Our Lady of the Underpass

For the most part, the Fullerton Ave. underpass of the Kennedy Expressway is much like the rest of those in Chicago: Unremarkable. Actually, that's putting it kindly. The thing is fucking nasty. Walking under it feels like walking through a huge gas station bathroom.

But the Fullerton Ave. one different. That’s because people think the image of the Virgin Mary has shown itself on its northern wall.

Most Catholics are familiar with the phenomena: People will think they see what looks like the outline of the Virgin Mary somewhere — be it an apparition, a peculiar formation of wood in a tree, a water stain in an underpass — and in thinking it’s some sort of divine sign, they’ll places flowers, light candles and hold vigils at the spot.

This particular imprint was first noticed in April 2005, and its popularity seems to have only grown in the last two years. I drove by it with my mother and stepfather this weekend and there were a dozen or so bouquets and candles lit in its honor. In the past I’ve seen folks go so far as to pull over in their cars and get out and take a look.

As for the image itself, well, thinking it’s actually The Virgin Mary is a stretch. It’s basically a calcium stain that from the perfect distance — about 20 feet directly in front of it — looks like the silhouette of Jesus’ mom.

The concept of such a thing having so much attention draw to it, and for that attention to continue over two years, is a bit intriguing. Who are these people that truly believe that this is some sort of heavenly mark? Do they really believe it’s such a thing, or are they just being dutiful Catholics?

What’s more intriguing, though, or at least what I wonder every time I walk past it is what happens when it starts to erode? Does the place lose all its supposed biblical significance? (Technically it shouldn’t). Or is such a spot timelessly important? Will people still bring it gifts five years from now?

What if the city whitewashes the walls of the underpass (like it does most of the graffiti-lined ones on the South Side)? Will there be a riot? That would likely never happen since Mayor Daley’s a devout Catholic, but I bet there’d be some uproar if it somehow did.

Will the phenomena itself just fade away? Will the people that honored her feel stilted by the fact that The Virgin Mary made a stop in their town yet not a fucking thing about their lives changed because of it? It’s been two years now, and I don’t think anybody’s really noticed any tangible acts of goodness derived from it. At some point will even the hardliners re-assess what this thing actually is?

What I’m getting at is whether or not the Fullerton underpass eventually go back to being as lifeless and disgusting as all the rest?

If so, then what does that say about divinity?

Jeremy in the White City

Since finishing The Devil in the White City last summer I'd been meaning to take a trip down to Hyde Park to meander through the old fairgrounds. For those of you not familiar, The Devil in the White City is a recent best-selling creative non-fiction book about the World'sColumbian Exhibition that took place in Chicago in 1893 and the murdering spree of serial killer H. H. Holmes that went along at the same place and time.


In the research I'd done since finishing the book I found that only one of the original buildings from the fair still stands: The Palace of Fine Arts building, which now houses the Museum of Science and Industry. For the most part, however, the land where the fair took place remains undeveloped park. The Wooded Island still exists (as does the pond surrounding it). The Midway Plaisance is still intact (now serves as a recreation area for University of Chicago students). By no means did the area seem to be anything near as astounding as it was in 1893, but, for a history person like myself, walking where such an amazing place once stood seemed interesting nonetheless.


At the Garfield stop, I get off the green line, which, aside from the new pink line is the only CTA train I'd yet to step foot on. That's largely because both legs of it take you to two of the worst parts of town: The West and South sides. Immediately I'm met by a ghetto. There's abandoned buildings in just about every direction. I'm overcome with the sensation that I got off the train a stop early and that I'm going to have to drudge miles of slum to get to where I need to go, but I'm relived when Inotice what I assume is Washington Park ahead in the distance. For those of you who haven't been keeping up with Chicago's bid to host the 2016 Olympics, this is the park in which the majority of the games' facilities are planned to be built. An eyebrow-raising choice, considering it's merely blocks east ofEnglewood , ground zero for Chicago crime. Walking up to the park I notice a young black woman squatting up against a tree with her pants at her ankles presumably taking a piss. Now, it's about 1 in the afternoon on Easter Sunday, it's at a fairly busy intersection and two cop cars are resting on the side of the street just a hundred or so yards away.

This neighborhood has a long way to go before it's ready to host the biggest sporting event in the world.

In all fairness, though, Washington Park itself is serene and well-kept. As I cross over into the Hyde Park/University of Chicago part of town I'm taken about by now nice it all is, actually. Living up north all you here are horror stories about anything south. But from my vantage point, Hyde Park is a like a little oasis of old world charm is a desert of destitute. The Lincoln Park of the south side, if you will.

The architecture is amazing, especially the U. Chicago campus, which was built mostly after the turn of the century. It looks like the majority of the structures here (residential as well) haven't been touched since they were built. Refreshing, coming from Lincoln Park, a place so overloaded with yuppies and the ambitious developers that want to appease them that the neighborhood's majestic Victorian flats rarely stand a chance against the concept of a new cookie-cutter home.

I make my way through the campus on 57th St. and I'm dumped off at the entrance of the Museum of Science an Industry, which still remains one of the staggering works of architectural genius in the city. What's amazing about this building, or I should say the fair in general, is that the MOSE is only about an fourth of the size of the Liberal Arts Building, which was the main structure of the fair. Anybody that's been to the MOSE knows that it's pretty fucking massive. Trying to imagine an equally ornate structure four times its size mind boggling. (Wo is looking at the one-third scale replica of Daniel Chester French's Republic — the centerpiece of the fair — and trying to fathom how grand the original one was.) This all really makes you wish the buildings of the fair were preserved. However, most were burned down or destroyed in the recent years following the fire. Chicago's economy went back to shit after it closed.

From there I headed south along the lake shore and wound up at the 63rd St. Beach House, a structure that, while I was there, I'd assumed as also part of the fair. After doing some research back home later I found it hadn't been built until the 1919. Still, it's an interesting visit. The two-story structure sits right between the lake and Lake Shore Drive. It's still functioning and is quite busy during the summer months, but it was completely empty while I was there, which made it an even more enthralling. As I laid in its courtyard I felt like a rogue explorer who'd come across ancient abandoned ruins. As I peered through it's balcony pavilion off into a placid and blue Lake Michigan I felt like I was in a remote castle in Spain. There wasn't a person, car or building in my periphery.

I made my way back through the park, which was quiet and desolate. I only saw a handful of other people out during the day (again, it was Easter and the temperature was about 40 degrees). As I walked through the Wooded Island I imagined awe-struck folk in Victorian garb strolling about with me. Women in long dresses toting umbrellas, mustached men with derby hats and pocket watch chains attached to their waists. Excitable children in suspenders and socks pulled to the knee running in between them. In moments like these I'd give just about anything to travel back in time.

As it was, the only other humans I saw on Wooded Island were a group of twentysomethings who looked like they just got out of church.

I made my way back to the university, ate lunch at a cute little cafe filled with artsy college kids and dressed-up families. From there I went south to walk the along the MidwayPlaisance , which acted as the entrance to the fair. These days it's grassy indentations are used as makeshift soccer and field hockey fields for the U. Chicago students. Again, my mind wandered to what it would have looked like during the fair. Bustling with horses,carriages, wooded novelty shops. It was amazing to think that many of the magnificent university buildings directly to my right, as historic as they are, weren't even there when the fair took place.

About half way through the plaisance I head a couple blocks south 63rd (which starts to get sketchy) and make my way to the green line stop (which gets sketchier). There are massive empty lots filled with urban debris in this part of the city. It looks like an inner-city war zone. Of course, I'm the only white person in sight.

I want to head farther west on 63rd to walk past the intersection where H. H. Holmes' infamous death castle once stood. This was the macabre hotel he built just before the fair that was filled with bizarre torture rooms, a gas chamber and large kiln for him to kill and discard the buddies. I don't get that far west because the area now actually looks more frightening than it may have been in 1893 (theserial killer has been replaced by gangs). It's kind of a shame that of all the things that have changed in that part of Chicago since 1893, the one thing that's remained constant is a high murder rate.