CEGU

“Being an alderman does not debar a man from earning a living.” – Alderman Henry F. Eidmann (32nd Ward)

Leo Reynolds boarded the “scenic railway” at the White City, the South Side amusement park at 63rd and South Park (today’s Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Drive) that was once heralded as “the largest amusement enterprise ever attempted in the United States.”¹ The scenic railway was a proto-rollercoaster that served as one of the park’s main attractions. It was the first Sunday of July 1905; the park had opened only a month prior. Reynolds was 19 years old and had come all the way from Indiana to spend his day off sightseeing in Chicago. As his 16-person car teetered down the railway’s steepest slope, it slipped off the rails and jumped the track. The passengers panicked, thrown about from the accident, and in the confusion, Reynolds found himself stepping into the path of the adjoining track where a second car came bearing down at full speed. His was not the first life that the scenic railway claimed: a man had been thrown from a car and killed the Sunday before.²

The next morning, Chief of Police Francis O’Neill revoked the railway’s permit, remarking that, already at two fatalities in two weeks, it had made “too much of a record in the way of killing people.”³ Management protested, blaming the derailment that killed Reynolds on an act of sabotage (allegedly, a “mischievous boy” had thrown a brick into the tracks)⁴ and brought in a slew of lawyers, officials, and policemen to back the White City’s safety and value to the community.

Not every character witness brought forth by White City’s management could be said to have outstanding personal character. In fact, some may have harmed management’s case more than they helped. After receiving the safety report of Hyde Park’s Inspector Nick Hunt, Chief O’Neill didn’t bother to give him a hearing before going against his recommendation and revoking the scenic railway’s permit. This was the first time in Chicago’s history such a thing had happened.⁵

To Chief O’Neill’s credit, at this point, Inspector Hunt was a notorious figure in all the wrong ways. He was a memorable presence, described as a sharp-dressed man with an “unusual” smile and opaque business investments that had netted him a small independent fortune.⁶ Unions hated him, saloon keepers loved him, and between his political involvement and his own investments, he certainly had a finger in nearly every pie in the city. He was emblematic of Chicago’s police corruption at the turn of the century: newspapers lambasted him as “Both Hands” Hunt and lamented the fate of a city that should fall into his grasp.⁷ In the case of the White City accidents, he was acting as he was wont to do: in the favor of other interests – or more specifically, the financial interests of 7th Ward Alderman Bernard W. Snow.

Alderman Snow’s attempt to smooth this little incident under the rug through Hunt’s fabricated report proved rather unsuccessful. By Tuesday, July 4th, the day after City Council had begun to address the question of the White City, the Tribune had already broken the news of Alderman Snow’s private interests in the park. He was the owner of one of the park’s “concessions,” which was known as the “steel circle swing,” and with his own personal investment in the White City’s success had more than bent the bounds of the law to get it there. Building Commissioner George Williams drew up a report that found the park had been operating with the help of sixteen building permits which were in direct violation of city ordinance, all of which had been personally authorized by Alderman Snow. These were as follows:

One story frame entrance, 117×63 feet, Oct. 24, 1904

Two story frame entrance, 100×165 feet, Nov. 21, 1904.

Two story frame, brick and steel building, 100×200 feet (the College inn), Nov. 21, 1904.

One story frame building, 60×10 feet, and one story frame building, 38×100 feet, Dec. 5, 1904.

One story frame triple building, 115×100 feet, Feb. 16, 1905.

Series of buildings constituting the exhibition known as ‘Fighting the Flames,’ March 6, 1905.

Grandstand for ‘Fighting the Flames,’ 250×38 feet, Dec. 19, 1904.

Concession known as the ‘Scenic railway,’ Oct. 3, 1904.

Figure ‘eight’ toboggan structure, March 6, 1905.

Building known as ‘Midget City,’ 76×112 feet, March 6, 1905.

Group of buildings known as Chinese theater, March 6, 1905.

Frame building known as the Canals of Venice, 100×250 feet, Oct. 25, 1904.

Frame building, 40×100 feet, Dec. 5, 1904.

– Alderman Henry F. Eidmann (32nd Ward)⁸

Not only was the scenic railway operating under one such unlawful building permit, it was shown that nearly every structure in the park was also against code. Although the scenic railway could clearly no longer be permitted to run so unsafely, in the long run, this incident would have very little effect on the operation of the White City. In fact, the shady nature of the park would become something of a joke in Chicago politics. Two years later, Alderman Snow brought forth a resolution accusing Building Commissioner Williams’s successor, Bartzen, of “laxity and favoritism,” in between calling Snow a “liar,” “pernickety old maid,” “little rat,” and “near-sighted.”⁹ Meanwhile, Bartzen found the time to make a dig at Snow’s longstanding interest in the White City and the tragedies that had taken place there:

[Snow] ought to get a pair of specs and look around if he can see the little things that he named before the council and can’t see the big violations at the White City—the kind that cost human lives.¹⁰

Despite widespread knowledge of Alderman Snow’s favoritism towards the amusement park, nothing substantial was ever done about it.

As far as extralegal business adventures went, this was to be expected: Chicago government had much bigger fish to fry. It may have been a shady and occasionally fatal business venture, but at the end of the day the White City was known as good, wholesome, family fun. If Alderman Snow had to bend the law to protect his favorite businesses, better it be an amusement park than the houses of gambling and drinking that many of Chicago’s movers and shakers found themselves inextricably tied with.