Old City, New Beer

Chicago Has Changed Over a Century-and-a-half

Kent Palmer
A drive west down Chicago's Roosevelt Road is a trip and a half. From Lake Michigan to the sunset's horizon Route 38 is, in many places, a land of plenty. In others it's a land laid to waste.

Just west of the medical center, a stone's throw west of River South - Chicago's latest and greatest orchard to bear sweet fruit -- people live in abject poverty. They live in the shadow of the gleaming city to the east, amongst burned out buildings and vacant lots, a stark contrast to the dense overgrowth of downtown's skyscrapered offices, shops and luxury condos.

The brilliant smile of the lakefront is juxtaposed to the diseased gums and individual rotted teeth of the decaying city.

Predominant land uses in these less-than-fortune-places - other than vacant lots and burned out brownstones -- are primarily old storefronts and theaters that have been converted into churches.

Oh...and liquor stores. Lots of churches and lots of liquor stores. Houses of God's Love and Houses of the Demon's Liquor.

But despite their disheveled appearance, these are neighborhoods, too. People live here, they work, they shop, they feed their kids and raise them in the spirit and hope they'll do right.

There seems to be at least one hair and nail place on every block. Near busy intersections you'll find the occasional food joint, replete with ribs, chicken and fried fish. Many of these business owners are neighborhood entrepreneurs. Then there are the predators: the currency exchanges, tax stores, thugs and gangs.

Most of the time, these neighborhood people succeed. There are wonderful stories like the child of a single mother earning her way to a scholarship and going places.

Sometimes they don't succeed at all. Despite their best efforts, there are other pressures that make it all go wrong. These produce the bad examples.

It seems every other week I hear about an innocent child shot dead by a bullet. Did you hear about the ten-year old who was bending to tie her blind sister's shoe? Gunfire from one bad example, poorly aimed at another bad example, went astray. It struck her in the head. And she went away.

Back in Chicago's original days, before the fire, Lill & Diversey, of Chicago Brewery fame, bought out Haas & Sulzer. They burned down, never to reopen. Milwaukee's Schlitz had come to the rescue.

After being bereft, today the Chicago area boasts over a dozen breweries and brewpubs. Beer is back. And just like the craftbrew revival, eventually those neighborhoods on Roosevelt Road may come back too.

Published by Kent Palmer

Kent Palmer is a veteran beer-geek, having spent time on both sides of the rail in Chicago, Il and Madison, WI. He enjoys pairing beer with food and experiences.  View profile

  • Can urban neighborhoods come back without gentrification?
  • Traditions, like brewing local beer, can return. Can old neighborhoods?
  • Predatory business can be a drain on traditional neighborhoods and common people.
Schiltz became 'The Beer that made Milwaukee Famous' when Chicago's 1871 Great Fire destroyed all the local breweries. Shipped down the coast of Lake Michigan, barrels arrived soon after the fire to slake Chicagoans' thirsts.

To comment, please sign in to your Yahoo! account, or sign up for a new account.