The Henry W. Rincker House

 The intersection of Nagle, Milwaukee, and Devon Avenues in Chicago is perhaps best known as the location of Superdawg, the nationally-famous hot dog stand topped by the iconic characters Maury and Flaury.  It’s a busy intersection, notwithstanding the fact that one of the corners represents the southern boundary of a forest preserve.  There’s a lot of history here.  Once upon a time, the forest preserve was a popular golf course called Bunker Hill.  Across the street was a mini-golf course called “De-Mil” (Devon - Milwaukee).  The Milwaukee Avenue streetcar met its northernmost terminus at Imlay, just a stone’s throw north of Devon (the old turnabout is still there and used by CTA buses).  The aforementioned Superdawg has been serving fast foodies since 1948.  

What most people don’t know is that the intersection was ground zero for one of the most notorious controversies in Chicago history, and it had nothing to do with hot dogs, golf, or street cars.  

It all started with a man named Heinrich (Henry) Wilhelm Rincker.  

Rincker was born in Herborn, Germany, in 1818.  His father Philipp owned and operated Rincker Bell Foundry, a business that is still going strong in Germany over two hundred years later.  Rincker descendants claim that as a young man, Henry decided that instead of following in his father’s footsteps, he wanted to work in the church.  This infuriated Philipp to the point that he disowned his son.  Official City of Chicago documents claim Henry enthusiastically modeled after his father and sought a career in bell-making.  Regardless, Henry would leave his parents behind in Germany and head for the United States around 1846.  He had seventy-five cents on him, and by the time he and his young family reached Chicago, he was flat broke.

To make ends meet, Rincker took on a job as a bell maker (NOT a minister) for a small foundry located at 198 West Randolph Street (now 209 West Randolph Street).  He later relocated to the intersection of South Canal Street and West Adams Street (where Union Station presently sits) and started his own foundry, afterward becoming the most prominent and successful bell maker in Chicago.  His bells were featured throughout the city, including atop the Chicago Courthouse before it was destroyed in the great fire of 1871. 

As a result of the cholera outbreak in 1849, Rincker lost his wife and one of his two sons.  At that time, he lived at 172 West Washington Street (now 182 West Washington Street).  A move to the country was imminent.  Newly re-married, he traveled northwest along the Northwest Plank Road nearly eleven miles and purchased land near the North Branch of the Chicago River.  There, in 1851, he built his new home in the German Gothic Revival style.  It was constructed of bricks manufactured from mud collected from the banks of the river, and covered in locally-sourced wooden siding.  Rincker continued to work at his foundry in Chicago, commuting daily from his country estate.  Tragedy struck once again in 1856 when his eight-year-old daughter died.  This death proved to be an insurmountable calamity, because at that time he sold his foundry and his property and moved to Indiana, where he became an ordained minister.  He would spend the rest of his life working in churches in both Indiana and Illinois, eventually purchasing 600 acres in Shelby County (Illinois) and calling his estate Herborn, after the town he was born in (Herborn, Illinois technically still exists on maps but isn’t more than a hamlet).  He would also dabble in bell making in his later years, never losing his touch.

Rincker in his later years as a minister

Henry Rincker died in 1889 at the age of 71 in Herborn.  But the story is far from over.

Rincker's gravestone at Rincker Cemetery near Herborn, Illinois

The house Rincker built by hand near the North Branch of the Chicago River lived on.  The year he died was also the year his former property became part of the latest annexation to the city of Chicago.  Soon, the once bucolic landscape Rincker had cherished as his respite from city life became quite urbanized itself.  The Northwest Plank Road became Milwaukee Avenue.  The 1920s saw tremendous growth throughout Chicagoland and neat rows of sturdy brick bungalows began popping up almost overnight.  By 1960, the old Rincker house was completely immersed in the strange metropolis, positioned awkwardly behind a Walgreens drug store and a grocery store called Lilac Farm.

Modern garages for the homes along North Neenah Avenue can be seen in the background.

In 1977, builder-developer Anthony Roppolo purchased the 5.2 acres upon which the two businesses and the Rincker house sat.  His plan was to demolish all three of the buildings and re-develop the site; he envisioned a more modern shopping plaza as well as a 112-unit condominium called “Landmark Square”.  By this time, both Lilac Farm and the Rincker house were vacant; only the Walgreens showed signs of life (and still does at this intersection - more on that in a bit).  When community leaders caught wind of Roppolo’s plans, they waged a war against the developer.  One longtime local resident claimed that based on collected petitions, 99.75% of the locals opposed the new development plan.  41st Ward Alderman Roman Pucinski got a wrecking permit for the Rincker house revoked and then began working on obtaining landmark status for the old house.  And in 1979, the city of Chicago awarded the 128-year-old Rincker house with the landmark title. The Commission on Chicago Historical and Architectural Landmarks considered the house the last of its kind left in the city, bolstering its significance.  As a condition of landmark status, the ordinance “provides for the preservation, protection, enhancement, rehabilitation, and perpetuation of that landmark”.  

Initially, Roppolo appeared to be receptive to the idea of moving the Rincker house, but two very suspicious fires seemed to indicate that perhaps he was playing dirty.  The second of the two fires occurred early on a Saturday morning in March of 1980.  Firefighters were able to extinguish the blaze, but not before the fire caused significant damage to the upper level of the house (it was noted that firefighters were proud to have saved the ornate gingerbread trim).  Despite the fire damage, acclaimed architect Wilbert Hasbrouck supported restoration of the house, saying, “it is as much a landmark as the Board of Trade building, and it is mandatory that it be saved.”

Damage caused by arson

The climax of this story occurred on the morning of August 25th, 1980 - just five months after the fire that gutted a portion of the Rincker house.  That morning, the everyday sounds of the city were punctuated by the rumbling of a bulldozer and the moaning of an old house collapsing into a pile of rubble.  In a flash, the building was no more.

The demolition of the Rincker house made headlines that week, in Chicago and beyond.  Confused residents were to soon discover that the house’s demolition was an accident - or so that’s what Roppolo claimed.  After failing to have the house demolished through legal avenues, he reached out to Lela Cirrincione of Cirro Wrecking Company.  Through a lethal combination of deception, confusion, and a slapdash municipal administration, the Rincker house was swiftly merely a footnote in the annals of Chicago history (the details and subsequent court filings can be read here).

Once the dust settled, the site’s redevelopment ensued.  All of the buildings were demolished.  Gone is Lilac Farm, and replacing it is a large Shop & Save.  Walgreens remained a presence after the original building was demolished; it, along with one or two other businesses, is arranged side by side so as to provide as much parking as possible.  As time moves on, fewer people can recall the old Rincker house.  A lonely sign, erected by the Commission on Chicago Landmarks, is the only memorial.  If there is any silver living to the destruction of the Rincker house, the sign says it best: 

“After the house was demolished without the approval of the Commission on Chicago Landmarks, the Commission and the community, led by Alderman Roman Pucinski, brought a lawsuit against the owner (Roppolo) which resulted in a settlement for the City, to be used for the preservation of other designated landmarks.”