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Chicago Tribune
14-04-2025
- General
- Chicago Tribune
Michael Peregrine: The Great Chicago Flood's lasting lessons, 33 years later
Ever had one of those mornings when you wake up to a flooded basement? When an overnight storm knocked out your power and your sump pump? When the plumber's not answering his phone and you have an early meeting at the office? Well, 33 years ago this week, Chicago experienced one of those days, multiplied by a metropolis, when it woke up on the morning of April 13, 1992, to find that the Loop's proverbial basement had flooded. The central business district was brought to its (very wet) knees for an expensive three-day spell. The story of how the Loop flooded, why it flooded and how it recovered is one for the ages, a real 'Chicago tale' of history, chaos, hard work and creativity — and the inevitable blame game. Like many modern calamities, the roots of the Great Flood were firmly planted in history. Far deep under the Loop's streets rests the Chicago freight tunnel system, 60 miles of now-obsolete tubes tracking the street grid, completed in 1914. The tunnels served to facilitate movement of commodities, merchandise and utilities between Loop buildings while avoiding street-level congestion. They were abandoned in 1959 when outpaced by technology. The actual flood was precipitated by earlier efforts of contractors to install new pilings in several downtown bridges, including one at Kinzie Street. There, a fateful decision was made to move the new pilings away from their intended spot, to avoid damaging the bridge tender's house. The redirected pilings displaced the existing clay soil, which in turn breached the tunnel wall, and the flood was on. Confusion, inconvenience and lack of urgency cascaded into lengthy delays in reporting the breach to authorities. Fast-forward to Monday, April 13. Early-arriving downtown office workers confronted basements filled with rapidly rising waters. The Merchandise Mart boiler room was 30 feet under water. Fish were found in stairwells. The Chicago Pedway and underground shops were also flooded and 911 calls from office buildings began to roll in. Utilities and other building services began to fail. Ultimately, more than 250 million gallons of water filled the underground spaces. Reporter Larry Langford, on the scene at the Kinzie Street Bridge, described the site as 'the biggest bathtub drain in the world.' Loop workers were sent home and stayed home for several days. Initial corrective ideas were dismissed as impractical or risky or both. Mayor Richard M. Daley reached out to veteran contractor John Kenny Jr. to direct the repair work. Kenny moved quickly to take charge, with City Hall clearing political obstacles. As the Tribune reported at the time, Kenny quickly focused on a plan that would 'start throwing stuff down there,' i.e., create a form of blanket around the leak and then seal it. Over a one-week period, a concrete solution was applied to fill the hole until the leak stopped. Subsequent repair served to reinforce the tunnel seals and to add permanent bulkheads. The total cost of repairs came to almost $2 billion (more than $4.5 billion in today's dollars), but it worked. Then came finger-pointing time. Blame would eventually be spread far and wide, but absolute accountability proved complex and elusive. While it wasn't quite the equivalent of the film 'Tremors,' the Great Chicago Flood does share some features with famous subterranean disaster movie. There's the predictable catalyst: the confusion between city inspectors and contractors in reporting the leak. Then there's the looming emergency: commuters calmly walking to their Loop offices, while under the sidewalks lurked rapidly rising river waters. Then there's the hero, Kenny, the so-called 'Flood Stud' who guided the complex repair efforts to success. And then there's the moral of the story — or in this case, a couple of morals. First is that attributing blame for an expensive catastrophe is rarely a productive and reliable exercise. The better course of action is to focus on prevention and progress. Second is that Chicago has always been a city of innovation. The tunnel system was at its creation, and remained for years in retooled form, a creative avenue of commerce. Third is that things break — whether it's aging infrastructure, critical machinery or complex equipment. When they're not monitored and maintained, there'll be problems. Fourth is that government and private industry can and should work together effectively, and when they do, both benefit from increased consumer trust. Fifth is that Chicago is preternaturally resilient. Whatever vagaries fate seems to dish out, the city seems able to handle them. In 1992, and to this day, Chicago remains as Carl Sandburg envisioned it more than 110 years ago: the 'City of the Big Shoulders … a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities; … Bareheaded, Shoveling, Wrecking, Planning, Building, breaking, rebuilding.' That's a civic spirit no flood can wash away.
Yahoo
16-03-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Decades before Irish were Chicago political royalty, they lived in a ramshackle slum called Kilgubbin
Kilgubbin won't be found on modern-day maps of Chicago, but there once was a place known by that name — a settlement of Irish immigrants on the city's North Side. In the 1850s and 1860s, Kilgubbin was often mentioned in the pages of the Tribune and other Chicago newspapers. The name became symbolic of slums where poor Irish immigrants lived in ramshackle shanties, squatting on property they didn't own. In an era when the Irish faced widespread prejudice, 'Kilgubbin' was used as an insult. Of course, Kilgubbin wasn't the only place where Irish people lived in Chicago during the city's early decades. In the 1830s, Irish laborers dug the Illinois & Michigan Canal, settling in a spot once called Hardscrabble, which became the South Side's Bridgeport neighborhood. And when the Great Famine devastated Ireland in the 1840s, Chicago was a destination for thousands of Irish people fleeing starvation. By 1850, 1 out of every 5 Chicagoans was an Irish immigrant. Kilgubbin's original inhabitants came from Kilgobbin in Ireland's County Cork, where the nobility evicted them and shipped them to America, according to a Tribune article. 'They were literally 'dumped' at the Port of New York, with scanty clothing and absolutely penniless,' the Tribune reported. 'A Western railroad contractor brought a ship-load of them to Chicago.' They settled along the Chicago River's north bank west of Franklin Street and south of Kinzie Street, extending west to Wolf Point and the river's North Branch — an area where the Merchandise Mart and shiny skyscrapers stand today. 'The Kilgobbinites put up such shanties as they were able,' the Tribune noted. Other immigrants from Ireland soon followed. 'They were either so indifferent or so wanting in knowledge of the value of property and of the methods of securing title that very few of them took the trouble to acquire the ownership of the ground on which their houses stood, though it could be done for a mere trifle,' the Tribune wrote. By the 1850s, the growing Kilgubbin area included 'many thousand inhabitants, of all ages and habits, besides large droves of geese, goslings, pigs and rats,' according to the Chicago Times. Some Kilgubbin residents kept their geese on a mound of yellow clay in the river, which was called Goose Island — not to be confused with the larger Goose Island that today's Chicagoans are familiar with. This early patch of land with the same name was only about 20 square yards. Cows were also common in Kilgubbin. A resident named O'Brien caused an uproar in 1859 when he accused a neighbor named Ferrick of stealing his cow. 'The little O'Briens … one after another glued their eyes to the cracks in the enclosure of the Ferricks' and tearfully hailed their long lost favorite,' the Tribune reported. O'Brien sued Ferrick, and the cow was subpoenaed, making an appearance in the square outside the downtown courthouse. But the jurors decided the cow was Ferrick's and ordered O'Brien to pay court costs of $118, or roughly $4,000 in today's money — three times the cow's value. The same year, the Tribune described Kilgubbin as 'the haunt of the vilest and lowest population of the city,' where visitors faced the danger of being 'swamped in mud, suffocated with stench, or bludgeoned in wild Celtic freakishness.' But such fears didn't prevent politicians from seeking votes in Kilgubbin. According to neighborhood lore recounted in the Tribune, Mayor Walter Gurnee had campaigned there in the early 1850s, dancing to a fiddler's music with a barefoot girl — an experience that prompted him to quote Irish poet John Francis Waller: 'Search the world all around, from the sky to the ground, No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing.' As legend had it, this helped Gurnee to win the election. Chicago's Irish weren't yet serving as aldermen and mayors, but they were already becoming a political force to be reckoned with. As time went on, property owners evicted Kilgubbin's squatters. In 1863, police officers ordered many residents out of their shanties. 'Mrs. O'Flaherty declared, with arms akimbo, that she would not leave for the 'likes of yez,' and so Mrs. O'Flaherty's house was pulled down over her head,' the Tribune reported. Kicked out of Kilgubbin, many of these Irish Americans moved north, settling near the river's North Branch north of Chicago Avenue and taking their neighborhood's name with them — this area was also called Kilgubbin. Kilgubbin's most famous moment came in August 1865, when Chicago Times reporter John M. Wing traipsed through the muddy enclave and the city's other 'squatter settlements,' which had a total population estimated at 15,000. 'The progress of civilization, the rapid growth of the city, and the consequent increase in the value of the property, do not seem to exert much influence upon these people,' Wing commented. According to Wing, a typical shanty in Kilgubbin contained one room occupied by a cow and a pig; a second apartment where geese and chickens roosted; and a kitchen, where 10 to 12 children were 'lying upon the floor in rows, in the most squalid rags and filth.' Wing described Irish shanty dwellers as prone to feuds and fights: 'The females are extremely tenacious of their rights, and consequently, quarrel and fight among themselves, pull hair and disfigure eyes. In this respect a more turbulent race of people never existed. The women encourage their children to quarrel and fight, and teach them how it is done by actual combats with their neighbors. Every breeze blows dust into their eyes from somebody's patch with whom they are at loggerheads, and a fierce contest with shillelaghs ensues.' The Times, a notoriously sensational newspaper run by publisher Wilbur F. Storey, had been considered a friend of Irish immigrants. Like the Times, the Irish supported the Democratic Party. But a day after the Times published Wing's article — without a byline — 1,000 Irish readers canceled their subscriptions. 'Irishmen rush into the office, and threaten to kill the individual who wrote it, if they can only lay hands upon him. The excitement is intense,' Wing wrote in his diary (which was published as a book in 2002). The Tribune reprinted the entire Times article — and then published it a second time, in 1866, eagerly presenting it as evidence of the rival newspaper's 'Wholesale Slander and Vituperation of the Irish People of Chicago.' By the late 1860s, the name 'Kilgubbin' was appearing less often in newspapers, as the area came to be known by other names. It was sometimes considered a part of the North Side's 'Little Hell' area, but its most common moniker was Goose Island. This island in the river's North Branch had been created by a canal, originally excavated to dig up clay for making bricks. (At 160 acres, it's far bigger than the tiny Goose Island that once existed near Wolf Point and the original Kilgubbin.) In the years after the Irish arrived, industry and railroads took over much of the island. In 1886, the Tribune reported that only 300 residents, most of them Irish, were still living there. As the century ended, Chicago's Irish population was concentrated on the South and West sides, though a smaller community endured on the North Side. Those who stayed on Goose Island upgraded from shanties to frame cottages and two-story houses. History | Today in Chicago History: Northwestern wins first NCAA tournament appearance History | Today in History: Tonya Harding pleads guilty History | Today in Chicago History: Rod Blagojevich enters prison History | Today in History: Francis Ford Coppola's 'The Godfather' released History | Landmarks: Likely a White City artifact, Manhattan's Round Barn set for $2.5 million facelift Looking back on the history of Kilgubbin and Goose Island, the 1886 Tribune article concluded that these places were probably never 'as black as they have been painted.' And it noted that most of the 'tough' characters had been 'weeded out.' Describing Goose Island's residents, the newspaper took a far more positive view of the Irish than it had just a few decades earlier. 'They are a pretty good class of people,' the Tribune said. 'They are thrifty and industrious. … The great majority of the people are sober and hardworking.' Have an idea for Vintage Chicago Tribune? Share it with Ron Grossman and Marianne Mather at grossmanron34@ and mmather@ Sign up to receive the Vintage Chicago Tribune newsletter at for more photos and stories from the Tribune's archives.
Chicago Tribune
16-03-2025
- General
- Chicago Tribune
Decades before Irish were Chicago political royalty, they lived in a ramshackle slum called Kilgubbin
Kilgubbin won't be found on modern-day maps of Chicago, but there once was a place known by that name — a settlement of Irish immigrants on the city's North Side. In the 1850s and 1860s, Kilgubbin was often mentioned in the pages of the Tribune and other Chicago newspapers. The name became symbolic of slums where poor Irish immigrants lived in ramshackle shanties, squatting on property they didn't own. In an era when the Irish faced widespread prejudice, 'Kilgubbin' was used as an insult. Of course, Kilgubbin wasn't the only place where Irish people lived in Chicago during the city's early decades. In the 1830s, Irish laborers dug the Illinois & Michigan Canal, settling in a spot once called Hardscrabble, which became the South Side's Bridgeport neighborhood. And when the Great Famine devastated Ireland in the 1840s, Chicago was a destination for thousands of Irish people fleeing starvation. By 1850, 1 out of every 5 Chicagoans was an Irish immigrant. Kilgubbin's original inhabitants came from Kilgobbin in Ireland's County Cork, where the nobility evicted them and shipped them to America, according to a Tribune article. 'They were literally 'dumped' at the Port of New York, with scanty clothing and absolutely penniless,' the Tribune reported. 'A Western railroad contractor brought a ship-load of them to Chicago.' They settled along the Chicago River's north bank west of Franklin Street and south of Kinzie Street, extending west to Wolf Point and the river's North Branch — an area where the Merchandise Mart and shiny skyscrapers stand today. 'The Kilgobbinites put up such shanties as they were able,' the Tribune noted. Other immigrants from Ireland soon followed. 'They were either so indifferent or so wanting in knowledge of the value of property and of the methods of securing title that very few of them took the trouble to acquire the ownership of the ground on which their houses stood, though it could be done for a mere trifle,' the Tribune wrote. By the 1850s, the growing Kilgubbin area included 'many thousand inhabitants, of all ages and habits, besides large droves of geese, goslings, pigs and rats,' according to the Chicago Times. Some Kilgubbin residents kept their geese on a mound of yellow clay in the river, which was called Goose Island — not to be confused with the larger Goose Island that today's Chicagoans are familiar with. This early patch of land with the same name was only about 20 square yards. Cows were also common in Kilgubbin. A resident named O'Brien caused an uproar in 1859 when he accused a neighbor named Ferrick of stealing his cow. 'The little O'Briens … one after another glued their eyes to the cracks in the enclosure of the Ferricks' and tearfully hailed their long lost favorite,' the Tribune reported. O'Brien sued Ferrick, and the cow was subpoenaed, making an appearance in the square outside the downtown courthouse. But the jurors decided the cow was Ferrick's and ordered O'Brien to pay court costs of $118, or roughly $4,000 in today's money — three times the cow's value. The same year, the Tribune described Kilgubbin as 'the haunt of the vilest and lowest population of the city,' where visitors faced the danger of being 'swamped in mud, suffocated with stench, or bludgeoned in wild Celtic freakishness.' But such fears didn't prevent politicians from seeking votes in Kilgubbin. According to neighborhood lore recounted in the Tribune, Mayor Walter Gurnee had campaigned there in the early 1850s, dancing to a fiddler's music with a barefoot girl — an experience that prompted him to quote Irish poet John Francis Waller: 'Search the world all around, from the sky to the ground, No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing.' As legend had it, this helped Gurnee to win the election. Chicago's Irish weren't yet serving as aldermen and mayors, but they were already becoming a political force to be reckoned with. As time went on, property owners evicted Kilgubbin's squatters. In 1863, police officers ordered many residents out of their shanties. 'Mrs. O'Flaherty declared, with arms akimbo, that she would not leave for the 'likes of yez,' and so Mrs. O'Flaherty's house was pulled down over her head,' the Tribune reported. Kicked out of Kilgubbin, many of these Irish Americans moved north, settling near the river's North Branch north of Chicago Avenue and taking their neighborhood's name with them — this area was also called Kilgubbin. Kilgubbin's most famous moment came in August 1865, when Chicago Times reporter John M. Wing traipsed through the muddy enclave and the city's other 'squatter settlements,' which had a total population estimated at 15,000. 'The progress of civilization, the rapid growth of the city, and the consequent increase in the value of the property, do not seem to exert much influence upon these people,' Wing commented. According to Wing, a typical shanty in Kilgubbin contained one room occupied by a cow and a pig; a second apartment where geese and chickens roosted; and a kitchen, where 10 to 12 children were 'lying upon the floor in rows, in the most squalid rags and filth.' Wing described Irish shanty dwellers as prone to feuds and fights: 'The females are extremely tenacious of their rights, and consequently, quarrel and fight among themselves, pull hair and disfigure eyes. In this respect a more turbulent race of people never existed. The women encourage their children to quarrel and fight, and teach them how it is done by actual combats with their neighbors. Every breeze blows dust into their eyes from somebody's patch with whom they are at loggerheads, and a fierce contest with shillelaghs ensues.' The Times, a notoriously sensational newspaper run by publisher Wilbur F. Storey, had been considered a friend of Irish immigrants. Like the Times, the Irish supported the Democratic Party. But a day after the Times published Wing's article — without a byline — 1,000 Irish readers canceled their subscriptions. 'Irishmen rush into the office, and threaten to kill the individual who wrote it, if they can only lay hands upon him. The excitement is intense,' Wing wrote in his diary (which was published as a book in 2002). The Tribune reprinted the entire Times article — and then published it a second time, in 1866, eagerly presenting it as evidence of the rival newspaper's 'Wholesale Slander and Vituperation of the Irish People of Chicago.' By the late 1860s, the name 'Kilgubbin' was appearing less often in newspapers, as the area came to be known by other names. It was sometimes considered a part of the North Side's 'Little Hell' area, but its most common moniker was Goose Island. This island in the river's North Branch had been created by a canal, originally excavated to dig up clay for making bricks. (At 160 acres, it's far bigger than the tiny Goose Island that once existed near Wolf Point and the original Kilgubbin.) In the years after the Irish arrived, industry and railroads took over much of the island. In 1886, the Tribune reported that only 300 residents, most of them Irish, were still living there. As the century ended, Chicago's Irish population was concentrated on the South and West sides, though a smaller community endured on the North Side. Those who stayed on Goose Island upgraded from shanties to frame cottages and two-story houses. Looking back on the history of Kilgubbin and Goose Island, the 1886 Tribune article concluded that these places were probably never 'as black as they have been painted.' And it noted that most of the 'tough' characters had been 'weeded out.' Describing Goose Island's residents, the newspaper took a far more positive view of the Irish than it had just a few decades earlier. 'They are a pretty good class of people,' the Tribune said. 'They are thrifty and industrious. … The great majority of the people are sober and hardworking.'
Associated Press
14-03-2025
- Business
- Associated Press
KI to Anchor Design Innovation in Chicago's Fulton Market
Showroom opening targeted for 2026 Design Days GREEN BAY, WI / ACCESS Newswire KI today announced its strategic relocation to Chicago's vibrant Fulton Market District, securing the entire eighth floor of the prestigious 1045 on Fulton building. This move, away from the historic Merchandise Mart, positions KI at the heart of Chicago's premier design hub. KI, including its KI Wall and Pallas Textiles brands, will launch a state-of-the-art showroom in the WELL-certified 1045 on Fulton, developed by Intercontinental Real Estate Corporation and Fulton Street Companies. The grand opening is targeted for Design Days in June 2026. 'Moving to Fulton Market allows us to immerse ourselves in the dynamic community redefining design,' said Tony Besasie, chief sales and marketing officer at KI. 'This move aligns with our latest innovations, and we look forward to connecting with the creative community.' The new space will showcase the latest offerings from the three brands, fostering collaboration among architects, designers, and influencers. It will also house the company's Chicago-based teams. The building design emphasizes sustainability and a forward-thinking vision, both important to KI. Located at 1045 West Fulton Street, the 12-story building, designed by Hartshorne Plunkard Architecture, offers convenient access to public transportation as well as underground and bicycle parking. KI will celebrate its final NeoCon at the Merchandise Mart in 2025, marking the end of a 50-year chapter. 'We cherish our Merchandise Mart memories but are thrilled to begin this new chapter in Fulton Market,' Besasie stated. 'We eagerly anticipate welcoming the design community in 2026.' About KI KI manufactures innovative furniture for education, healthcare, government, and corporate markets. The employee-owned company is headquartered in Green Bay, Wisconsin, with sales and manufacturing facilities worldwide. KI tailors products and service solutions to the specific needs of each customer through its unique design and manufacturing philosophy. For more information, visit About Intercontinental Real Estate Corporation Intercontinental Real Estate Corporation is an SEC Registered Investment Adviser* with decades long experience in real estate investment, finance, development, construction management and asset management. Since 1959, Intercontinental and its affiliates have managed, developed, or owned collectively over $18.25 billion in real estate property. As of December 31, 2024, Intercontinental manages a real estate portfolio of approximately $12.65 billion for its clients. Intercontinental investment strategies actively seek opportunities to invest in both Core and Core-Plus properties, as well as in Value-Add operating properties and development projects. For more information on Intercontinental please visit *Registration with the SEC does not imply a certain level of skill or training. (202) 970 -9745 KI Furniture
