Chicago's 1893 World Fair

The year was 1890 and Chicago had just won the right to host the next world's fair, beating out rival bids from New York, St. Louis and Washington. How could the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893 top the previous exposition in Paris, with its imposing yet graceful Eiffel Tower? The city was abuzz with civic pride and felt the enormous weight of upholding the nation's honor. The impossible had to be undertaken; failure was out of the question. Meanwhile, as construction remade Jackson Park into a "White City" (so named because each building was whitewashed), the seedy reality of the Black City was still very much present. Sewage ran openly in the streets. Rats and cholera outbreaks abounded. The poor and the wretched came to seek their fortunes in the city and quietly disappeared without notice.

In a tightly written nonfiction masterpiece, Erik Larson's Devil in the White City weaves the tale of the World's Columbian Exposition (celebrating the 400th anniversary of Columbus' discovery of America) with one of the century's most insidious serial killers, H. H. Holmes. As a resident of Chicago, the interplay between people and events in the Guilded Age and present-day locations is particularly thrilling. Names and places are brought to life as though a century of time has been magically dissolved. If I taught a high school history class in Chicago, this novel would be mandatory reading.

The fair was saddled with bureaucratic infighting, a deteriorating economy and an impossibly tight schedule. Chicago's severe winters hampered the pace of construction and organized labor used the fair as an opportunity to demand concessions for workers. Despite the specters of violence, fire and bankruptcy, the fair did go on to open on time, though not in a fully finished state.

As the fair neared opening day, Daniel Burnham, the chief architect, was desperate for a plan to challenge the Eiffel. In a speech tinged with recrimination, Burnham addressed a group of engineers at the Saturday Afternoon Club, calling on them to perform their civic duty and envision something more spectacular than the Eiffel Tower. "Something novel, original, daring and unique must be designed and built if American engineers are to retain their prestige and standing," he exhorted. As the audience bristled, one engineer from Pittsburgh had an idea come to him. He began hurriedly sketching this faint whisper into hard lines. It would take three attempts before his proposal for out-Eiffeling Eiffel was accepted, but George Ferris was eventually triumphant.

Larson does a tremendous amount of painstaking research and meticulously cites his sources at the conclusion of the book. His mining of the Chicago Historical Society archives and other primary source documents results in many savory tidbits which unapologetically trumpet the voices from the period. An examination of the menu at a grand 10-course banquet held at (old) Madison Square Garden in honor of the fair's architects reveals a country aspiring to ape French cuisine, and show itself sophisticated and worthy of respect:

Consommé printanier. Bass rayée, sauce hollandaise. Pommes parisiennes. Amontillado. Petits Moules fantaisies. Roquefort et Camembert. Cordials. Cigars.

Victorian era mores prevail, as fair organizers succumb to pressure to close the fair on Sundays. The seeds for women's suffrage have been planted, but are far from blooming.

Visitor hunting for an exhibit of wax figures: "Can you tell me where the building is that has the artificial human beings?"

Another visitor: "I have heard of them. They are over in the Woman's Building. Just ask for the Lady Managers."

Of course, there are certain things that never change, as evidenced by the following records of patients treated at the fair hospital:

820 cases of diarrhea
154, constipation
21, hemorrhoids
594 episodes of fainting, syncope, and exhaustion
1 case of extreme flatulence
169 involving teeth that hurt like hell

The fair was remarkable for its international breadth. Over 27 million people (about half of the US population at the time) attended the fair, and many of the sights they encountered were completely novel. Eskimo women wearing blouses of walrus skin. Japanese in red silk. Amazons with bushy hair and teeth necklaces. Algerian belly dancers in robes and turbans. A number of products were debuted and marketed at the fair, including Shredded Wheat, Cracker Jack, and a curious concoction called Aunt Jemima's for which you only needed to add water to get pancake batter. Pabst Brewing Company won an award for their beer, which resulted in the moniker Pabst Blue Ribbon. In a landmark decision, the fair opted to use alternating current circuitry to light the grounds, resulting in a tremendous cost savings and setting the prevailing standard for American cities.

A broad variety of historical figures make cameos in the book, with all the prominent figures of Chicago society (Armour, Pullman, Field, McCormick, Palmer) present. Archduke Franz Ferdinand, described by an escort as "half-boor, half-tightwad," tours the fairgrounds, but especially enjoys Chicago's vice districts. The inventor of the Braille printing press exhibits his new device and is hugged by a gracious blind girl. Her name is Helen Keller. Mark Twain comes to Chicago for 11 days, but ends up sick in his hotel room for the duration of the trip. He never makes it to the fair. Louis Sullivan discovers that one of his firm's junior architects is designing houses on the side for his own clients, and decides to fire him. His name is Frank Lloyd Wright.

In one of the more inadvertent contributions of the fair, Sol Bloom, the director of publicity, was invited to present his Algerian belly dancers at a performance for the Press Club of Chicago. Upon arriving, he realized that the club had provided a hapless pianist for musical accompaniment, who had no clue what sort of music might be suitable for an exotic Middle Eastern dance. Without hesitation, Bloom hastily improvised the following tune:
If only Bloom had bothered to copyright his diddle, the royalties would have run into the millions.

The fair ended with a bang. More specifically, Patrick Prendergast, a deranged Irish immigrant, assassinated Mayor Harrison at his home. The grand closing ceremonies were scrapped and a memorial service was held instead. The 600-vehicle funeral procession slowly made its way to Graceland Cemetary on the Northside.

Burnham and Olmstead's work in planning the fair helped spur the development of the City Beautiful movement. In later years, Burnham would continue to revolutionize modern urban planning, creating citywide plans for San Francisco, Cleveland, Washington, and of course, Chicago. The 18 miles of the present-day Lakefront Park system and Magnificient Mile on Michigan Avenue are the result of his vision. It is also likely that Walt Disney's Magic Kingdom and L. Frank Baum's world of Oz drew inspiration from their visits to the Columbian Exposition. (Elias Disney, father of Walt, was a construction worker for the White City.)

Ultimately, most of the fair's buildings and works were destroyed, and the land converted back into park space. Only a couple buildings remain in Chicago, and these include the Palace of Fine Arts (now housing the Museum of Industry and Science) and the World's Congress Auxiliary Building (now the Art Institute).

If you have even a passing familiarity with Chicago's geography, you know that the city's Southside is not the safest area to be in. In an ironic twist, the areas surrounding Jackson Park and the Midway Plaisance have fallen far from their heyday as the homes of the rich and wealthy. Chicago is currently vying to host the 2016 Olympics, and much has been made of the opportunity for the games to revitalize the Southside. Perhaps this will be the stimulus we need, but I am inclined to think that like the shining fairgrounds a century before, any changes are likely to be fleeting.