding dozens of people in mind. Beyond vaulted sidewalks, on occasion you might find wooden sidewalks that were prone to warping and rotting quickly in Chicago’s ever changing weather. Whatever you walked across, you never knew when you might find yourself falling.

Sometimes, it was another disaster that brought about the collapse of a sidewalk. In 1901, the furniture warehouse for Sauer, Dwyer, and Co. happened to leave a door open. The warehouse was connected to rail yard for ease of loading furniture for shipment. A passing train threw several sparks, a few of which managed to find their way into the door and into the basement of the building, lighting packing material on fire. Before anyone could realize what happened the entire warehouse and stock of furniture was burning brightly, and the employees ran around in a panic. The fire ended up consuming the entire building and all contents, despite several employees who tried their best to hook up several carloads of furniture that was ready to be shipped via train to their destination. These men were able to attach the loaded cars to the train, but could not drive out on account of the flames. The total loss was estimated at $85,000, or over $2.5 million today.

Despite several injuries, no one died from the fire. In fact, more people were injured when they stopped to watch the flames from across the street. Hundred gathered on the sidewalk, stopping on their way home from work, watching as the expensive merchandise lit up the sky. The police started shooing them away from the scene, but before everyone left 20 feet of the wooden sidewalk collapsed, sending 50 people 18 feet to the ground below. They fell on top of each other in a pile, some covered in splintered wood, a few knocked unconscious. The police managed to help out those who needed it, though only three were found to be knocked out by the fall. Several had broken bones and most had bruises, but no one was fatally injured.

Fires weren’t the only thing attracting crowds. In 1897, a group of a hundred, a majority children, watched curiously as the police very publicly arrested John Igo on suspicion of theft. The police held him at a police box at the end of the sidewalk, waiting for the wagon to appear to take him in. The kids thronged about the cops in excitement, pushing to get closer to see the supposed robber. As they milled around, the sidewalk groaned underneath them and collapsed, sending 100 kids ten feet down into a foot deep pool of stagnant water. The kids screamed and starting hauling themselves out, throwing wooden planks out of the way and helping others as they could. The police were unable to  figure out how many people were injured, as most simply climbed out and ran home to nurse their wounds.

In the chaos, John Igo was left alone at the corner, having not fallen with everyone else. He didn’t run but waited until the police got back to him. It ended up that the cops were looking for another man, mistakenly having grabbed Igo instead.

The chaos of broken sidewalks wasn’t always this complicated. Sometimes, you might just be walking down the street when the stone underneath you gives way. That’s what happened in 1936 to Marvin Shapiro and Harold Marcus. The young men were walking at the corner of Lake and Halsted when the sidewalk gave out under their feet, the stones cracking in half and falling the three feet down. They plummeted with it too and were injured, though thankfully it was a short fall.

There are dozens such stories as these, from early Chicago history up until the 1980s, if not beyond. 

Happy October 4th, and watch your feet next time you’re on the sidewalk. You never know what might (or might not be) under it.