Founded in 1893 near the corner of Van Buren and Michigan, the company supplied its plaster decorations for many of Chicago’s most opulent buildings , including, structures built for the 1893 Columbian Exposition. They also crafted the ornamental plaster for movie palaces across the city, including the Ramova Theater in Bridgeport, the ceiling medallions at the Wynn Casino in Las Vegas, and the decorations for galleries in the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. Now, much of their work involves producing set pieces and decorations for movies like “My Best Friend’s Wedding,” “The Cotton Club,” and “The Untouchables.”

While the company has changed over the years to meet new demands, their process remains the same. While a recent order of columns and flourishes for a late-night TV set may not be equal to the resplendent White City, the decorations are hatched from the same hand-carved wood molds. Whether it’s a home fireplace mantel, or columns for a scene in “The Dark Knight,” Decorators Supply still creates their pieces from the patterns it used in the late-19th and early-20th century, according to its president, Steve Grage. This is in part because mold crafting is a disappearing art form, he says, but also because the designs are as historically accurate as they come.

“I still hear from customers who I remember ordering from our company 33 years ago,” Grage notes. He also points to the important role that family has played in the company throughout the years. Today, the third generation of Grages runs the business. Steve Grage fondly recalls when he first started at Decorators Supply, he worked and learned alongside his grandfather, who joined the company as a teenager and was still working at age 90.

Grage says that Bridgeport, where they moved in 1909 before settling in their current location in 1963, has been very important to the development of the company. “It made sense to be in Bridgeport—it’s an industrial neighborhood, and being near the railroad, river, and roads, it’s easy to get materials in and out. And it’s a tough blue collar area, where you could find a good workforce.”

There may be a touch of irony in the fact that these elaborate creations were constructed in a district not historically noted for its elegance. But in Bridgeport—once called Hardscrabble for its rough reputation—many local businesses have thrived. Old-school meatpacking plants like Chiappetti’s and Allen Brothers have found a more stable market in upscale restaurants, and while the recession hit 121- year-old Butler Street Foundry hard, it tried to reinvent itself as an artisanal metallurgy business, teaming up with the Art Institute for some projects.  Bridgeporters may not be born with silver spoons in their mouths, but they were probably the ones who made them.

Despite Decorators Supply’s upper-crust appeal, Grage says that they are still struggling to survive in this economy. “Our products go into buildings,” he says, but “even though they’re high end, there just aren’t that many houses that go up.”

When building does happen, Grage notes, the company is still battling a powerful sociological force—changing taste. Their finely crafted ornaments—once sought-after markers of wealth and glamour—have fallen out of fashion after modernism’s “less-is-more” aesthetic. “I’ve seen a change towards a modern style, away from the highly decorated. Every now and then you see people throw in a Corinthian column, as a little splash.”

The company is doing their best to keep up with the changing marketplace, producing and selling “transitional-style moldings” that aren’t overly florid. But without carving new patterns, the most the company can do to accommodate the trend is to find the least ornate templates out of a collection of around 12,000 designs.

But Grage says that the company is ready to adapt. He says he is underlining their biggest assets: the tremendous selection, high-quality products, superior customer service, and the company’s reputation as an environmentally friendly,  family-run business.

His strategy echoes a familiar refrain from a new class of businesses on the rise in Bridgeport—artsy, charming, green, and hyper-local. But while pasty shops, craft-whiskey bars, and organic restaurants have been saying it for months, only Decorators Supply can say they have been doing it for more than a century.

“It’s like classical music. Other music comes and goes, but classical, and its fans, stick around.”

Decorators Supply, 3610 S. Morgan St. (773)847-6300

Jacqueline Friduss/Rachel Wiseman

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“It is clear how you feel about the new front desk staff,” repeated Eli Ungar last Tuesday in the Kenwood Academy auditorium. Ungar, partner and principal of Antheus Capital LLC, directed his comment to a section of riled up Regent’s Park residents. On October 27, the building, located at 50th Street and Lake Shore Drive, was sold by Crescent Heights to Antheus, a New Jersey-based developer locally represented by its affiliate, MAC Property Management. The $160 million deal had been in the works since late August, according to Crain’s Chicago Business, but what that sale meant for the building’s employees remained unclear until 6pm on Thursday, October 27. At that time, Peter Richter, who had been the building manager for the past 23 years, carried his things out the front door.

“He exited the premises, and had a tear in his eye as he walked out,” recalls Brian Phillips, a doorman who has worked at Regents Park for five years. In spite of this bad omen, Phillips and Wes Allen, the other doorman on duty, remained at their posts until something strange occurred: a van of unfamiliar uniformed staff arrived at the building.

“There were quick introductions, some very friendly-seeming guys, and the next moment we were being bombarded with questions,” says Allen, who has worked at Regents Park for 19 years. “’How much does a cab cost to downtown? What does this button do?’” Phillips shakes his head, continuing, “I’ve always tried to show that I’m excellent at what I do here. But then a light bulb went off—I realized they were trying to get a crash course.”

At 7:50pm, the two doormen got a phone call from Richter. “He said that if we hadn’t gotten a job offer from MAC, we should come back the next morning at 8am to talk to Crescent Heights.” When they started to leave, one of the new arrivals tried to stop them, imploring, “Don’t go!” Then, Phillips recalls with disgust, he asked them if they liked the nearby gelato and offered some coupons in exchange for a lesson on how to operate the front desk.

The Crescent Heights employees returned the next morning to find their posts at the front desk filled by strangers, and a stack of papers notifying them that MAC would not take on their current contracts. Through September and October, Crescent Heights had given their employees only vague answers about what would happen to their jobs after ownership of the building was transferred. According to employee accounts of the events leading up to October 27, representatives from Crescent Heights told workers that MAC had “accepted” their contracts and that they would “probably” be extended—though, they maintained, “they didn’t know” for sure.

However, after the keys were turned over to MAC, about 50 employees were let go—including maintenance workers, security, garage attendants, and doormen. Coming in to work on the 28th, employees were met with a stack of dismissal letters. For some, those dismissal letters were the only form of notification they received. “I’m the bottom man here in terms of seniority,” Brian Phillips says, having worked for only five years at Regents. “But some of these guys put in 23 years and it was all taken from them in twelve hours.”

When Crescent Heights purchased the building from Clinton Management five years ago, the company decided to keep all the original staff. As a result, it was not anticipated that—as one resident calls it—a “hostile takeover” would occur. Although during this prior ownership transfer union members engaged Crescent Heights in collective bargaining, no such negotiations occurred between former employees and the new owners. MAC insists that it has fulfilled all contractual obligations with Crescent Heights—there was no clause in the buy-sell agreement that required the old employees to stay on at the building. Sister Mary Rosen, a longtime resident, expressed the views of many tenants when she told Ungar, “What’s legal is not always moral, and I don’t want to be complicit in a grave social injustice.”

On October 30, Regents Park residents—some of whom have lived there for three decades—came together in support of the terminated employees, flooding the lounge on the top floor. Over 90 percent of the buildings’ occupants signed a petition expressing their “disapproval of the unjust dismissals of [the] concierge, garage and maintenance staffs” who “have done an excellent job” and are viewed as “friends, confidants, and extended family members.” The petition calls for the reinstatement of fired staff, if MAC hopes to “maintain harmonious relationships with [its] residents.”

Antheus responded by flying Ungar out from New Jersey for the meeting at Kenwood Academy, where all the seats in the residents’ section were filled. The audience had to be reminded by Wallace Good, president of the Hyde Park Chamber of Commerce and moderator of the meeting, that Hyde Park has “a tradition of sitting discourse,” and that all questions should be held until Ungar had said his piece.

Ungar began with a brief history of Antheus’s rapid rise since 2002, emphasizing his organization’s humble origins—from managing one building to owning almost a third of the real estate units in Hyde Park—and its contributions to the neighborhood. “We actively support numerous community organizations, including this school,” Ungar began. “We’ve paid for many of the seats you are sitting in, and given scholarships to many students.” He made promises regarding various improvements to the building, insisting on his commitment to “preserving Regents Park as superlative.”  With regard to the staff overhaul, he maintained that his company “followed the letter of the law,” but that “this was a complicated decision and not one [the company] entered into lightly.” He gave examples of how Antheus has “reached out to many former employees” and tried to place them in positions at other MAC properties.

Phillips, the former doorman, shot up from his seat in the second row and had to wait for cheers to subside before addressing Ungar. “My call to the Algonquin was not returned,” he said. “I suspect it’s because of my pro-Union affiliation.” The audience erupted into boos, compelling Ungar to reassure Phillips that his calls would be returned. Ungar reemphasized that Antheus has been making an effort to help out the Crescent Heights employees: some had been offered jobs, while those living in Regents received three months of free rent. One former employee, German García, received the rent voucher and a new job offer, but he declined. The new position came with a lower wage.

Ungar’s repeated promise that “the new staff will do superbly” if the residents “give them a chance” was met with both outrage and mockery. Resident after resident emphasized the closeness of the Regents Park community, the trust that was built over the years, and the existence of an extended family in the building. “You’re not going to succeed until you return that goodwill,” said Marly Rosenbush, a longtime resident.

Other tenants tried to communicate the new staff’s incompetence, decrying the “foolishness” of the new staff who “run around like chickens with their heads cut off,” unable to operate the handicapped doors and failing to fix broken sinks. Ungar responded: “We have worked hard over the last week and a half to understand the operation of the front desk, and I think we’re getting better.” More boos filled the auditorium.

Whether or not the transition was illegal, it may prove to have been a bad business move. “We’re going to obliterate your ratings for Regents Park,” said two suit-sporting law and business school students, referring to the building’s Google reviews. “We won’t stop until we make sure this building is empty.”

Phillips and other members of the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) Local One have been picketing every day outside the building since November 7. On Saturday morning, they were eating doughnuts and coffee—gifts from the residents. “You just missed it,” Phillips says, pointing to the backed up driveway. “Two elderly people crashed into the wall—you can see the dent there.” There was a delayed response time from emergency services, he says, adding, “The new staff gave the 5020-5050 S. Lake Shore Drive address, but the one normally given to emergency services is 5025 S. East End. Fire trucks and ambulances were circling around the building for a long time.” No one was hurt, but “imagine if it had been something more serious,” he tuts.

In response to a question over whether he thought Ungar would keep his word about the Algonquin job offer, Phillips shakes his head. Gesturing over to the building’s offices across the street, he claims, “They probably see me out here every day, and they don’t like my jacket.” Doug Ball, a SEIU union representative, adds that though the Algonquin has over 100 employees, only four of them belong to a union. “And that’s MAC’s only unionized location.”

Both SEIU Local 1, which represents the concierge, doormen, and maintenance, and Teamsters Local 727, which represents the garage attendants, plan to file charges against MAC for discriminating against unions in its hiring practices. Though the employees who were let go are both union and non-union, all of the new hires are “temporary employees hired through temporary firms,” according to Ball. “There’s not one union member in there.”

At Kenwood Academy last Tuesday, Ungar committed to responding to the residents’ demands within a week. Wednesday morning, picketers saw him speed off in a limo to the airport. As of press time, he still has not delivered a response about whether the old employees will be rehired.

Meanwhile, residents are fulfilling their promises: the online ratings for Regents Park have dropped, and community boards are buzzing with complaints, anecdotes, and open letters to Ungar. “We don’t need six large security guards to protect us from our FRIENDS,” one letter reads, referring to the security guards Antheus has hired to make sure the picketers don’t get rowdy. “Your security force does nothing other than intimidate residents from talking to, embracing, and supporting men that we consider family.” But from looking at the picket line, where  residents often stop for a hug or to talk, it’s clear that this family is doing its best not to be torn apart.

Disclosure: The author of this article is a resident of an apartment owned and managed by MAC.

Courtesy of Plant Chicago/flickr

“I still get really excited about Zelda,” Chris Tourre says, not hesitating to respond when asked if there are any recently released video games he’s jonesing for. In a gray hoodie, sneakers, and thick, black-rimmed glasses, he is at once cute and nerdy, like overgrown kids always are. After all, he co-founded a company based on what he calls the “untapped marriage of video games and beer.” This seemingly juvenile obsession with beer is misleading, though, because Tourre is into good beer, really good beer. He and his business partner Lance Curran are the two guys behind Arcade Brewery.

Surprising ideas come from surprising places: an experiment with poultry was Tourre’s inspiration for the project. For his MFA thesis from the University of Illinois at Chicago, Tourre raised a flock of chickens and delivered the eggs across Pilsen. Traveling around the neighborhood, he realized he could bring together the South Side’s bourgeoning culinary scene and its blue-collar population to create a unique, community-oriented product.

Soon after the egg delivery experiment, Tourre started holding brewing workshops and participating in local beer conventions. Sparked by his love of the brew, the part-time artist began concocting his own beer at home before taking his craft public.

Although the word “artisanal” never came up in conversation, Tourre is obviously a craftsman. His recipes are playful and seasonal—take, for example, the Arcade Grapefruit IPA, a golden hoppy concoction with a quirky grapefruit kick. The brewers are also open to customers’ input on what ingredients to use. “From conception to consumption,” Tourre says, “our customers will have a stake of what goes in the bottle.” After the 8-Bit Series, Arcade’s first line of beer, the brewery will release Six Pack Stories, a line that aims to blur the boundary between maker and taster.

Each bottle will have a custom-drawn comic frame, and Tourre hopes to get one artist for each series, who will be chosen by popular vote on Facebook or Twitter. Graphic illustrator Tony Moore—more famously known as the illustrator of the comic book series, The Walking Dead—is the first artist signed on to illustrate what Arcade hopes will be a dynamic, custom label, rather than a typical company masthead.

Arcade has located a physical space for their project—they are the latest planned addition to the Plant, an abandoned warehouse in Back of the Yards that is in the process of becoming the city’s first self-sustainable vertical farm. They will share the 16,800 square-foot first floor space of the Plant with another brewery, the New Chicago Beer Company. Both companies intend to use the space for brewing, bottling, and kegging, and—if things go according to plan—they will eventually be joined by a beer garden. As of now, however, the first floor feels like it belongs in an episode of Ghost Adventures, not in someone’s memories of a half-drunk night in Back of the Yards. Construction won’t begin for another five weeks, but once work on the space begins things will have to move quickly—both breweries want to be up and running by March of next year.

Like many fine alcohols, time is what the Plant needs: time for construction, and time for a $2.1 million anaerobic digester (a fancy power generator) to come through the mail. In the meantime, both Tourre and Curran are keeping busy. Curran is working full-time at Threadless, and, in anticipation of Arcade’s grand opening, Tourre has managed to get ahold of a Winnitron 1000—an old-school arcade console that he and Curran plan to deck out in Arcade “schwag.” The Arcade aesthetic is slowly coming together, but Tourre and Curran don’t plan on becoming beer snobs anytime soon.   “I’m not a style Nazi,” Tourre says. “I just like to make fun beers that are enjoyable.”

Claire Hungerford and Kelsey Gee

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eta Creative Arts Foundation sits on a quiet strip of South Chicago Avenue, in the heart of the South Side. Though dilapidated residences and empty lots surround the simple beige building, its location seems ideal for a major arts district, with easy access to the Metra Electric Line and the Chicago Skyway. In the next few years, the physical space of eta’s stage will become instrumental to carrying out their founding mission—the production of theater by and for the city’s African American population.

While the group’s mission has not waivered since it was founded in 1971, eta’s leadership is currently going through a major transition. The foundation’s long-time president and co-founder, Abena Joan Brown, stepped down this past March, on the 40th anniversary of the opening of the theater. Brown, who was known for her nightly curtain call appearances and charismatic appeals for donations, has been a major force in African American theater and has made important contributions to the development of arts on the South Side. In 1991, she was inducted into the Women’s Hall of Fame of the City of Chicago, and under her leadership, the theater has won more than 150 awards.

She passed the reins to Philip Thomas, a charming graduate of Morehouse College and the University of Chicago who has extensive experience in fiscal management. Thomas previously served as the group’s development director, before working for the charitable foundation Chicago Community Trust. According to Nancy McKeever, eta’s board president, “This is the first time new leadership has occurred.” With Thomas’ appointment, other firsts are on the way.

With Thomas guiding the way, eta is branching out in new directions through outreach programs and new partnerships, and is adopting a more accessible aesthetic. This new approach, aimed at attracting a more varied audience, was exemplified by the foundation’s recent production of “Flow.” The play, which closed a week ago after a successful run, connects traditional folktales with hip-hop music. During the production, an on-stage DJ orchestrates the retelling of the stories, attempting to put a modern spin on the classic tales. This is an attempt to cater to the tastes of younger theatergoers, through multimedia, while continuing to appeal to eta’s older stand-by patrons. eta is aiming to broaden their current audience base now so that they will continue to grow in the future. But to accommodate this growth, eta will need to expand.

eta was incorporated as a non-profit in April of 1971. Over the subsequent four decades, the foundation has produced over 180 mainstage productions by African American playwrights. In order to achieve the group’s mission of promoting “the African American aesthetic in the city of Chicago,” the theater has served as a launching pad for original pieces—98 percent of the theater’s productions have been world premieres.

While it has opened the door for local black playwrights, the non-profit’s 40-year history hasn’t been without trials. eta spent many years “vagabonding,” moving their performances from one temporary location to another before settling down in their current space at 7448 S. Chicago. Currently, in addition to the theater hall, the building has a library, community room, and small art gallery dedicated to selling and displaying local art. Their 200-seat theater is intimate and versatile, allowing for a range of performances and kinds of engagement with the audience. But with an ever-growing roster of programs and a house filled with spectators and voices—regulars frequently chime in during well-loved performances—eta has begun to burst at the seams.

When the foundation first moved into its current space, all productions were held in the snug gallery space. But even since the mainstage theater was completed, the foundation’s various programs have had to fight for rehearsal and performance space. While new shows are practicing in the theater, other groups must rehearse alongside them.  “Every corner is used,” McKeever laughs.

According to McKeever, the foundation’s master plan committee “planned twenty years ahead” for this upcoming expansion. The goal was to maintain eta’s status as a “major cultural resource institution,” and coined the project “Grand Crossing/South Shore: Renaissance 2001” back when it was in preliminary stages.

Recently, physical plans have begun to materialize, and they are ambitious: eta’s facilities are slated to triple in size at a cost of $26 million. McKeever says that eta has acquired most of the money needed for the expansion through fundraising and donations, and that eta now owns the parcels of land they want to build upon. This land, which has been cleared for construction, is across the street from eta’s current building between 75th and 76th. The expansion project will create a fully rendered, all-purpose arts space, complete with a large community room for events, new gallery space, offices, a rehearsal studio, and a much larger auditorium with a thrust stage. The design space will be much more efficient as well, with an on-site construction and costume workshop.

The wheels are turning for the project. “The architectural plans and project management are done,” says McKeever. eta is currently in the middle of remodeling their current space, which must be done before expanding across the street.

However, there is no projected date for the completion of the expansion, and the economic downturn has hit eta in the gut, stalling the final stages of their money drive. Thomas is aware of the tough times facing the theater and arts on the South Side in general. “The community has been hit hard,” he says, “but eta has held its ground and will go up from here. We have to be careful and strategic in planning.” He jokingly described eta’s predicament with what he calls “a UChicago term”—“less income-elastic.” In plain English, eta must be tight-fisted with its cash.

Rather than proceed with the $26 million construction, Thomas’s immediate plan is to continue expanding eta’s programming. The foundation is, first and foremost, a training center—every year, more than 350 students are enrolled in the theater’s professional training program. eta aims to expand this training to off-site locations, thus easing the burden on the foundation’s strained facilities and

elaborating on existing ways to pull in new talent.

One such expansion will rest on a partnership with a University of Chicago Medical Center doctor named Doriane Miller. Miller is a clinical psychologist interested in urban youth violence, particularly on the South Side. She has arranged for the UCMC’s Center for Community Health and Vitality to partner with eta to produce the play “It Shoulda Been Me,” which Miller wrote to bring light to community violence and its effect on teens. According to Miller, “The play is about beginning the journey of healing and resilience and how teachers and family members are a part of that journey.” eta plans to bring this play to CPS students through its Showfolk Daytime Performance Series. After the show, the students will be offered study guides to help them relate the themes of the play to their lives. The hope is that by working with the play, students will be given an additional therapeutic outlet for handling violence in schools and the community.

As another part of their expansion, eta will lay the groundwork for entirely new theater programs. A grant from the Chicago Community Trust will allow the foundation to transfer current performances to Westinghouse College Prep in order to build a new program at the school. Westinghouse has recently built a state-of-the-art theater but has no actual program to speak of. By taking on projects like these, eta’s leadership hopes to generate as much excitement within the community as there is within the foundation itself. The move to a larger space is the natural next step in the process.

eta’s ultimate goal, however, is far more ambitious. Thomas dreams of a cultural district springing up around eta’s current location, complete with new restaurants and businesses geared toward the arts and entertainment. He firmly believes that eta’s stretch of South Chicago Avenue can become a South Side arts corridor, mirroring the Blues District in Bronzeville that was recently brought to life by the mayor’s office. The scope of the envisioned arts corridor makes eta’s physical expansion campaign seem relatively humble, but Thomas and McKeever both insist that if­­ eta is going to remain a world-class cultural institution, then the creation of an arts corridor is a necessity.

“eta is a microcosm of the African-American socioeconomic status,” Thomas says. In his view, an increase in eta’s prosperity will lead to an increase in the general welfare of the local community.

Whether in a massive auditorium or its own small gallery space, eta provides an essential platform for the development of new African American artists in Chicago. As a venue for “home-grown artists,” says Thomas, the foundation “gives voice to a lot of talent that would otherwise go unnoticed.”

Equally important, eta has given many South Side students and residents their first theater experience. “There is a magic that you can feel at eta,” McKeever willfully states. “eta instills a hope in the young people, and at all walks of life.”

Courtesy of the Hornswaggler Collection

Rarely does Skittle-infused vodka lead to good choices. But for Graham Hogan and Joseph Rynkiewicz, the candy cocktail led to an innovative new venture in Chicago art commerce. One night two years ago, Hogan explained, he, Rynkiewicz and a group of friends decided to flavor their vodka with Skittle candies. Ed Marszewski, the director of the Co-Prosperity Sphere, liked the concoction so much that he asked them to serve it at his gallery. “We were like, all right, we can do that,” Hogan said.

Suffice it to say, Skittle vodka only lasted two shows before the duo realized they could take any middle-of-the-road liquor and infuse it with various herbs to craft unique and appealing alcoholic potions. And so began the Hornswaggler bar—an entirely mobile cocktail bar serving up craft drinks at Chicago art exhibitions. As Hogan and Rynkiewicz began to turn a profit from their drinks, they entered what, for them, was a new part of the art world: art buying.

Unlike collectors of yore, these two are no cognac-swigging, cravat-wearing John D. Rockefellers or Greek shipping magnates. Hogan works for a doll manufacturer and Rynkiewicz is a freelance photographer and art handler. “That was our first purchase,” Rynkiewicz said, gesturing to an image of a disgruntled-looking Persian cat with daisy eyelashes.

The Hornswaggler Collection made its public debut last Friday night, in the place where it all began—Bridgeport’s Co-Prosperity Sphere. For each event, the couple crafts a new menu of $4 cocktails. Friday night’s list featured four cocktails of various herbal infusions (think lavender and Tarragon vodka) with autumnal additives, like maple syrup and apple cider. A tipsy symbiosis evolves: “You want the drinks; we want the art,” Rynkiewicz said with a smile.

The initial impression given by the exhibit was unsettling; conspicuously naked walls surrounded hordes of cocktail-armed visitors that swarmed around tables of hors d’oeuvres. However, when visitors stepped behind the partitioned room, a single wall presented a visual smorgasbord of artwork.  “All of our efforts have funneled into that wall back there,” Hogan said looking towards the cocktail bar.

The collection includes work by over three dozen Chicago artists, including Stephen Eichorn, Kristen Taylor, and Juan Angel Chavez. The single wall held a seemingly hodgepodge collection, but it was cohesive in its clever subject matter. A framed black splat with neon typeface demands, “Have you made plans for the future?” A solitary wooden potato sits on an outcropping.

“Visually, there really is no cohesiveness; our collection marries a lot of different styles,” Rynkiewicz said, arms folded, scanning the wall of acrylic fruit loops, doodles, and wooden wig-like cutouts. “It’s a time capsule, a glimpse of what’s happening in Chicago art at a certain moment. It’s not about a curatorial vision—it’s meant to be seen together.”

The latest manifestation of the Hornswaggler collection is a public art-lending library. As the collection expanded, the couple realized they had a surfeit of good art on their hands. They came to an epiphany—rather than let art collect dust in storage, they could share it with the community.

The library allows art to live in the homes of aficionados essentially free of charge. Borrowers can keep a piece for three to six months, after paying a refundable security deposit and a small fee for handling and installation.

This program has deep implications—the stuffy Sotheby’s attitude of art patronage is replaced by a vibrant, dynamic collection that is supported and shared by the community. “It’s a much more charming way of doing things,” Hogan noted.

But one question remained unanswered at Friday’s reveal: what is a Hornswaggler, anyway? “It’s a breed of Oompa-Loompa, actually,” Rynkiewicz explained. “It also means ‘to pull wool over your eyes,’ which is in a sense what we are doing—getting you drunk to help us buy art.”

Learn more about the Hornswaggler Collection at www.hornswagglerarts.org

Harry Backlund

Terence Lee

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“This is the best barber school in Chicago,” says Charles R. Lenox, a toothy, caramel-complexioned man with a Bluetooth in his ear. Charles, who carries a photo of himself with his daughter at her graduation from the University of Chicago last year, has been cutting hair for 24 years. “I decided it was finally time to make it official and get licensed. When asked why he thinks the time is right, he responds with a playful grin, “I like to do hair. It’s fun; it’s an art.”  He gingerly wipes shaving cream off the brow of a client  and, taking out a razor, carefully begins to shape the brow. The room hums as barber clippers go on and off and other students, wearing black smocks and ID cards, mingle on “the floor,” joking with each other. Above the panel of mirrors lining the left wall a sign hangs, stating: “ALL WORK IS DONE EXCLUSIVELY BY STUDENTS UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF AN INSTRUCTOR.” The instructor this morning is Taquala Shack.

“Charles, not on my floor.” She scolds with a coy smile. “Sorry,” says Charles, putting down his bag of potato chips. “I’ll be more discreet.”
Charles, like 134 others, is a student at Cain’s Barber College. Founded in 1985 at the corner of 51st and Martin Luther King Jr. Drive, Cain’s is committed to providing practical, vocational training to people who might otherwise have never considered school. According to Jessica Cain, the current president of the college, giving an alternative education has been part of the college’s mission from the beginning. With a shock of titian blonde hair, acrylic orange nails and fuchsia pink glasses, Cain brings a bright and effusive personality to the school. Her husband, Leroy Cain, used to own Hyde Park Hair Salon on 1464 East 53rd Street. But, Mrs. Cain relates, “he decided 25 years ago that he would like to open a school because he [found that not all] children after they graduate from high school have a need to go to a four-year university. But in a trade, in a profession like a barber, they would be able to make more than enough money to take care of themselves.”

Mr. Cain, whose portrait hangs between Mayor Harold Washington and President Barack Obama on the north wall of the shop, thought that a college with two programs—a thirteen-month styling program, and a nine-month barber instructor program—would ensure that students receive all the training necessary to work in and manage a successful salon. As it stands, the college has largely succeeded in consistently giving a good trim, buzz, and shave, while many other barbershops in the city have started cutting corners. In 2002, Mr. Cain estimated in the Chicago Tribune that there were, “something like 50,000 bootleggers in operation out there,” referring to the many male and female barbers in the city practicing without a license. “It’s a real shame. They are taking the public for fools, taking their money without really knowing what they’re doing.” Cain’s, on the other hand, prides itself on the rigor of its course load, and the passion of its stylists. It is the only accredited barber school in Illinois and boasts a state board passing rate of 80 to 90 percent—“the highest in the state,” Mrs. Cain says proudly. She’s entitled to boast: the state board examination, a hundred questions total, requires aspiring barbers to know, among other things, the kind of metal that French style shears are made from and the type of spores anthrax and tetanus bacilli form.

At Cain’s, the students spend a month learning what Irene Youngblood, a bubbly woman with closely-cropped dyed blond hair, calls, “the basics of barbering,” before they’re allowed to come to the floor. Irene, Cain’s director of education, oversees the instruction of the student barbers and advises licensed barbers who go back to school to teach. “The chapter that we were on for this week was electricity.” Irene explains. “But we also teach anatomy, shop management, how to cut hair and style hair. There’s just so much.” Students have one hour of theory instruction every day, slowly plodding through the 23  chapters of their barber textbook.
Cain’s warm atmosphere is a huge draw to incoming students. Irene, a licensed cosmetologist, barber, and barber instructor has a great rapport with them. “I’ve been here for thirteen years,” she says, “and I can’t even name any incidents that I might have had with students.” She continues to stay in touch with students that have graduated, attending their weddings, cocktail parties, and perhaps most symbolically, their barbershop openings. “The fact that I can help them—since some of them have come from broken homes and they’re disenchanted with life as a whole—that’s where my joy comes from. When a student’s been having comprehension problems and the light bulb finally goes off, I love that.” Irene says fondly.

It’s this connection to the students and the greater surrounding community that makes Cain’s  appealing. “We’re a community-based barbershop,” says Mrs. Cain. There are a number of different activities that students at Cain’s do to engage the community. They cut hair at the police department, the park district and the veteran’s administration. They also put on a “back-to-school” event every year, which includes mentoring local junior-high students. As student barbers give back to the community, they also benefit from visits by local bankers, life insurance workers, and health department personnel, who volunteer to teach the students financial management and basic anatomy.

Although the students are overwhelmingly African-American, there are some white and Hispanic students enrolled as well. And though the students tend to skew male, about 25 percent of the barber students are female. Kelly Rosenberg, a reserved woman with ginger locks and a piercing under her chin is one such student. She’s been in the program for a month. “I came to barber college because I wanted to pick up a trade, to help others—so far it’s been exciting. Learning the different shapes of heads and the different types of hair—to get it cut; to beautify the individual.” She smiles at her use of the word, “beautify.” For Kelly, barber college is a side project. She’s fully employed elsewhere and hopes to start working out of her home for a few years after getting her barber license before eventually opening her own shop.

Albert Bailey, a tall, skinny man with several tattoos on his arms, also hopes to start his own shop in California. “Yeah, most of my family out there. I’ll probably cut out here for a little while, make a little money, save up, and I’ll be out of here.” It’s been a process for Bailey who freely confesses that he’s been in and out of school since 2008.

For Terrence Wilson, middle-aged with molasses-colored eyes, barbering is in his blood. “I grew up loving cutting hair, my father was cutting hair for fifteen years, so that’s how I got started cutting hair with my father.” He adds, “There’s something about seeing somebody in my chair, you know how they first come and they be all like rough looking and kind of like messed up and then you change them into something better than they was when they came in. I like doing that, something about doing that that makes me feel good.” While Wilson’s words ostensibly apply to the work barbers do in general, they are equally applicable to the mission of Cain’s Barber College. Irene puts it aptly: “…everybody’s not cut out for college. Vocational education is best for some people that enjoy working with their hands…they might not be analytical but their manual skills are excellent and so it’s a matter of bridging the gap between the analytical and the mechanical portion and with [barber college] they get a chance to get balanced.”

Vicki Yang and Matt Wan

[Show as slideshow]

The Experimental Station at 6100 Blackstone Avenue has a knack for reinvention. From the very beginning, the Station has been marked by its ability to rise from the ashes. Artist Dan Peterman set up a studio there in 1987, in what was then a recycling center, and then purchased the building in 1994. He cleared out the mass of random recycling detritus, making space for artists and local businesses, including his own Blackstone Bicycle Works, an organization that has brought bikes and bike-repair skills to many University of Chicago students and Hyde Park and Woodlawn residents over the years.

But on April 25, 2001, a fire devastated the building, leaving only the brick exterior standing. Connie Spreen, Peterson’s wife and the station’s co-founder, recalls how on the day of the fire, a young boy stood looking at the wreckage. He said to her, “Connie, I’m sure glad that you and Dan aren’t the kind of people who pack up and leave.”

Before he spoke, Connie thought she was that kind of person.

She changed her mind and replied, “I’m glad I’m not.” And the couple began to clean up. Out of the smoking heap, Dan and Connie rebuilt their organization and renamed it the Experimental Station.

The commitment to rebuild, and all that has come from it, came from the people. “You can own the property but you don’t have control over the sense of community there,” said Connie. “That’s what we’re invested in.”

Responding to the needs and expectation of their neighbors, the Experimental Station has launched numerous programs since the fire, in hopes of serving, equally, the diverse communities around it. Over the years, this commitment has manifested itself in areas of art, culture and politics, through everything from community gardens to places for free legal consultations, to performance spaces for local theater groups. But perhaps the station’s greatest success has come through an unexpected medium: food.

Last Saturday, the 61st Street Farmer’s Market  opened in the lot wedged between Dorchester and Blackstone Avenues. Entering its fourth year, the market announced spring’s arrival with its bounty. Merchants stood at the 61st Street Farmers Market, waiting behind stalls brimming with bright green asparagus, pink rhubarb and the just-red hues of the season’s earliest tomatoes. And in return, spring brought its worst. The day was cold, gray, blustery; the sharp wind constantly knocked over signs and threatened to topple tent poles. The farmers stood and shivered, hoping that their tents wouldn’t fly away. And though there were few customers, the square was filled with the optimism of new beginnings. It was the first farmers market of the season, and the producers were ready and eager to give out free samples.

Fresh, local, organic, free-range; all those words were posted on signs around the market, as they’re posted in farmers markets all over the country. Three words, however, made certain signs stand out: “LINK Accepted Here.”

Those three words make the 61st Street Farmers Market more than just a place to buy produce. They represent the Experimental Station’s goal to help low-income families afford fresh, organic food. In the vegetable stand’s fight against the food desert, they are a call to arms. They are the sign of a new food culture, and for the Experimental Station, food culture is synonymous with community.

The LINK card is the Illinois version of the national Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), which replaced the old system of food stamps that was founded in 1939. The actual stamps are gone; those who are eligible now receive money for food electronically on a debit card. Despite the change in method, the essential need for food assistance remains much the same: some estimate that as many as 1 in 8 Americans today rely on SNAP.

When the Experimental Station opened the 61st Street Farmers Market in 2008, it was one of the very few markets in the city to accept LINK cards, and they are now the city’s foremost experts on implementing food stamps in farmers markets. Last year, the Experimental Station helped 5 farmers markets out of the 17 operated by the City of Chicago set up the technology they need to accept Link cards. Spreen called it “the most successful pilot program of its size in the country.” With a $35,000 grant from the Department of Community Development, they bought EBT (Electronic Balance Transfer) machines, the devices that accept LINK cards, paid the transaction fees, and hired someone to oversee the EBTs in all five markets. Incidentally, the man they hired, Corey Chatman, was on the SNAP program until he got his job at the Experimental Station.

According to a USDA blog, Chicago farmers markets earned $28,944 in total revenue from EBT transactions in 2010. In a single day in October, the Daley Plaza market cashed in $1186 in SNAP credits and broke a record in the process.

The financial success of the LINK program in urban farmers markets offers convincing proof that the system is sustainable and is silencing skeptics. This year, ten Chicago farmers markets will accept LINK cards. According to Dennis Ryan, manager of the 61st Street Market, approximately 50 markets across the state offer LINK payment options as well. The Experimental Station has even taken their grassroots work to the level of political advocacy: Ryan co-wrote a bill in the Illinois legislature called the Farmers Market Technology Improvement Program Act (HB-4756), which increased state efforts to make more farmers markets open to people who rely on food subsidies.

At the farmer’s market, Spreen discussed the Experimental Station’s role in making fresh food more accessible in the local community. Sitting at a wooden table in the Station’s large, inviting kitchen, Spreen greeted the various people filtering in and out, who chatted and dropped off boxes.

She explained the Station’s first struggle, in choosing to develop the 61st Street Farmers Market: “You can make food available but not affordable, even on LINK.” So to encourage people to spend their very limited income on fresh produce, the Station implemented the Double Value Incentive program. Thanks to grants from the Wholesome Wave Foundation and the Leo S. Guthman Family Fund, for every purchase a customer makes with his or her LINK card on one market day, the Experimental Station will match up to $25 in credits on the card. Since the market is open every Saturday, that means that someone could get $100-125 worth of free food per month. To put this in perspective, according to the USDA, in 2009 the average SNAP household earned $711 in gross income and received $272 from SNAP per month. The city markets, which are open more frequently, will match $5 per day.

The next logistical issue the program faced was not whether they could provide affordable food for those in need, but whether people would eat it. The answer? Not if they don’t know how to cook. That’s why the farmers market offers cooking demos, and the Experimental Station teaches cooking classes and healthy eating workshops at local schools including the Carnegie and Fiske Elementary Schools, as well as Hyde Park High School.

Of course, one of the best educational tools is the market itself. One of the farmers for the market, Vicki Westerhoff of Genesis Growers, explains, “I feel a large part of what we do is educate members of the community about the value of vegetables and fruits, especially those grown organically and sustainably. We talk about how produce picked at its prime and taken to the market fresh from the field yields higher nutritive value. We also talk about food preparation so people know how to prepare what they buy, and perhaps encourage them to try new vegetables.” And it seems to be working. From 2008 to 2010, the Station has seen a steady increase of shoppers from outside of the University community. This is especially true for Woodlawn residents, who, Ryan says now attend the market with equal frequency as Hyde Parkers.

The Experimental Station doesn’t stop with its 61st Street Market. It has an entire organizational branch devoted to “food culture,” including the market, a community garden, the Woodlawn Buying Club, where residents can buy organic and natural food in bulk, and a wood-fired oven in the Station’s kitchen. It’s all part of the Station’s commitment to building a “food culture” in their community.

“How we grow our food and feed our community affects everything,” Ryan notes. “It impacts our health, our economy, our social interaction with each other. In most cultures around the world, food is the center of everything—family, community, fun. Food should not be a status symbol. Food is the key to life. If we connect our community with the best food available, make it affordable and ensure we all know the value of that food, our communities will thrive.”

But the last several years have dealt several blows to the culture that Peterman, Spreen, and the rest of the community have nurtured, recalling memories of the hard times our of which the Station was born. In an unfortunate series of events, the University demolished the 61st Street Garden to lay the foundations for the new Chicago Theological Seminary building, a trailer caught fire on their property in August, and then Backstory Café—the Station’s social center, which served homemade, organic soups, sandwiches, and pastries—closed abruptly, citing a shortage of money and “entrepreneurial energy.”

But as time has shown, the energy that has sustained the Experimental Station will again be renewed. After it was razed, the 61st Street Community Garden moved one block over to 62nd and volunteers got back to work. And the buzz that surrounded the popular brunch spot Backstory Café will likely be transferred to the raw, vegetarian café, B’Gabs Goodies, which will soon open in its place. The Experimental Station has not only fed the community, but has also fed a kind of community that will outlast any of its programs or structures. It’s not the kind of place to pack up and leave.

Jane Fentress

The Raber House, a four-story Italianate building in Englewood, is a relic of the South Side’s aristocratic past. The structure, commissioned by politician John Raber in 1870, was once the centerpiece of a great, thirteen-acre estate, surrounded by evergreen hedges and small man-made lakes. Now, however, Raber’s mansion at 5760 S. Lafayette Ave. is marred by decay. The sidewalks leading up to the house are cracked and crowded with crabgrass, and spindly, overgrown trees scratch the tops of cars passing on the street. The windows of the Raber House are boarded, its backyard is filled with trash and broken glass, and, though the building has been registered and protected by the city as a Chicago landmark, there seems to be little capable of saving the home from the surrounding urban blight.

While a few voices have spoken up about what to do with the historic property, the strongest call for change has come from a soft-spoken, 66-year-old man with an unusual plan. Bill Lavicka, an eccentric rehabber and preservationist, has proposed turning the Raber House into a winery and vineyard. The rehab initiative, which he refers to as the “Chateau Chicago” project, aims to transform the long-abandoned building into a multiuse space for grape cultivation and wine sales. Chateau Chicago is a very personal project for Lavicka, who has been making wine in the bathroom of his home for the past 35 years, though the project will also have reprucussions in a broader social setting.

Englewood “needs a spark,” Lavicka said in his April 21 interview with the Chicago Tribune. He hopes to strike the match with Chateau Chicago, which has the potential to inject Englewood with a new dose of energy and capital. Lavicka was not available for comment before this story went to print.

Others, however, argue that a winery isn’t really what’s in the neighborhood’s best interest.

“Oh God no, we don’t need wine!” shouts Pastor Bernice Jenkins. This is the first time she’s heard about Lavicka’s Chateau Chicago project. Her church, the Deliverance Healing Temple, is one of the only buildings on the block that has stood against the tide of Englewood’s decline. Though the white-and-red painted church stands out prominently from its surroundings and is located just a few doors down from the Raber House, its Pastor says she hasn’t heard anything from Lavicka.

“If they’re going to turn it into anything, they need to make a shelter,” she suggests, “a shelter for the drugs.”

Englewood has one of the highest rates of drug abuse and addiction in Chicago, so it’s no surprise that the arrival of a new liquor shop is viewed with some suspicion. Though Jenkins is not a resident of the neighborhood, she believes that her role as a local pastor has opened her eyes to much of its ugliness. “Until recently there was a house of prostitution right over there,” she says, pointing across the street. “Thank the Lord they shut that down. But we still have problems, and we don’t need wine.”

A few of the congregants at the church heard about the project after seeing Lavicka interviewed on the local Fox news affiliate. Their reactions to the plans for Raber House were less critical than their Pastor’s, but there was a distinct note of skepticism about the feasibility of the vineyard in those gathered this past Sunday at the Deliverance Healing Temple. “I just don’t understand how or why he’s going to try and grow grapes here,” said one member.

Despite the concerns of some in the community, it is now fairly certain that Lavicka’s winemaking project will get underway. Chateau Chicago’s innovative plan has attracted the attention of city politicians and urban planners, and 20th Ward Alderman Willie Cochran publicly backed the proposal. According to the plan, Lavicka would purchase the land and the winery would be accompanied by other renovation projects in the area, including a baseball field and an urban farm.

While Pastor Jenkins may advocate for drug treatment centers and other government institutions to address Englewood’s existing problems, Englewood may need something more than these “band-aid” programs, which only address the symptoms of larger problems of substance abuse and economic stagnation. As Englewood attempts to revive its economy, community initiatives and creative business models like Chateau Chicago’s could make a perfect pairing.

Terence Lee

O’Gara & Wilson—an antiquarian bookstore and modest survivor of a battle that has left the bookselling industry badly wounded—has carved a unique place for itself in its community. Across the street from Powell’s bookstore on 57th Street, O’Gara & Wilson has a long heritage that can be traced back to 1882 when it was founded by a Mr. Hewitt to be a bookstore for rare and used books. Over the years the shop has been located and relocated around Chicago, responding to rising rents, fluctuating demand and displacements by more glittering shelves than its wooden bookcases can offer. At last settling in its current location in Hyde Park around fifteen years ago, it has been the regular haunt of booklovers from all walks of life. “It’s a weird little romantic place,” says Lydia Laurenson, a former employee who still maintains the bookstore’s blog. Yet despite the free-flowing phrase showered upon the adored shopkeeper, Wilson has again been drawing short straws, as technology blossoms and the bookselling industry wilts.

The meticulous apprentice of Joseph O’Gara, Wilson has nursed the bookstore for as long as many people can remember. “He’s got a real love for bookselling,” said Lydia, “He’s really made some sacrifices to keep it open. Bookstores have been closing left and right these days, it’s a testament to how much he has loved the store, keeping up with the times and taking losses himself in order to keep it open.” It seems that Wilson has been a devoted boss, bookseller and man, and indeed his unassuming romanticism rolls off him in the ounceful, as he pulls up a red leather chair in his beloved shop, adjusting his glasses in earnest preparation for this interview.

Terence Lee

Chicago Weekly: How old is this shop? Who started it?

Wilson: Booksellers tend to be like gypsies, they have pretty much always led marginal existences. When rents rise, when neighborhoods gentrify and the rents go up the economics of the bookstore no longer work so booksellers move. Jerrold Nedwick booksellers (Jerry is who Joe O’Gara apprenticed under) had, I think, 6 or 8 locations in a 25-year period. The same thing happened with Joe O’Gara and we moved here 15 years ago after 23 years down the street at 1311 E. 57th Street.

CW: So over time through all its iterations O’Gara Wilson has always been an antiquarian bookstore? Or was it ever just a used bookstore?

Wilson: We call ourselves an “antiquarian and used bookstore” so as not to exclude anything. I am perhaps making an error trying to achieve something that can never be achieved, and trying to be all things to all people […] but I want to have rare Americana and I want to have dollar Agatha Christie paperbacks.

CW: Why did you rule out the idea of selling unused books?

Wilson: Because it’s so incredibly boring. For people who like old books, there’s a whole world of books. You’re talking about hundreds of years of production of books you’ve never imagined, never hoped to ever see. In the new book trade all you have is what the publishers are putting out that year, and it’s very predictable and you can get as many copies as you want. My kind of persona, and the personas of other people who become used booksellers become incredibly bored.

CW: How do you balance being a good businessman with stocking what you think is important?

Wilson: Well there has to be a correspondence between what you stock and what people are looking for. The basics are transported to you during your apprenticeship. Just being in a bookshop for a certain period of time and paying attention to what sells quickly, versus what sits on a shelf for six years, and ends up being discounted to at or below what you paid just to get rid of it, hones your perception. Bad books become invisible to you. The ones that jump into focus when you’re scanning a box or a basement or someone’s library shelf are ones you’ve had good experiences with.

CW: What got you started in the bookselling industry?

Wilson: When I was first starting the book trade I almost had an addiction to buying books. I had an attic room in my parents’ house, which I built shelves in. I found out that books could be bought fairly cheaply in resale stores like Salvation Army and Goodwill. I would go every Saturday and look at their new offerings. But I was on a limited budget so many times I would see books that I wasn’t particularly interested in, but I had a sense might still have some value because other people would be interested in them. So in order to finance the books that I wanted to keep, I would buy books I didn’t want and sell them to bookstores like Mr. O’Gara’s.

CW: How much of your collecting is based purely on aesthetics?

Wilson: Well there are some people that want it all, they want books that look nice in their living space, and that they’re interested in, and I think that’s a commendable way to approach book collecting. There was a philosopher called William Morris who started the arts and crafts movement in England, a reaction to the shoddy workmanship […] of machine made goods, who had a saying that I heard very early on in my twenties, “have nothing in your homes which you do not know to be useful and believe to be beautiful.” That’s one thing that induces people to come to a place like this.

CW: How’s the store been doing in light of the progression in the bookselling industry?

Wilson: I have no complaints if I’m doing poorly, it’s either because I’m not working hard enough or it means the world is changing in a way that doesn’t favor this type of work. You mentioned that a lot of people express loyalties and great fondness for this kind of place and I know its coming from their hearts.

CW: So you set prices based on what you think you can get for a book?

Wilson: The minimal we can do to keep us alive is sell [at 300%] of what we pay. The internet has acted as an ability for people to know all things. Prior to the internet you would go to your local bookstore and ask for a book you were looking for. Most of the time their answer to you would be no because there’re millions of out of print books. Eventually you might find a bookseller that had one and it might be a little bit more pricey, but you would jump and buy it. Now all this pent up demand for books that people can’t find is satisfied because they can find it online. Pent up demand brought people into bookshops, now people find books instantaneously on the internet.

CW: You’ve gone online as well though, haven’t you?

Wilson: Yes, we decided that if we were losing 10% of our business to the internet, we should make 10% of our sales on the internet. This has been incrementally increased over time. Now about 20-25% of our sales are on the internet. There are still a lot of people who love to browse, who love the serendipity of finding books they didn’t even know existed, the tactile adventure of being able to handle a book.

CW: Have you ever thought about maybe selling coffee, or having places for people to sit and read?

Wilson: For a period of time, I toyed with the idea. Next door we had a restaurant called Café Florian and out of neighborliness, I didn’t want to give away what my neighbors were trying to sell. On a couple of occasions I said to them that we’d be willing to take out a couple of bookcases and cut a counter (with the permission of the landlord) so people could buy their coffee through the window, but they were never interested in doing that.

CW: Have you ever found someone who could be your apprentice?

Wilson: I often think I probably should be looking. But then previous generations didn’t have change like we’re having now. I have one employee who has all the talent [to be my apprentice], all the good sense and all the enthusiasm, but I don’t know if I’d be doing him a favor if I convinced him to become a bookseller. I certainly would be very pleased and gratified if when I was done I could pass the torch on as it has been passed to me but bookselling is transforming into a completely different animal. I don’t know that there’re too many booksellers who are training apprentices right now because there aren’t too many young people who think of it as an exciting, viable way to make a living. I hope that turns around, I hope that there’re stores like this 100 years from now but things are changing so quickly it could go one way or the other.

Sophia Anastazievsky

“It’s like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory—it keeps going and going and going…there are a lot of crazy things going on here and we’re one of them.” This is how Samuel Edwin Evans, cofounder of the New Chicago Brewing Company, describes his work. Started by Samuel and his brother Jesse, the brewery, which is currently under construction, will soon occupy 13,000 sq. ft. of the Peer Foods Building in the Back of the Yards neighborhood. In this post-Goose Island buyout world, the brewery aims to utilize innovative and sustainable brewing practices to create a beer unique to Chicago.

Like most brewers, the Evans brothers started off brewing in their backyard. According to Samuel, “when you’re a home brewer, you have a lot more free reign over the process.” Eventually, the brothers began working with an independent brewery in Oakland, California; the company had a contract with Whole Foods that provided aid with distribution throughout California. There, the Evans brothers became familiar with sustainable brewing methods, and they decided to leave Oakland for their home city, Chicago.

The brewery will become the latest chapter in a lengthy heritage of Chicago-made industry. The triangular plot of land at 1400 W. 46th Street that the Brewery’s will call home is situated in what were once Chicago’s bustling stockyards. Formerly known as Whiskey Point, this region was made infamous in Upton Sinclair’s 1906 exposé, “The Jungle.” The Buehler Brothers Meat Market opened a packing facility here in 1925. In 1944, the building was renamed the Peer Foods Building, when the Buehler Brothers began selling more than just meat from the location, expanding operations to include such zany products as Spanish olives and pie dough. In its latest manifestation, The Peer Foods Building is striving for sustainability—a complete divergence from its past inhabitants. In 2010, the space was purchased by Bubbly Dynamics LLC, renamed “The Plant,” and converted into a sustainable, off-the-grid, vertically integrated operation. A full production farm, sustainable food businesses, a community kitchen, and educational facilities currently share the space.

In keeping with their mission of sustainability, New Chicago Brewing plans to be a true local beer. Their ingredients are not only from within Chicago, but many are from within their own building. Another business in the building grows the hops that are to be used in New Chicago’s beer—brewed in a “hoppy” West Coast style. Other ingredients come from local family farms and community gardens. New Chicago looks to talent, ingredients, and volunteers to create their product, which in turn will be distributed locally in order to keep the profit as well as the labor local.

The New Chicago Brewing Company will be a full-scale production brewery. In its first year it plans to produce a whopping 1,000,000 22oz bottles. The Evans brothers knew that they planned to brew sustainably when they moved to Chicago, but it was not until they found the Peer Foods location that they decided on a larger-scale production.

“The neat thing is the way we get out energy and use waste here,” says Samuel.  A brewery of this size produces 1 ton of spent grain a week, which at normal breweries is simply trucked off to a landfill. At the Plant, however, the grain is treated with bacteria to create a natural gas, which runs a turbine that powers the building. New Chicago’s mission is one of sustainability—of handling waste and creating power from byproducts that would otherwise become an ecological problem. “The only thing that leaves the brewery is the beer itself,” says Samuel.

New Chicago plans to send out its first shipment of beer on March 4th, 2012—the 175th anniversary of Chicago’s inception in 1873. On Saturday, May 5th, they held their second open house, attended by 400 local students and community members who came to see the innovative recycling methods in action. What they are doing is a new combination of processes that have been practiced on a smaller scale, and that often have been discreet from one another. Samuel explained that, “Some breweries are doing parts of our process—but no one does all of these things.”

Ironically, the northern corner of the Plant’s land has a deed that prohibits the sale of alcohol, a throwback to the early 20th century, before Prohibition, to a space that was designated by religious forces as alcohol-free. In keeping with tradition, no beer will be brewed in that part of the property, as it will serve as the facility’s parking lot.