From Shy to Bungtown

By Herbert Nafziger

This is a story about My Great Grandfather's journey from Kloster Eberbach, Germany to being a Pharmacist in the
suburbs of Chicago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483518992

Book preview

BUNGTOWN

Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue

In the year 1892 Chicago was a raw wide open town, full of dirt and full of splendor, a town too big for its red flannel underwear.

It was engaged in a tremendous undertaking, a task that brought forth an avalanche of energy and civic pride. Chicago, good old Shy, was building the World's Columbian Exposition, known to one and all as the great and original World's Fair. There have been other fairs, including another great one in Chicago, but when one mentions The World's Fair it is understood that one means THE World's Fair, the one back in the Nineties, when a beer swilling town in overalls produced a fairyland, a work of art and a place of dreams.

During the interval between 1892 and the first World War, time and events were measured by the Fair. People said, My oldest daughter was born two years before The Fair, or We built our house six years after The Fair. My husband said if Chicago can build a Fair then we can build a house.

The Fair commemorated the 400th anniversary of the discovery of America by Columbus. It was held in Jackson Park and covered an area of about 666 acres.

But even brawny, dynamic Chicago could not get the Fair ready in time and it opened a year behind schedule in May 1893. The fabulous sum of $20,000,000 was made available and when the Fair was completed people blinked their eyes and said Aaaah! Gleaming white temples, lagoons, fountains, foreign villages, exhibits from around the world, and a roaring Midway sidewalk, where you could ride as long as you wished for only five cents! Perhaps the greatest of all the wonders was the Ferris Wheel. No one thought of visiting the Fair without having a ride on the Ferris Wheel, which took passengers high into the air where they could have a birds' eye view of the White City. Years later the big wheel was moved to the north side of the city, where it continued to furnish the greatest thrill-ride of the century. Foreign countries entered with enthusiasm into the building of the Fair. Spain sent exact replicas of the discovery fleet of Columbus, the Santa Maria, the Nina and the Pinta. It was a time of goodwill, and faith in progress of civilization. The Spanish-American war was just around the corner, but Chicago did not know it, and American loved the world and all its people.

A few years previous to the building of the great World's Fair my father had come to Illinois, had married and had started a drug store on the corner of Wood and Division streets. There were living quarters back of the store and there in the year 1892, I discovered America exactly 400 years after Columbus. Perhaps Christopher beat me to it by at least a half-length but I had it over him in other ways.

He only discovered the outer fringes, a couple of islands inhabited by shy and gentle Caribs. I discovered the .45 caliber center of the continent, a place inhabited by a wild and warlike tribe, the Chicago Go-Getters.

Chicago in the Nineties was a city of contrasts, of muck and rose petals. During the hot summer the residents of the north and west sides often smelled a stench in the air. Thus, they knew the wind was from the south, bringing with it the aroma of the world's largest slaughter house, The Chicago Stockyards. But on Sundays and on other holidays the people could enjoy the beautifully kept parks with their quiet lagoons and shady lawns, their bright flower beds and fine conservatories. And what could be more fun than trip to the Lincoln Park Zoo, The Art Institute or the great museums. To this day the taste or sights of crackerjack and peanuts reminds me of happy days seeing the elephants and monkeys at Lincoln Park.

Soon after my belated discovery of America the folks moved to living quarters on Potomac Avenue and then to west Division Street opposite Humboldt Park. The latter was a pleasant location and to some extent it appeased my father's longing for natural surroundings.

HEY KIDS! LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!

Mibs

Humbolt Park was a place of twittering birds and forest murmurs but the hinterland of city streets was tough. Among the first words I learned on those streets were Jiggers de cops! and Jiggers de bulls! The only available playground was the streets and playing on the streets was illegal. The Park was an Eden full of forbidden fruits and swarming with sparrow-cops (park police). If a guy picked a flower, played ball, or went wading in the lagoon, the sparrow cops were on top of him. So there was nothing to do but go back to the streets to dodge the blue-coated bulls.

One game that could be played in the alley was mibs (marbles). With sacks full of mibs, including chickadees, brownies and bluies the kids went forth to play for keeps. There was a large array of shooters, such as glassies, alleys, snotties and kenicks. The kenicks were the most valued and were used only as shooters. The shooters were often bought at the store for as much as a nickel apiece, but the mibs were seldom bought, at least not by experienced mibs players. They were won in hard play, or swiped, or found, but never bought. Mother dreaded the coming of the marble season. It meant stockings and kneepants worn through at the knees, grimy bruised knuckles, irritable tempers and occasional black eyes.

Mibs was an extremely quarrelsome game. There were many intricate rules and eternal vigilance was necessary to see that your opponent obeyed the rules. Sometimes the big kids made rules to suit their interest at the moment and enforced their rules with their fists.

Different parts of the city played several variations of mibs. Around Humboldt Park the prevailing game was Sen-Sen, a game which utilized an ecliptic ring. Out in Austin they played Fat, a game using a round ring. The small marbles, such as chickadees and bluies, were the filthy lucre, the casus belli, over which the kids played and quarreled and fought.

In order to win at mibs a considerable amount of skill was needed. But skill was not enough. One needed to be quarrelsome, aggressive, loud-mouthed, evasive and tricky. Sometimes an impasse was reached. Then you quickly surveyed the situation. If the other kid was smaller, you simply punched him on the nose and took the mibs. If the other kid was bigger, you make a quick grab at the pot and ran. Thus were we educated in school of the streets. We learned that rules and regulations are effective only by mutual consent between parties of equal power. In order to make rules effective for the weak as well as the strong a police force is needed. There was no police force in mibdom. The law of the jungle prevailed there as it does among nations.

There were gangs who organized themselves to get mibs an easier way. They were the out-and-out pirates of mibdom. These outlaws used various tactics. Sometimes they simply rushed a game, yelling and throwing bricks. This was a simple hold-up. More often they would quietly gather around a game, coming singly and casually as interested onlookers. They waited until the pot was rich and full. Then came the pirate leader's battle cry, Squabbles! As one they fell upon the pot, kicking, punching, grabbing; and then, loot in hand, they made a speedy getaway. Sometimes one luckless pirate was taken prisoner. When his enraged victims got through with him he was a bloody and battered ex-pirate.

The mib-pirates did not yell boarder away and they did not wield cutlasses, but the spirit and intent was the same.

The Gendarmes and the Underground

In those days the cops were our enemies. We thought they were there to frustrate all our efforts to have some fun. We would build a fire in the alleys to roast some potatoes and to imagine we were on the plains with Buffalo Bill. Sometimes we were able to roast the spuds and eat them. More often the enemy appeared. Then we scattered into back yards and under porches, abandoning our fire and our spuds to the uniformed oppressor. If we played ball in the street or in the park it was the same. Once we watched a squad of sparrow cops creep through the bushes to ambush a group of grown-up men who were playing ball in the park. A shrill whistle blew and the cops charged in from all sides, grabbed the ball players and loaded them into a paddy-wagon. One man escaped and ran across the street and through our yard. The man had a catchers' mitt in his hand. He glanced back once and cursed. As he ran I heard money jingling in his pocket. I ran after him to see if any of the mazuma would jingle out onto the sidewalk. But it didn't.

Naturally we played the part of the underground. Did a property owner have an apple tree in his back yard? We swiped the apples. We arranged a system of lookouts and warning signals and picked flowers in the park. We knew exactly when the sparrow cops changed shifts and the park was momentarily unguarded. The flowers were of no use to us. We were simply harrying the cops.

How did we get the spuds for the potato roasts in the alley? Of course, the peddlers. They came through the alleys with one-horse wagons loaded with fruits and vegetables. At the tops of their voices they yelled, Teetoes, awn-yawn, appuls, lettuce, cabbidge, fine nice banana-ho. As the wagon moved slowly down the alley, what could be easier than to dart out from behind a garbage can, grab a spud off the wagon, and beat it.

A more ambitious looting scheme almost came to grief. On Division Street near California Avenue there was a large Italian fruit stand loaded with luscious fruits. The proprietor was a pleasant fellow and a good citizen, but one day we decided we were banana-hungry. We did not want just one banana. We wanted loasa bananas. So a plan was made. Most of the gang (from 9 - 13 years of age) secreted themselves within easy distance of the fruit stand. Two were selected to lure the man away from his stand. This was done by throwing stones at him and yelling. The yelling seemed to be more effective than the stone throwing. The enraged fruit-man stood it as long as he could. He poked his head around and looked up and down the street, but we knew that the cop was at the other end of his beat. Finally the man came out and ran after his tormentors. As he tore down the street after the decoys the gang went into action. In a twinkling an entire bunch of bananas was taken and carried off to a hide-out. Breathless and flushed with victory, the raiding party gathered around the prize. A banana orgy was had by all and a bellyache by some.

The close call came when another kid and I were selected to be the decoys in another raid. We proceeded to do our stuff but things did not work out just right. The fruit man was strangely patient. We screamed as loud as we could, and again threw stones, We came closer yelling louder, throwing harder. He paid no attention. We came still closer and yelled and called him names. That did it! With a loud cry, his face contorted with rage, he vaulted over his counter. He had a long shiny knife between his teeth. Suddenly we realized that our overambitious reconnaissance-in-force had led us into a vulnerable position. We ran like fury, fear lending wings to our feet, but, holy smoke, he was close behind, and gaining. He now had his knife in his hand and was yelling. We ran between two buildings and headed for the back yard fences. Behind us came the pursuer, his footsteps going pat-pat-pat. Luckily we reached the wooden fences in time. Over the first fence we went in a headlong dive. Across that back yard we scurried and over the next fence. This was repeated as we dove over fence after fence. The Italian could not keep up with us. Our evasive action was successful. We left him far behind, circled around and came to the hide-out. However, that particular fruit stand was not bothered again. Our education was proceeding. We had learned not to push our luck too far.

Why did these small boys band together and make organized raids? It certainly was not due to poverty. This was a so-called good neighborhood. The boys were well fed and well clothed, but they had no suitable place to play. They were bound around with restrictions and threats and prohibitions. One way to give vent to their high spirits was to engage in various kinds of illegal deviltry. But this deviltry was sadly educational. At an early age they learned the methods of organized banditry.

What is the final result of this kind of gutter education? Did many of these boys become criminals and gangsters? In my opinion they did not. A few weaklings never grew up and continued their lawless revolt against society. What about the others? Were they saved by our schools, our churches, our Sunday schools? No doubt these agencies do much good, but in my opinion their influence is secondary. First of all comes inherent strength of character and early home influence. Much of a child's respect or disrespect for the Golden Rule is absorbed with his mother's milk or is learned by his early experiences. By the time he is about seven years of age his course is set.

Later experiences can divert him from that course temporarily, sometimes permanently, but as a rule his earliest training is a raincoat that see’s him through the storms of moral temptation with only a little dampness here and there. In the large cities, the children need space. The modern playgrounds, boys clubs, scout groups and athletic events that are now provided in some places are wonderful steps in the right direction. They educate small boys in the ways of peaceful competition, instead of gangster technics. Perhaps another thing badly needed is a system of education and training for prospective fathers and mothers (How true in today’s world). They are the molders of future citizens.

There was among my playmates a certain amount of what appeared to be class and race consciousness. In moments of anger they used words heard from older children words such as dago, sheeny, kike, Dutchman, polack, limey, hanky, mick, shanty-Irish. But in the mouths of the younger children such words were meaningless epithets, and meant no more than you darn fool. Class consciousness really reached its flower in the high-schools. Here there was a constant demand for money to keep up with extra-curricular activity. Girls who could not afford a new dress for the prom were definitely of a lower order. The son of a rich lawyer was definitely a higher animal than the son of a saloon keeper. A Swede was often more acceptable than a Jew, and a Negro was usually at the bottom of the social ladder. These despicable prejudices, many of which exist in one form or another at the present time, do not just happen. High school students learn them from adults, and perhaps not enough effort is made to teach class