Genealogy

For decades, Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church in the South Chicago neighborhood was a cultural center for the community’s Mexican-American families. In that church, families celebrated baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and other major milestones. But after the United States entered the war in Vietnam, funerals for 12 parishioners would take place at Our Lady of Guadalupe – a loss greater than in any other parish in the country. Many of the family members and friends of the young men who died, as well as other veterans, still feel the impact of that tragedy today. But what emerges from a memorial to the young men in the church’s nearby parking lot is a story of love, resilience, and memory.

On the morning of April 13, 1992 as commuters were heading to their offices in Chicago’s Loop, fish were swimming in the basement of the Merchandise Mart. A strange flood was rising. But at street level, no one could actually see the flood. What began as a leak in a unique but mostly forgotten underground freight tunnel system became a two-week combination of comedy-of-errors and soap opera that cost almost $2 billion. Building basements were submerged, and life for some was temporarily disrupted. People and institutions were blamed, and unlikely heroes were made. In the end, the Loop dried out, but the flood was an important reminder that forgotten things – even peculiar old tunnels 40 feet below our commute – are worth paying attention to.

Chicago was famously dubbed “Hog Butcher for the World” by Carl Sandburg in his iconic poem “Chicago.” The city was the center of America’s meatpacking industry for roughly a century, transforming the way livestock were sold, processed, transported, and eaten. Industrialist tycoons such as Philip Armour and Gustavus Swift created and then dominated an industry that changed Americans’ relationship to meat – and squeezed out massive profits at the same time. A century and a half after they first began processing “everything but the squeal” in Chicago, many of their abuses – an indifference to workers, health, the environment, or smaller business – are once again a part of the industry.

The glamor, drama, and flaws of the New York advertising world were famously depicted in the Mad Men television series. But it was a Chicago ad man that partially inspired the show’s not-always-easy-to-root-for protagonist.

The Pillsbury Doughboy. The Jolly Green Giant. “Fly the Friendly Skies.” You’ve probably heard of some of the characters and taglines that emerged from the Chicago advertising world. But each of these 10 advertising campaigns that were born in Chicago has a story of its own.

The day before New Year’s Eve in 1903, a tragedy befell the city of Chicago. In the brand-new, dazzling Iroquois Theater, as a packed crowd of mostly women and children watched the matinee performance of a musical, an arc light ignited a curtain backstage. Though initially unnoticed by the audience, the fire quickly spread. Chaos ensued over the next several minutes, and in the end, 602 people perished in the deadliest single-building fire in United States history. The Iroquois Theater fire is a tragic story of cut corners, desperate escapes, and lessons learned.

This episode of Chicago Stories traces the birth and growth of gospel music in Chicago in the 1930s. The story follows "The Father of Gospel", Thomas A. Dorsey, who wrote one of gospel’s early hits while coping with his grief over the death of his wife and child. It explores the roots of gospel from southern spirituals during slavery, through gospel’s early years.

For decades, Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church in the South Chicago neighborhood was a cultural center for the community’s Mexican-American families. In that church, families celebrated baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and other major milestones. But after the United States entered the war in Vietnam, funerals for 12 parishioners would take place at Our Lady of Guadalupe – a loss greater than in any other parish in the country. Many of the family members and friends of the young men who died, as well as other veterans, still feel the impact of that tragedy today. But what emerges from a memorial to the young men in the church’s nearby parking lot is a story of love, resilience, and memory.

For decades, Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church in the South Chicago neighborhood was a cultural center for the community’s Mexican-American families. In that church, families celebrated baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and other major milestones. But after the United States entered the war in Vietnam, funerals for 12 parishioners would take place at Our Lady of Guadalupe – a loss greater than in any other parish in the country. Many of the family members and friends of the young men who died, as well as other veterans, still feel the impact of that tragedy today. But what emerges from a memorial to the young men in the church’s nearby parking lot is a story of love, resilience, and memory.

Chicago was famously dubbed “Hog Butcher for the World” by Carl Sandburg in his iconic poem “Chicago.” The city was the center of America’s meatpacking industry for roughly a century, transforming the way livestock were sold, processed, transported, and eaten. Industrialist tycoons such as Philip Armour and Gustavus Swift created and then dominated an industry that changed Americans’ relationship to meat – and squeezed out massive profits at the same time. A century and a half after they first began processing “everything but the squeal” in Chicago, many of their abuses – an indifference to workers, health, the environment, or smaller business – are once again a part of the industry.

Chicago was famously dubbed “Hog Butcher for the World” by Carl Sandburg in his iconic poem “Chicago.” The city was the center of America’s meatpacking industry for roughly a century, transforming the way livestock were sold, processed, transported, and eaten. Industrialist tycoons such as Philip Armour and Gustavus Swift created and then dominated an industry that changed Americans’ relationship to meat – and squeezed out massive profits at the same time. A century and a half after they first began processing “everything but the squeal” in Chicago, many of their abuses – an indifference to workers, health, the environment, or smaller business – are once again a part of the industry.

You may not have heard of Albert Lasker, Eugene Kolkey, Carol H. Williams, or Tom Burrell, but you most certainly know their creations. They’re Chicago’s own “Mad Men” – the local executives who created iconic figures such as the Marlboro Man, Tony the Tiger, Charlie the Tuna, and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. In Chicago, advertising agencies created their own Midwestern style of advertising from which would emerge a spate of iconic characters, taglines, and jingles, and each of those has its own story.

You may not have heard of Albert Lasker, Eugene Kolkey, Carol H. Williams, or Tom Burrell, but you most certainly know their creations. They’re Chicago’s own “Mad Men” – the local executives who created iconic figures such as the Marlboro Man, Tony the Tiger, Charlie the Tuna, and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. In Chicago, advertising agencies created their own Midwestern style of advertising from which would emerge a spate of iconic characters, taglines, and jingles, and each of those has its own story.

In the heart of Chicago’s Loop, 90 years apart, two very different disasters took place. First, the deadliest building fire in U.S. history: the 1903 Iroquois Theater Fire. Caused by hasty construction, missing and faulty safety features, and a botched evacuation, the tragedy shocked the nation and gave rise to many safeguards still in place today. Then, the Great Loop Flood of 1992: a $2 billion disaster with zero casualties. As downtown buildings mysteriously flooded with water – and fish – from the Chicago River, the city searched for answers in a long-forgotten tunnel system.

In the heart of Chicago’s Loop, 90 years apart, two very different disasters took place. First, the deadliest building fire in U.S. history: the 1903 Iroquois Theater Fire. Caused by hasty construction, missing and faulty safety features, and a botched evacuation, the tragedy shocked the nation and gave rise to many safeguards still in place today. Then, the Great Loop Flood of 1992: a $2 billion disaster with zero casualties. As downtown buildings mysteriously flooded with water – and fish – from the Chicago River, the city searched for answers in a long-forgotten tunnel system.