Meet the Sculptured Glass Module

It was a Flickr contact's photo that alerted me to the existence of the Imperial Glass Block Company, up in the inner-north suburb of Niles. Their storefront operation has wall panels displaying different makes of glass block, including a circa-1960s design I'd seen around town. Based on that, I figured they might be able to direct me further in my quest information on the colored geometric blocks I've been tracking all over town for the last year.

Dropping by for a visit last Sunday, I found them (unsurprisingly) closed, but peering in their windows, I beheld a miniature wonderland of glass block in all sizes, shapes and colors. And there, on a shelf, off in the distant corner, sat the golden prize: one of my blocks. I knew I had to come back. Today, I finally did.



The current head of the business, son-in-law of its founder, was happy to spend a few minutes chatting about the company and its products. He was also happy to tell me what he knew about the blocks.

Their proper name is "sculptured glass module". They were made in the 1960s by Pittsburgh Corning (still a huge name in the glass block business today). They come in four designs: Leaf, Harlequin, Pyramid, and Wedge. Earlier versions came with the one-sided baked-on color coating, introduced in 1958; eventually that was discontinued in favor of clear one. A fibrous insert, a thin panel built into the center of the block, could render the clear colorless versions translucent. Neither kind has been manufactured for many years.



Three companies sold them in Chicago: Imperial, the Fred Beyer Company (defunct some 15 years now, though a company selling glass block and windows remains in its original building), and the Hardy Corporation. Hardy's building is worth a post of its own, but unfortunately I managed to leave home today without a card in my camera. Whoops.

Their popularity in the 1960s stemmed at least in part from their size: at 12" x 12", they require substantially less labor and only 1/4th the number of blocks to fill the same square footage as more common 6" x 6" blocks.

Pittsburgh Corning made other designs in the 1960s that were also popular in Chicago. Among them is the Chiaro line, which came in two different patterns. The wall below is on Belmont, and features Chiaro II blocks.



The blocks featured an hermetically sealed partial vacuum to increase their insulating value and decrease sound transmission. At 8" x 8", they are smaller than the sculptured blocks; they are partially covered with an opaque black fired finish.

Another popular option was the Intaglio Glass Wall Unit, with a recessed pattern surrounded by an opaque gray area.



The center design is made of "antiqued" glass, while the blank area is finished with "frit", fused into the glass. The two types above are Intaglio II (hourglass) and Intaglio III (circle). They also came in ovals, groups of four small circles, and blank "filler" panels with only the frit finish.

A competing design style was manufactured by Owens-Illinois about the same time, the Crescent Design block, sold in Royal Gray, and affectionately referred to by Hardy staff as the "toilet seat" design.



Owens-Illinois seems to have gotten out of the glass block business today, focusing instead on glass packaging.

Why these designs were so popular exclusively in Chicago, while none are to be seen in Milwaukee or St. Louis, remains a mystery.



It ties in to larger questions about Chicago's 1950s and 1960s development: with so many architects and builders working on it, why was it all so homogeneous? And more specifically, was there specific purpose in the glass block patterns seen on the fronts of so many single family homes? I have a suspicion that various pattern types may have served as a particular builder or designer's signature, but no evidence -- yet -- to back that up.

Schulze Baking Company

Here is a building I have longed to photograph for many months, maybe even years. Today, I finally got my chance.



Amid the houses, apartments, and low-grade commercial enterprises along Garfield Boulevard, this gleaming, towering industrial building stands out like a jewel. Seeing it for the first time is a take-your-breath-away, holy-crap-what's-that kind of moment.

German immigrant Paul Schulze founded his baking company around the turn of the century, and worked to promote sanitary conditions in industrial bakeries (or at least the perception thereof.) The building went up in 1914, designed by John Ahlschlager & Son.





Among the building's lavish ornament are some flagrant Louis Sullivan knockoffs, enhanced with sculpted ears of corn.

Behind the five story main building is a long, low industrial complex, still in operation today.





The building appears to be having some problems; a piece of the terra cotta cornice is missing, and this side wall has been propped up with wood beams. Walkway coverings ring the building, as if to protect passersby from further terra cotta loss. One of the stairwells, visible from the street, has been tagged with spray paint, hinting at an under-used if not outright abandoned building.

What do they want from us?!

The intersection of the lakefront bike trail and Lawrence Avenue bemuses me every time I pass it.

The cars have a stop sign. The bikes have a yield sign. But if the cars are stopped, what are we supposed to yield to? If we have to yield, shouldn't that grant the cars the right-of-way?

All this ignores the fact that most bikes hardly even slow down for these intersections.

Finkl Steel

As recently as two decades ago, Chicago was famously a steel mill town. Vast south side factories belched smoke and fire by day and night. Those days are gone now, for better or worse; the last of the city's great mills is in the final stages of demolition down on S. Torrence Avenue, leaving only the Gary mills further south to carry on.

But on the near north side, one last vestige of the steel industry remains within the city limits. A. Finkl & Sons Co. continues pouring steel, only a mile or two north of downtown, as they have for over a hundred years.



But what makes this comparatively small-scale operation so remarkable is not just its location amid the heavily gentrified near north side, but the proportion of its operation that remains visible from the street. Wander past on any weekday evening, and you're liable to see all sorts of heavy industrial equipment at work, up to and including molten steel being poured from vats the size of an automobile.



You're also likely to see folks with cameras, as this amazing sight naturally attracts attention. W. Cortland Avenue is a smallish but busy route to the west side of the Chicago River, so plenty of people pass by. The steel workers are grudgingly tolerant of the attention; if you're a sociable type, you might even be able to chat some of them up. If not, well, the factory alone is an incredible show.



The nonchalance of the workers is also amusing. Sparks are flying, huge pieces of metal are swinging on chains and rolling along on overhead gantry cranes, molten metal is being poured, blue-flame blowtorches are cutting at steel, and it's all just another day of work for these guys. Such dangerous, difficult, and intensive work is a rare thing in our post-industrial society.



In 2006, there was talk of the Clybourn corridor plant closing down to relocate to more spacious facilities elsewhere, on the city's south side perhaps. A quick Google search turns up no forward movement on this, but Finkl & Son's present operation is such a rarity in this day and age, it seems proper to treat it as an endangered species regardless.

A stormy day by the sea

This may not impress you if you live near the ocean.

But this Lake Michigan, and one thing I've learned in my eight years of living by Lake Michigan, is that Lake Michigan doesn't do this.

Lake Michigan does not rise up and send waves crashing over the sea wall and onto the bike path. Lake Michigan does not churn up waves that rise up higher than your head. Lake Michigan is not violent or dangerous!



Living by the placid shores of Lake Michigan, it's easy to forget that it is a lake in name only; in actuality it's a vast inland sea, large enough to affect local weather patterns, and large enough to do whatever the heck it feels like. Newcomers like me have only seen it at the low water levels of recent years, but in the early 1980s waves were actually crossing Lakeshore Drive and crashing against apartment buildings.

Saint John Bosco Catholic Church

I'm a sucker for a good Midcentury Modern church, especially if it's really over-the-top. So when I learned that the guy who did the St. Joseph Hospital chapel (Edo J. Belli) had done a church on the west side, I knew I had to pay a visit.



Repetition carries the day in this boxy building, as concrete piers with exposed aggregate march along, rounded at the bottom to emphasize the lightness of the wall, and infilled with faceted glass windows.



The most inviting entry is on the side, surmounted by a stained glass Christ and finished with tiny golden-bronze polished tile. Its massive round shape calls to mind "portal" more than "door". Within, a massive statue greets arriving worshipers.



Of course, the view back toward the door is impressive as well.



Within, the sanctuary is utterly plain, the only ornament being the stained glass itself, its sunset hues and marching rhythm. I did not get long to explore; the service started just moments after I arrived (though people kept coming. I never saw so many people show up late for church. Seriously, five minutes after the service had begun, they were still streaming in the doors.)





I'm sad I couldn't spend more time in the sanctuary, but it was still well worth the trip!

Berwyn National Bank

After a while, you know the look -- the ancient boards, the removal of the surrounding plants, the fence. You look at a building, and you know... it's coming down. That was my impression upon seeing the old Berwyn National Bank this afternoon, out west on Cermak.



It didn't help that the rest of the block (known locally as "Superblock" for some reason) was vacant and covered with gravel, the mark of recent clearance.



And... gah! Look at that Coming Soon poster! Where's the old building? Are they planning to tear it down? How can they tear this down?! This is an outrage! I demand justice! I demand accountability! Have they no sense of history? No appreciation of fine art?! No interest in developing the sense of place that defines ---



---oh, they're not tearing it down? Huh.

Sure enough, renovation plans are in the works for this monumental old bank building. Huzzah! It's a show stopper, and it'd be a terrible shame to lose it.



Security - Strength - Stability indeed. Long may they endure!

Links:
- Superblock Redevelopment Agreement Approved by Berwyn City Council
- Gaper's Block - Berwyn's Bank Building Battle

Third time's a mystery

It's already been explained to me that the gleaming while terra cotta buildings are former Jewel Grocers from the 1930s.




But what could these have been?

W. Belmont Avenue


W. Bryn Mawr Avenue


Devon Avenue

They're all variations on the same theme. A chain? An architect recycling a good idea? Or something else?

Central and Belmont

I love setting out on long, aimless bike rides with my camera. The thrill of discovery awaits, particularly as I venture further and further from the familiar areas around Rogers Park.

I went on such a ride this afternoon, voyaging miles westward along Foster, then eventually veering south on Central, where I found a bevy of my beloved geometric glass block.

The sun was almost down, and I had accepted that the trip was nearly over... but something kept pulling me southward along Central Avenue -- perhaps the promise of "just one more". And so it was that I made my prize discovery of the day: the intersection of Central and Belmont.



The light was poor, and I was too impatient to set up really good shots, but I have to share it anyway. What an amazing intersection! It is anchored by excellent buildings on all four corners.

On the northeast, the Korbakes Building:


Northwest, the spectacular Belmont-Central Building, which unfortunately looks like it has lost some of its roofline:


Southwest, the Boolookas Building. Boolookas! I think my parents used to threaten to smack me on the boolookas if I misbehaved as a child.


And on the southeast corner, the prize jewel, a nameless Art Deco building:




The intersection is the heart of (no surprise) the Belmont Central neighborhood. Both streets are densely developed in both directions for many blocks, and the area's Polish heritage remains visible today.



I am looking forward to going back when the sun is above the horizon.

Glass block hunt

Some fine results this afternoon from a lengthy ramble out Foster and Bryn Mawr, then south along Central Avenue:









Still no progress on finding out who manufactured these things, and how they wound up being so prolific throughout 1960s Chicago.

1325 N. Dearborn

When you have a ten mile commute across solid city, there's a lot of ways you can go. Daily I discover different routes, new places I've never seen before or always wanted to find again.

One such trip home this week turned up the Old Town stretch of Dearborn Street. Together with its Rivernorth stretch, Dearborn is a cornucopia of Richardsonian Romanesque, which I intend to cover as soon as I can get the right photos. Meanwhile, here's this little gem, on the leafy 1300 block.



The handy-dandy AIA Guide identifies it as the Lucius B. Mantonya Flats, from 1887, by Curd H. Gottig. Lucius! Curd!



Moorish arches, with the little bit of return curve at the bottom, give it an exotic flair. Stained glass and leaded glass adorn the many windows.



It's a diamond among rubies in this tony and historic section of town.

The long view

Oh, Chicago! It'd take a lifetime to know you through'n'through. Details and delights continue to unfold around me on a daily basis. Unnoticed ornament, secret pathsways, hidden spaces... the city's wonders, charms and quirks are endless.



Today I noticed this terra cotta boss on the building at 203 N. Wabash Avenue. With the sun falling just so, he appears to be rolling his eyes in exasperation. He sits on a wall with profuse ornament, floral and geometric designs that make the first three stories of the building a sheer joy to pass by. How many of the city's rushing workers and scrambling tourists have seen him before me, and how many never took the time to look? Such long contemplation is the luxury of living and working in the core of a great city -- the time to absorb the breadth and depth of all its treasures.

Rambling thoughts from a rambling ride

At the end of an afternoon of wandering across the city's south side with bike and camera, I made my way east on 47th Street, seeking the Red Line as the sun dropped behind me. Suddenly I heard a strange clonking noise from my left. I look, and there's this fellah, galloping after me on his metal rooftop. For a second I'm worried, but then I realize that the drop and a barbwire fence are keeping us safely separated. I stopped to photograph a colored glass block building across the street, and he soon lost interest in me.

...until I moved again to get a better shot. Then he came galloping right back. He never made a sound, never barked once, but the sound of him on that metal roof would ensure that anyone trying to cross the fence would know about him, and know they were being watched with great interest.

The area he's guarding is part of a huge swath of industrial land, a square mile or more where the street grid vanishes between 47th and Pershing, Ashland and Halsted. Scanning my tattered old street map on the train trip home, I was amazed by the volume of railroad tracks running through this area. Railroads carve up the city's street grid to an amazing degree, putting the lie to the notion of easy travel through the city. I was very amused by a map at the 47th Street Red Line station showing the city streets as if they were a solid, unbroken grid. Ha!

Robie House to close for renovation

Frank Lloyd Wright's landmark Robie House is slated to close for extensive interior renovations starting in November, as announced publicly in a neighborhood newspaper today.

New Era for Robie House



The house is currently open daily for volunteer-led tours. Renovation at the house has been ongoing for several years; visitors to the house witness the construction in progress, and at times various rooms have been closed off and unavailable. The Frank Lloyd Wright Preservation Trust, which operates the house, recently secured a $5 million dollar loan, allowing renovations to speed up. However, the expanded construction schedule means that the house will be completely closed off for the first time since tours began nearly ten years ago.

Much remains unknown about the operational changes that are planned when the house re-opens; the article from the Hyde Park Herald speaks of not re-hiring the current guest services staff, and mentions the possibility of "all-day events" and renting the house out. How this will affect public access to the house (which, after preservation and restoration, is the Trust's primary mission), and how it will affect the Trust's goal of operating the house as a museum, remains to be seen.

It appears the house may be closed for well over a year, based on a 2010 re-opening date mentioned in the article.