Rather than blithely tell you about how this one feature of the intersection is really, really interesting or somesuch, I decided to take the far more cutthroat approach and quantify everything. Every aspect of the intersection now fits neatly into easily digestible numbers to let you know exactly how well intervention by the Church stacks up against, say, polyclorinated biphenyl pollution.
All ratings are on a 10-point scale. For the feebleminded, 1 is bad. 10 is good.
The overview.
Like nearly every other street intersection in the city of Chicago, Randolph hits Des Plaines at a perfect 90-degree angle. Four simple corners, five lanes in each street, six restaurants in a 50-yard radius. The numbers are just ordinal that way.
:: Click on the mapped numbers to see photos ::
Now you know what we're working with.
01. Historical relevance: 3.3
The site of the Haymarket Riot, which spawned labor protests to this day as well as an emocore band from Chicago, Randolph and Des Plaines leaves a lot to be desired in terms of any sort of memorial. The only marker was a one-and-a-half foot square plaque embedded in the sidewalk. Let me repeat that: it's embedded in the sidewalk. Not exactly the most conspicuous location in the world. It's not like I wanted a flashing neon arrow and a balloon-selling clown to point me in the right direction, but I would have like some advance warning that the piece of metal I was looking for was five feet below my normal line of vision.
I walked right past it the first time. The 606 art director had to pick me up in his car and drive me back to the location, then literally get out and point to the plaque. It's even partially covered in tar. This drove me batty. Why would this intersection, in nearly all respects just like intersections all over Chicago, be designated a historical landmark?
After digging further, I found the Haymarket Riot has its roots in a demonstration by labor unions in 1886. There was a shooting and a death on the third day of the workers' strike, so a protest was planned for the next day to denounce the violence. Somehow a bomb was set off at the protest. The ensuing riot became known as the Haymarket Riot, as it took place around Haymarket Square.
Interesting side trivia: Apparently the statue or other marker has been a target for labor unions, as it represents oppression by the man or somesuch. There have been a good number of locations and version of the marker, including statues and plaques all over the city. The current incarnation of the commemorative statue resides in the police station at State and 12th. You need an appointment to see it, because other statues in locations accessible by the public have been toppled in "unsolved explosions," for example.
Unsolved explosions. That's good enough for me.
02. Gratuitous use of signs and commercialism: 8.6
This is the jackpot. Stand on any corner, and a large Infiniti ad is plainly visible. It transcends the normal billboard; it's three stories high and runs for the entire length of a building, which is about half a block. One. Single. Sign. The lettering probably about as tall as I am, and lets you know without a doubt that the Infiniti G35 has all-wheel drive that changes with the weather. In case you were wondering.
There's a church on the opposite side of Randolph from the sign. If you were a person into metaphor, you could probably come up with something convincing about how the new commercialism and the love of money now rules over the sacred in our lives, and how priorities have been lost as so much attention is paid to the material and so forth, but I'll leave that up to you.
I traipsed further south down Des Plaines, and found a CTA building. Uninteresting in and of itself, but this particular CTA building has a locked side entrance with a small yellow sticker in the middle of the door (information recorded verbatim):
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CAUTION
CONTAINS
PCBs
(Polychlorinated Biphenyls)
A toxic environmental contaminant requiring
Special handling and disposal in accordance
With U S Environmental Protection Agency
Regulations 40 CFR 761 For Disposal
Information contact the nearest US E.P.A.
Office
In case of accident or spill, call toll free the
US Coast guard National Response Center :
800-424-8802 |
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Makes me feel isolated and parochial, not having worried about PCB pollution in my groundwater before. I'm going to start a new grassroots movement.
03. Religious representation: 9.0
What Chicago intersection would be complete without a church and a sculpture of intertwining hands? The correct answer is "almost every." In this case, however, the spiritual edifice belongs to the Archdiocese of Chicago, and has the accompanying tagline "Compassion in action since 1917." How can you argue with that? I'm not the sort to rain on anyone's belief system, but since this one happens to match the one in which I was raised, I feel a certain amount of, well, let's just call it artistic license on the topic.
The correct name of the parish is the Mission of the Holy Cross, but it stands on the original site of St. Patrick's, the second parish established in the city. According to a bronze plaque - and, like a Fox News anchor, bronze plaques are never wrong - the frame of St. Patrick's was erected March 10, 1846. Let's for the moment pretend we're Age of Expansion explorers, claiming territory in the name of the sovereign king. If I get to any given location first, I plant a flag in the ground, state something 50 percent romantic and 50 percent misogynistically xenophobic, and claim the ground in the name of whatever nation happened to finance my voyage. If the parish of St. Patrick's - and thus by extension the Archdiocese - is the intrepid explorer, and the intersection is the uncharted territory, then dag gumbit, it's got turf rights. All those shite poseurs out there need to get up off the church's shit.
04. Ninja power: 5.3
I've never run into a city intersection that had quite this amount of ninja power. While walking along the sidewalk by the Haymarket Riot plaque, I came across a parking lot with a street sign planted right in the middle of it. The two "streets" that "intersected" in the middle of this parking lot were Bobby Boulevard and Enrique Lane, a fact which is fantastic enough in and of itself. Something tells me you won't find them in the Chicago street registry.
But there was an even more fantastic discovery awaiting me: the broken shards of a ninja sword. Yes, there must have been a battle here, one where the victorious combatant left the shattered weapon of his vanquished opponent as tribute to the bloodshed and as warning that those who cross the path of the ninja will be dealt with swiftly. I can only imagine the exchange:
Ninja 1 (in red): Hikiro! Again we meet!
Ninja 2 (in black): It has been many moons since we last crossed blades, Mato-san.
Ninja 1: And only one shall live to tell the tale.
Ninja 2: Then shall we not settle this like ninja?
(Insert Wu-Tang fight soundtrack. After a few well-placed thrusts and parries, Ninja 1 crumples to the ground.)
Ninja 2: Real ninja wear black.
(Ninja 2 disappears in puff of smoke.)
It must have been a brilliant battle. I wish I could give the ninja quotient a higher rating, but the broken sword was made of plastic, like it was the $2.29 Ninja Kit Special from Jewel. For ages 3-10! Become a masked assassin of the night! That sort of thing. Were it a real drop-forged samurai sword, you know, made of metal, the rating would have been higher.
05. Restaurants without names they're so hip: 9.8
There's a strip of three restaurants on the eastern portion of Randolph that all seem to be tailored to the same demographic: young urbanites looking for an upscale, light lunch. They must not be total shite, because at least one was Zagat rated. The crown jewel, however, was the eatery with a dark wood-stained facade. I can't be more specific because the restaurant was so hip it didn't have a name.
I know there's the existing sentiment wherein once something is discovered by the masses, it loses its luster. It has sold out. Thus the niche for underground clubs, the smoky ones only found in back alleys and down hidden stairs, where elaborate passwords and social connetions are needed just to get in the door. This, however, is a restaurant in plain view. It serves lunch to Loop-area market consultants and creative directors. It's not exactly the type of place you whisper about to your hippest friends. And that becomes the rub: you can't whisper about it to your hippest friends, because you have no way of referring to it. What could you possibly say?
You: "Hey, I went to this great place and had the roasted quail with foie gras for lunch."
Them: "Really? What's it called?"
You: "... ummm ..."
Them: "Oh, I see. Want to keep if for yourself? I'm not good enough to know? Screw you." (walks off)
You: "No, really, umm, hey, wait up!"
This is not a good thing, either socially or professionally. And it all stemmed from that one time you at that restaurant that didn't have a name.
Overall score: 5.4
The mathematically inclined among you may have noticed the overall score isn't an average of the ratings given above. The new overall score takes extraneous factors into account, such as the fact that it was cold while I was walking around (decreasing the score by at least one), the fact that I had the opportunity to haggle with a homeless guy while I was reviewing the intersection (increasing the score by two, because I gave this guy who had no car directions to interstate 90) and the fact that the listed price for the towing company serving one of the parking lots was $105, not the city-standard $115 (which didn't influence the score, since I don't have a car).
It was a scientific process, as you can plainly tell.
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