The tree will probably go next year. But for now, it keeps pushing on, bearing fruit in the face of adversity.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Baby Apple
This is probably one of the last apples to ever grow on the ancient apple tree in my backyard. Though we love the tree, it has suffered from years of abuse. Insects, disease, woodpeckers, people, and squirrels have wreaked havoc on the old man tree over the years. Large sections of the tree are dead, and the squirrels leave us virtually no apples to enjoy in the fall. Scores of immature apples litter the grass, each plucked by a squirrel, only to be tasted once and dumped. What a waste. Recently, I noticed a section of tree up high where an animal (squirrel) has been chewing the live bark off. Teeth marks and all.
The tree will probably go next year. But for now, it keeps pushing on, bearing fruit in the face of adversity.
![]()
The tree will probably go next year. But for now, it keeps pushing on, bearing fruit in the face of adversity.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
The Grayland Theatre
The Grayland Theatre, 3940 N Cicero Ave, was built in 1909 and opened as a theater in 1912. Much like the nearby Jefferson Nickelodeon, this was a small, single screen theater that featured silent films accompanied by live organ. Designed by architect William Ohlhaber, it probably was the premiere theater in the area until 1920, when the much larger and fancier Portage Park Theater (later shortened to Portage Theater) opened just around the corner on Milwaukee Ave. Today, the building houses Rasenick's, a work and utility clothing store. I first wondered about the building in the summer of 2007, when I visited Rasenick's for the first time. I was to pick up a pair of safety shoes for work, so a coworker and I stopped by on our break. Entering the building, I noticed that a segment of the drop ceiling was missing, revealing a gorgeous ornate terra cotta design along the wall and ceiling. When I went home later that day to investigate, I learned that in fact this was once a theater. On a return trip, I asked the manager of the store if he had any information regarding the history of the building. He was well aware of its cinematic past, and told me that before it opened as Rasenick's in the late 70's, it was a delicatessen for a number of years. He had worked at the store since it opened in (I believe) 1978, or, as he assured, "before (I) was born".
One very intriguing feature of the former theater is the area of facade which is covered in several peices of sheet metal. This looks very much like where an epigraph or small marquee would have been. The manager of the store assured me there was nothing behind it. But I think there is...otherwise, there's no need to obliterate a blank section of the facade. I understand if Rasenick's wants to call their business Rasenick's and not Grayland Theatre, but one day I would love to be there if and when they remove the sheet metal to take a peak at just what is there, hiden in secrecy.
"Albert Schmidt was unhappy with his recent purchase.
It was October 26, 1926, and he’d just called the previous owner of the Grayland Theater, Samuel Wertheimer, telling him to get over to the place as soon as possible that night. He was having a problem with the ventilation system, and he needed Wertheimer to come over and explain the cockamamie—or whatever expression they used back then—thing to him.
Wertheimer, we must assume, was wary. Schmidt purchased the Grayland only a week before for $4,000. While business was reportedly good—a film was showing when the two men met that day, shortly after 3 p.m.—it wasn’t paying off fast enough. Whether he truly thought he’d recoup the money in that short a timeframe is open to debate, but according to Wertheimer, Schmidt quickly got cold feet and had asked him twice already to back out of the deal. “Nuts to that banana oil, pally! 23 skidoo!” we can only assume Wertheimer said.
It seems Wertheimer cared enough to answer a few questions about the ventilation system’s operation, though. So maybe the bad blood flowed only on one side. Wertheimer showed up in the Grayland’s lobby, then followed Schmidt to the basement. Schmidt indicated the vents, which Wertheimer inspected closely before turning to see… Schmidt standing there with a revolver.
As Wertheimer tells it—and we only have his word for it—Schmidt drew a bead and shot him twice as he tried to run away. Maybe it was dark down there or maybe Schmidt was just a piss-poor shot, but the reluctant theater owner only managed to wing his target, putting a bullet apiece in Wertheimer’s arm and leg. An assumedly distraught, or at the least stressed, Schmidt shot himself, didn’t miss, and died.
Fueled by adrenalin and fear, Wertheimer ran up the stairs, out of the theater, down Cicero Ave. to a local doctor, who bandaged him up while he waited for the cops to arrive.
But that’s not where the story ends.
During the movie, a number of patrons heard the shots, and ran out of the theater (without running into Wertheimer, I suppose). One called the cops. As so often happens during stressful situations, the person making the call got the facts wrong, and instead of reporting a shooting/suicide, this nameless individual reported a riot. Two people had been shot by an unknown assailant, he or she said, and the gunman had barricaded himself in the basement. Seven squads of cops mounted up, armed for rioting bears with guns and “tear bombs,” piled into their cars and headed for Grayland. Some of the cops made it to the theater to discover the cooling corpse of Albert Schmidt.
Others did not.
One of the squads headed west on Addison, sirens howling and lights blazing. Meanwhile, Cecil Chapel, his wife, and and two kids were heading north on Lincoln, probably returning to their northwest side home on Kedvale. Both, according the article, got the yellow light, and both continued driving through the intersection. They collided, adding a bit more blood and broken bodies to the story. Officer Walter Riley, 28, was critically injured and died on his way to the hospital. Meanwhile Chapel and his family, as well as officers Thomas Alcock and George Hennesy were seriously injured. No further details on what became of them, though an accompanying photo made it clear things didn’t look good for Alcock (“AUTO VICTIM. Sergt. Tom Alcock, near death from injuries received in crash”). Ripples expanding outwards from a central pebble of violence cast by Albert Schmidt (listed in his obituary a few days later as having “died suddenly”)." (http://www.mrdankelly.com/blog/?p=1530).
Rasenick's: http://rasenicks.com/home/default.asp
One very intriguing feature of the former theater is the area of facade which is covered in several peices of sheet metal. This looks very much like where an epigraph or small marquee would have been. The manager of the store assured me there was nothing behind it. But I think there is...otherwise, there's no need to obliterate a blank section of the facade. I understand if Rasenick's wants to call their business Rasenick's and not Grayland Theatre, but one day I would love to be there if and when they remove the sheet metal to take a peak at just what is there, hiden in secrecy.
Upon further research, I found a very interesting story regarding the Grayland Theater, as told by Dan Kelly (http://www.mrdankelly.com/, http://www.chicagosteppes.com/). Mr. Kelly has done some extensive research in this theater, and other local points of interest as well. One fascinating anecdote on the Grayland Theater, as told by Dan Kelly:
It was October 26, 1926, and he’d just called the previous owner of the Grayland Theater, Samuel Wertheimer, telling him to get over to the place as soon as possible that night. He was having a problem with the ventilation system, and he needed Wertheimer to come over and explain the cockamamie—or whatever expression they used back then—thing to him.
Wertheimer, we must assume, was wary. Schmidt purchased the Grayland only a week before for $4,000. While business was reportedly good—a film was showing when the two men met that day, shortly after 3 p.m.—it wasn’t paying off fast enough. Whether he truly thought he’d recoup the money in that short a timeframe is open to debate, but according to Wertheimer, Schmidt quickly got cold feet and had asked him twice already to back out of the deal. “Nuts to that banana oil, pally! 23 skidoo!” we can only assume Wertheimer said.
It seems Wertheimer cared enough to answer a few questions about the ventilation system’s operation, though. So maybe the bad blood flowed only on one side. Wertheimer showed up in the Grayland’s lobby, then followed Schmidt to the basement. Schmidt indicated the vents, which Wertheimer inspected closely before turning to see… Schmidt standing there with a revolver.
As Wertheimer tells it—and we only have his word for it—Schmidt drew a bead and shot him twice as he tried to run away. Maybe it was dark down there or maybe Schmidt was just a piss-poor shot, but the reluctant theater owner only managed to wing his target, putting a bullet apiece in Wertheimer’s arm and leg. An assumedly distraught, or at the least stressed, Schmidt shot himself, didn’t miss, and died.
Fueled by adrenalin and fear, Wertheimer ran up the stairs, out of the theater, down Cicero Ave. to a local doctor, who bandaged him up while he waited for the cops to arrive.
But that’s not where the story ends.
During the movie, a number of patrons heard the shots, and ran out of the theater (without running into Wertheimer, I suppose). One called the cops. As so often happens during stressful situations, the person making the call got the facts wrong, and instead of reporting a shooting/suicide, this nameless individual reported a riot. Two people had been shot by an unknown assailant, he or she said, and the gunman had barricaded himself in the basement. Seven squads of cops mounted up, armed for rioting bears with guns and “tear bombs,” piled into their cars and headed for Grayland. Some of the cops made it to the theater to discover the cooling corpse of Albert Schmidt.
Others did not.
One of the squads headed west on Addison, sirens howling and lights blazing. Meanwhile, Cecil Chapel, his wife, and and two kids were heading north on Lincoln, probably returning to their northwest side home on Kedvale. Both, according the article, got the yellow light, and both continued driving through the intersection. They collided, adding a bit more blood and broken bodies to the story. Officer Walter Riley, 28, was critically injured and died on his way to the hospital. Meanwhile Chapel and his family, as well as officers Thomas Alcock and George Hennesy were seriously injured. No further details on what became of them, though an accompanying photo made it clear things didn’t look good for Alcock (“AUTO VICTIM. Sergt. Tom Alcock, near death from injuries received in crash”). Ripples expanding outwards from a central pebble of violence cast by Albert Schmidt (listed in his obituary a few days later as having “died suddenly”)." (http://www.mrdankelly.com/blog/?p=1530).
Rasenick's: http://rasenicks.com/home/default.asp
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)