A Legacy Destroyed
Like most architects of their time, Adler and Sullivan also designed numerous homes–especially after Frank Lloyd Wright joined the firm in 1888–including Charnley House on North Astor. Few survive. Last August Hurricane Katrina flattened two cottages Sullivan designed in Ocean Springs, Mississippi, one of them his own vacation retreat. So few of any of Adler and Sullivan’s structures survive that every loss is painful. In January a fire reportedly started by a worker’s blowtorch gutted their Pilgrim Baptist Church in Bronzeville, built in 1891 as the Kehilath Anshe Ma’ariv synagogue.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
In 1962 the great Chicago architectural photographer Richard Nickel got a tip that the Harvey House was designed by Adler and Sullivan and went to photograph its exterior. “Eventually he was able to connect with the owner–the Bayer family, which had a famous linen shop in the Women’s Athletic Club on North Michigan for years,” says Ward Miller, executive director of the Richard Nickel Committee, an organization dedicated to preserving the photographer’s work. “Nickel was able to gain access and look at floor plans the Bayer family had that were by Adler and Sullivan. He was able to document the floor plans and convince the Bayers to donate them to the Art Institute.” He also photographed the interior of the house.
But the city has a record of letting orange rated buildings slip through the cracks, issuing permits before 90 days are up and allowing buildings to be damaged or even razed before the commission can review the application. A permit was issued to demolish the south side’s Saint Gelasius when the application was supposedly on hold (the church was later designated an official landmark). The application for a permit to demolish the orange rated Chicago Printed String Building, a 1920s art deco structure at Elston and Logan designed by Alfred S. Alschuler, was also supposed to be on hold. “I actually had to pull the wrecker off that one,” says Miller. “The permit had been accidentally issued, despite my repeated calls. Rather than using the [official] Logan Boulevard address, they used Elston. It was election day. I had taken the day off, and fortunately I came down Elston Avenue–and there was the crane behind it. They were nice enough down at City Hall to revoke the permit, but I couldn’t get an inspector to stop the demolition. I knew the owner of National Wrecking Company, and I called to ask him to call these guys off.” But by the time the workers left they’d already knocked down large chunks of the back of the building. The developer sued the Landmarks Commission, and at the July 12 commission meeting the staff is scheduled to present a recommendation to withdraw the proposal to landmark the building. It’s apparently part of a deal in which the developer gets to gut half the building and remove the lowest band of distinctive green Teco tiles in exchange for preserving the rest of the two street facades–and dropping the lawsuit.
Given its proximity to the lake and the short supply of single-family homes of its size and quality, not to mention its pedigree, a restored Harvey House would undoubtedly provide Frank a handsome profit if she decided to sell, though not as much as another stack of ugly condos. If she files an application for a demolition permit, the ball will be in the city’s court. It would be ironic if during this, the 150th anniversary of Sullivan’s birth, the city let yet another of his irreplaceable buildings slip through its fingers.
They communicate by exchanging letters through a magical mailbox at the glass house. (I know, I know–either you buy it or you don’t.) Built by Reeves’s architect father on an idyllic lake far from the city center, it’s an idealized vision of serenity and retreat.
To gain approval for construction, the production team had to deal with EPA guidelines, building and zoning regulations, and interested third parties such as the Audubon Society and Friends of the Forest Preserve. Though the house quickly became something of a tourist attraction, when filming wrapped after three months it was quickly, unsentimentally dismantled. A new fishing pier now marks the site.
