The event in question was the launch of the SMALL Showroom, a pop-up exhibition designed to promote awareness of a range of local Bridgeport-area artisans and products. Over a hundred companies and individuals were represented through SMALL (Small Manufacturing Alliance), which, according to their website, promotes Chicagoland “companies and individuals who make locally manufactured products.” Items on display ranged in size from a massive, $500 didgeridoo nicknamed “the Elephant Tusk” and hand-carved from an agave stalk, to one-inch cubes of Asiago cheese selected from Giles Schnierle’s Great American Cheese Collection. Among these offerings were free tastings from 18th Street Brewery, Koval Distillery, Bridgeport Coffee, and Katherine Anne, the “founder and confectionista” of Katherine Anne Confections. Non-culinary products included custom-designed bikes, graphic tees, beaded animals, and tables carved into the shape of various American states (the company offered to do any state in the union other than Hawaii, Florida, and Maryland). The space also served as a bulletin board for myriad advertisements for demonstrations and exhibitions, all of which seemed to be occurring concurrently with the showroom proper.

The sprawl of the showroom led to certain limitations on space as well as time for those organizing the show. My conversation with Ed Marszewski, co-director of the Co-Prosperity Sphere, was held in a cramped space between the falafel table and the main display window, leading some passersby to wonder whether or not we were part of some sort of SMALL-sponsored performance piece. Despite, or perhaps due to, the hustle and large number of guests, Marszewski was still very excited. “It’s great that I can bring together all these people—many of them friends who live within a block of this space—and be able to promote them like this.” He also noted, however, that the preparation has been hectic. “I’ve been meeting with hundreds of people every day. I’ve barely been able to learn everyone’s name.”

Herein lies the essential dilemma for the SMALL Showroom: if it is to represent an intimate community of businesses and artists in Bridgeport, how will it adapt as Bridgeport grows into its own as “the community of the future”—as one local publication optimistically christened the neighborhood—where more and more artists and manufacturers are moving everyday? How long, one wonders, will SMALL be able to remain small?

The audience ranged from zany to utterly nondescript. A woman wearing a short leather jacket and stockings patterned with silhouetted houses sat in front of me, while another wearing a beige trench coat and an unassuming dress sat next to me. The room’s thick white walls were blank with the exception of a single panel, where “Fresh Flesh” was spray-painted in a galactic mix of purples, greens, and copper-speckled white. Ed Marszewski, one of the directors of the Co-Prosperity sphere, donned his thick-framed glasses before launching into the plans for the night.

“This is going to be an informal gathering” he explained. “We are going to come up with actionable plans, we’re going to have constructive and generative thought about the cultural plan of Chicago. So, to do that,  you’ll come up and speak for 5  minutes…”

This year, the City of Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events (DCASE) is working on the “2012 Chicago Cultural Plan,” which proposes to first figure out Chicago’s cultural identity and then shape it moving forward. This plan aims to provoke conversation between local artists, community members and anybody aspiring to add to the discussion of Chicago’s cultural identity. In these conversations, participants are invited to put forward ideas and proposals to further the impact of the Chicago arts community. Its aim is to establish an encompassing plan to ameliorate the problems artists face in Chicago through the collaborative partnerships formed in the private and public sectors.

The night began with Marszewski pointing at people to start the conversation. His finger first fell on a stylish advertising agent dressed in red lipstick and high-piled  hair. She stepped forward and spoke about consulting services for artists wanting to spread their image. Marsewski continued to direct the relaxed procession around the room until he abruptly left unexplained—possibly for a bathroom break? However, the floor had already been cleared for passionate debate about reforming the cultural identity of Chicago, and the intensity of the conversation compelled volunteers to step up.

Some of the brainstorming included a proposal for cultural ambassadors, who would be the link between the neighborhoods and the city. These ambassadors would be artists deeply embedded in their neighborhood who could identify problems artists faced and understand the interests and needs of the neighborhood; people who could represent them forcefully, accurately, and passionately about the decline of art production. Many speakers mentioned different systems and programs in other states and in other countries that worked efficiently and effectively to spur artistic creation by providing struggling artists with resources like living and showcase spaces, and materials for creation.

One of the most striking suggestions of the evening, perhaps because it was the only Powerpoint presentation, was the establishment of a space to be called the New Museum. This venue would address the problem that independent artists face today of securing legal spaces to showcase their artwork. Currently, they hold “illegal” private apartment parties out of necessity, always faced with the pressure from the police to shut them down. The New Museum would centralize independent artists in a legal space and integrate artists scattered across the city to increase visibility for emerging artists.

Marszewski, halfway through the presentation, came to a poignant realization: “You know, I’ve been thinking. Let’s face it—the city isn’t going to meet all of our demands. What we need to do is [take this] into our own hands. We need to connect with artists and change Chicago together.”

These community meetings aren’t just a way to communicate to the City of Chicago artists’ needs; they enable networks to form that enrich conversation between artists and about art in Chicago. Theirs is a diverse union, held together by the passion to create, to explore and to challenge; and for future Chicago cultural growth, it is vital to use that common artistic spirit as a means of reinforcing the weakening bonds of art within the city.

John Gamino

“We believe in the vendor, we believe in the little guy,” declared Beth Kregor in her opening remarks of Saturday’s food truck symposium. Kregor, who is the director of the UofC Law School’s Institute for Justice Clinic of Entrepreneurship, addressed an eclectic group of university students, locals, and members of the food truck industry gathered in the school’s parking lot.

The day began with a series of panels on the legal status and future of mobile food in Chicago, organized by the IJ Clinic. The little guy, Kregor and the other panelists stressed, often comes from a family of recent immigrants, and may not even speak English. “Most of them are not foodies at all,” said Sean Basinski, a lawyer and street vendor advocate, discrediting the idea that truck owners tend to be already-successful restaurateurs. “It is at best a hard-earned path to middle income,” added Gabriel Wiesen, who started the food truck Beaver’s Coffee & Donuts when he failed to secure funding for a restaurant in Rogers Park.

The need to protect vendors’ legal rights and interests, particularly in cases of language barriers, was emphasized throughout the symposium. Many of the panelists argued that current city laws against mobile food are unnecessarily protectionist in favor of the brick-and-mortar establishment, and even unconstitutional.

Chicago’s regulations are indeed some of the most restrictive among large cities in the country—mobile food vendors are virtually prohibited from selling on public property downtown and cannot prepare food on site. The IJ Clinic cited research showing that food trucks actually help the very restaurants that try to restrict them, increasing foot traffic while serving a faster, less filling meal. To some of the panelists, though, competition wasn’t even a concern. Bert Gall, senior attorney at the IJ, underscored the need to eliminate arbitrary regulations even if the “little guy” happened to be the owner of a comparable brick-and-mortar business.

After the symposium, the trucks serving lunch outside certainly didn’t seem to represent the littlest guys in Chicago. As customers lined up in droves to get their fill, they were encouraged to follow the trucks on Facebook and Twitter. One vendor even described his motivation for work as a “passion for branding.” But despite the abundant commercialization, the opacity of municipal regulations was still a conspicuous force—one truck, still mired in the process of obtaining a dispensary license, could only legally offer samples from outside the lot.

Of course, the focus on Saturday remained primarily on the food itself. “At what point do I become gluttonous?” asked a panel attendee over free samples of Beaver’s donuts. It was a question that was surely on many peoples’ minds.

Dan Knispel

Stevie Koerner and Dan Knispel walk into a bar. They both order the same drink: a whiskey ginger. “It was one of the first things we realized we both loved,” recalls Knispel of one of their first dates three years ago. The two soon realized that taste in alcohol was not the only thing they shared. Today, Whisky Ginger is the vintage shop they run together out of their storefront apartment. The space allows the pair to carefully curate their own world.

The tiny store, located in Pilsen’s Chicago Arts District, is more of a showroom than a retail outlet. It is currently open by appointment only, and most of its business is conducted online through Etsy, a sort of e-crafts-fair-meets-grandma’s-closet for the hip and creative (or just the latter—see “Regretsy.com”). Whisky Ginger’s front room is artfully cluttered with globes, ornaments, and repurposed wooden shelves. One wall is devoted to a chalkboard, and another is covered in golden letters and vintage signage.

Koerner and Knispel share their loft with a tabby cat named Motown and a plastic deer adopted from a shooting range. The couple’s apartment is separated from their store by just a thin homemade wall. If the physical separation between shop and home is a bit flimsy, the aesthetic separation is non-existent. The idea of vintage resale stems, in fact, from the combination of the couple’s love of collecting and their inability to dismiss a good find. “We like junk shopping anyway. Might as well buy everything that we like,” shrugs Koerner.

They maintain their selection with frequent trips around the Midwest, where they pack their Jeep to capacity or hitch on a trailer. They avoid searching too close to the city, they say, because urban finds lack the depth and charm of country counterparts.

There is a certain contradiction between Whisky Ginger’s emphasis on personal touches and its virtual existence online. The carefully chosen and crafted items nod towards old-town artisanal, but there’s no old town and almost no physical shop. A full retail store is not practical, and it’s not necessarily what the couple sees as the future of their business. “A brick-and-mortar store is a lot of work. We’re not even open for regular hours, and it’s a lot of work,” Koerner says.

Instead, Koerner and Knispel are part of a community of young crafty creatives who have used the distributive powers of the Internet; Etsy is what let Whisky Ginger find its niche. Before their entrepreneurial exit, both Koerner and Knispel went to art school and took jobs in the industry, but found corporate creative work unfulfilling. “It takes a toll on you. You feel less creative, even though you’re producing work. I wanted to take a step away and do something with my hands as well,” says Knispel.

Both have side projects in crafts and refurbishment: Koerner is a jewelry maker, while Knispel makes furniture and stickers (“Hello Wars,” a Hello Kitty and Star Wars mashup). Had it not been for Etsy and Whisky Ginger, Knispel predicts that he would have been a carpenter like his father and grandfather. As for Koerner, “I probably would have done something that I hated,” she says with a laugh, “and then come to the same conclusion: that I needed to make things.”

Lauren Hunter Thomas

Johnny Drummer wants to know if Lady Cadillac is in the building. A woman at the back of the joint in white go-go boots, ostensibly not Lady Cadillac, calls out to the septuagenarian bluesman, letting him know that he is  “S.O.L. tonight,” and proceeds to raise her highball. She’s either flagging down a hostess or saluting the piano, drums, guitar, and harmonica-playing house band who has just elected to play right through the break scheduled for the middle of their three-hour set.

It may not be the Caddy Johnny Drummer is looking for, but tonight at Lee’s Unleaded Blues there is at least one sleek-finned machine to admire: a powder-blue 1950s Eldorado idles outside the elbow of concrete upon which the club sits, an isosceles impingement on the 74th block of South Chicago Avenue.

While praise for Lee’s Unleaded Blues Club is not exactly in short supply, as press clippings in the entryway attest, the music showcased here over the past few decades has proven that the acclaim is well-deserved.

The juke spot began as Queen Bee’s Lounge, and changed hands at the end of the 1970s when Lee himself bought the property from Bee’s daughter.  At that time, some of Alligator Records’ biggest names—Son Seals, Snapper Mitchum—were regulars on the lounge’s stage.

Forty years on, Lee’s still has nothing but “quality acts” to offer, as bouncer Ernest describes the musicians that owner Yvonne Davis brings to the joint. Tonight, she sits at the end of the red-trimmed, floodlit bar, holding court in red bifocals, a beret, and skirt suit,. At Lee’s, a five-dollar cover charge is a relatively recent institution—unlike the musicians themselves, who have played on the South Side for most of their lives. Drummer, born Thessex Johns in Alligator, Mississippi, even worked for the Board of Education and then the CPD, after cutting his first record in 1962.

The breath of chattering patrons warmed up the door’s single glass pane, and a few improvisational minutes proceeded to do the same for the Starliters, whose set kicked off with a little bit of banter punctuated by kick drum and cymbals. Decked out in three-piece suits, the musicians frequently leave the stage to weave amongst the crowd, a motley assortment of both high-spirited locals and curious young folk. The overwhelming impression of the guests at Lee’s, whether they’re mixing drinks, plucking on stage, perched on a barstool or bouncing the door, is of a crowd in their Saturday-night best.

The tunes are just as polished. In contrast to the more bare-bones style of the Memphis school, Chicago blues—or at least what’s on tap at Lee’s—errs more on the side of soul and even jazz. Willie Dixon’s blues standard “Wang Dang Doodle” is perhaps the best example of this sound, and it aptly opened the Starliters’ set. First performed by Howlin’ Wolf, and not too far from Lee’s, the tune speaks to Dixon’s personal transition from down-home rhythm and blues to a more urban up-tempo, big-beat style.

The Starliters drew on a wide swath of the 20th-century catalog: the early R&B number “Fever,” famously performed by Peggy Lee in 1958, followed later in the night. The audience didn’t hesitate to chime in.

The challenge in keeping this institution hopping three nights a week involves juggling more than a few variables. There’s the difficulty inherent in hiring musicians of both talent and repute, on top of  the challenge of keeping cover fees, drink prices, and operating costs down. What’s more, the South Side population hasn’t really been able to anchor the joint, as Ernest attests: “as far as having a core group of 40 or 50 regulars, or locals…” He trails off and shrugs. “Someday, we hope.”

For now, Davis and her staff enjoy the patronage of a diverse and lively crowd. Three men speaking Japanese sit at a table littered with Ray’s potato chip bags and empty bottles of Zinfandel, and in the front row, no fewer than four guests celebrate their birthdays with cake on the house and flutes of a sparkling grape. In the nearly impossible case that Drummer’s own compositions, odes to Chicago’s juked-up sound, hadn’t already charmed the ever-loving ears off of the guests at Lee’s, a fifteen-minute plus rendition of “Happy Birthday,” complete with saxophone serenades for the birthday boys and girls, surely did the trick.

Lee’s Unleaded Blues. 7401 S. Chicago Ave. (773)349-4377. leesunleadedblues.com

Jeffrey Bishku-Avkul

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On Groundhog Day, Punxsutawney Phil predicted six more weeks of winter. But the weather was mild as Hyde Park Chamber of Commerce Executive Director Wallace Goode, 4th Ward Alderman Will Burns and a host of community figures and press members stood outside the Original Pancake House entrance and cut a red ribbon to celebrate the restaurant’s reopening.

The franchise stands at the intersection of 47th and Lake Park in Kenwood. Its previous location in the Village Center strip mall four blocks south is vacant and waiting to be demolished so that a Whole Foods supermarket and a condominium may take its place.

As the morning matured, more customers appeared and the restaurant began to teem with conversation. Franchise owner Lisa LaRoche-Sczurek walked around the place greeting people, and could be overheard telling patrons that she hopes one of her children will someday take over the business.

For LaRoche-Sczurek and her husband Paul Sczurek, their five Chicagoland Original Pancake House franchises represent a family tradition. LaRoche-Sczurek, who refers to herself as a “third generation” owner, manages an inheritance that can be traced back to her great-great-uncle Joe Zimmerman, who operated the first Chicago franchise.

LaRoche-Szurek says it wasn’t easy moving out of the Village Center location, a decades-old Hyde Park institution that she used to visit as a child. She needed to find a nearby location with available parking and the right amount of square footage.

Still, relocating afforded the Original Pancake House franchise an opportunity to design the restaurant from scratch. The new space holds 30 more seats than its predecessor and the bathrooms are larger. Expansive windows bring in lots of natural sunlight, posters showcasing Chicago’s history adorn the walls, and stained glass lamps hang from the ceiling.

The restaurant’s new spot also attracts business at an intersection with heavy traffic. Nicole, a patron who works as a graphic designer and lives nearby, explained that she is trying to make a habit of eating breakfast at the new location.

When she saw the restaurant being built, her first reaction was, “Oh wow, a pancake house here? Awesome!” She says it is “something the street definitely, definitely needs.”

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

[Show as slideshow]

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.”