David Witter

They were once considered an urban blight, an offense to all decent Americans. Phrases like "neon jungle" and "neon wilderness" associated the signs with drinking, dancing, the devil and sin. But throughout the fifties and sixties, Chicago and the rest of the nation lit up the postwar boom with big neon lights. Blinking, flashing, dancing and moving they splashed vibrant red, pink, green, orange and yellow on wet city streets. Not only colorful but big. Giant neon, in the shapes of cars, shoes, trains and the blinking, glowing martini glass once hung on all major streets throughout the city.

Like impressionist paintings, the glow of neon changes. At dusk, neon is visible but soft, blending in with the horizon. At night, it blazes, taking over the streets along with the musicians, dancers and revelers. In the bright daylight, neon sleeps, but beauty still thrives in the unlit signs, producing yet another set of colors and tones that were once hidden by the flashing tubes. Big Neon spoke to you. Inside the world portrayed by these signs you knew you could find VACANCIES, DANCING, or LIQUOR. You could seek refuge inside, no questions asked.

Chicago's nighttime byways are now lit by a new type of shingle, the Lexan sign--massive sheets of hard, white-opaque plastic illuminated by a few fluorescent bulbs. Sometimes they are molded with the relief of a hamburger or a doughnut, bearing the insignia of a fast-food chain. Like the franchises they represent, each is exactly like thousands of others throughout the country. Mirroring the people that inhabit them, they sit passively, emitting a dull glow that never seems to change. Yes, neon signs still read OPEN or advertise a brand of beer, but like the confident America, Big Neon is vanishing. Too expensive to build and too costly to maintain, the franchise owners decry. And Big Neon is too bright and too loud for a homogenized America.

In just the past few months, many of Chicago's greatest neon signs have disappeared. The 100-foot-high flashing-neon martini glass at 1850 North Harlem told everyone that Horwath's was more than just your average family restaurant. Its steak and seafood menu may have made the residents of the Northwest Side feel like they could have a "downtown" steakhouse right here in the neighborhood. The sign brought a bit of Las Vegas to Chicago. Complete with flashing pink and white "bubbles" that rose from the classic triangular martini glass, it lit up Harlem Avenue from six blocks away. The ruse was so effective that many of Chicago's top mobsters, including Chuckie English who was gunned down in the parking lot, made it their hangout. But the sign also helped make Horwath's a place where the average person could feel special.

"For generations, residents of Chicago's Galewood neighborhood and people from Elmwood Park had their weddings, anniversaries, and graduations at Horwath's," Rich Kewitz, who manages Innjoy, says. "Inside, it was a nice place, but the sign also gave it a bit of that magical feeling that transformed everything."

Over the summer, Horwath's was torn down. Now the area where the sign once stood is part of a parking lot for a local strip mall. Not too far away, the devil-red and white neon that flashed GO TO BLASES also sits, waiting for the wrecking ball. Located on North Milwaukee Avenue in Niles, the bar went out of business last spring. Finally, Allwein Food & Liquors, at 4958 North Milwaukee, is still open, but its neon sign was removed in October. More than seventy years old, it beckoned workers getting off at the nearby CTA and Metra train stations with an offer that flashed THIRSTY? Although the sign was old and in disrepair, there were other factors involved in the removal of the beacon.

"We received a letter from the city expressing concern that the sign was a potential hazard due to its age, large size and deteriorating condition," Allwein owner Sam Desai says. "The city also stated its preference for signs that lie flat against the building."

With pressure against liquor establishments in general, and a preference for "flat" signage, Chicago's old neon signs have two strikes against them. The third strike against neon may be the cost.

Dell Rhea's Chicken Basket, 65 Joliet Road (Route 66), may be the last genuine roadhouse in the Chicago area. Part of its seminal appeal is the giant orange and blue neon sign that reads CHICKEN BASKET/COCKTAIL LOUNGE. But keeping the neon sign and maintaining it was no small feat. In 1979, the village of Willowbrook filed suit against the restaurant and its "demon neon."

"We received a letter saying that there was a village ordinance against free-standing signs," restaurant owner Patrick Rhea says. "We had to hire lawyers and get other local businesses and planners to fight the village. It took us over ten years, from 1979 until the early nineties, to maintain the right to have our sign."

But Rhea says that it is cost that is most responsible for spelling the death of Big Neon.

"Neon signs and their many thin tubes are continually exposed to weather, vandalism, even pebbles that ricochet from cars or the wind," Rhea says. "It is very hard and expensive to find a qualified person to repair them. It is even more expensive to build them from scratch," Rhea continues. "If I was the owner of a new business, to build the sign I have now it would probably cost $50,000, where a Lexan-faced unit with back-lit bulbs would probably cost about $10,000. But as far as this one is concerned, it is a classic part of this restaurant, and I would do whatever it takes to make sure it remains that way."

What may yet save Big Neon from complete extinction is its retro appeal. While Rhea's Chicken Basket has been around since the 1940s, a few Chicago business owners have discovered that a neon sign can give a new business the impression that they are visiting a landmark. Some old neon signs in newer places include the Schlitz sign that adorns Schubas at 3159 North Southport, the winking fish in front of Simon's Tavern at 5210 North Clark, and the newly refashioned, marquee-style bulb/neon glow that lights the way for Innjoy at 2051 West Division.

"Division Street in the 1950s was called `Polish Broadway'--it was the home of Nelson Algren," Innjoy's Kewitz says. "So we asked ourselves, how do we look like we've been here? How do we give instant character to a new place?"

For Kewitz, the answer was in a large garage in back of the business that had once been a hardware store and a junk shop. Taking the base of the old sign, they brought in an artist who repainted a sign that formerly said "Pub and Grill," rewired it and added new neon tubing.

"The sign fit in with the neighborhood's history and gave our place an identity," says Kewitz, who also installed an old neon sign at the Tequila Roadhouse at 1653 North Wells. "When people see a sign that flashes VACANCY at an old motel or OPEN 24 HOURS at a diner it immediately becomes a beacon for artists, musicians and people wandering through the night.

"It was part of an American period where one-upmanship was king," Kewitz continues. "The big letters are better than the small, the flash better than the blink. These are signs that weren't stamped out by a machine. In places like Florida and cities out West that were settled in the fifties and where the weather is good they are still around. But with the harsh weather in Chicago that stresses the caps and weakens the seals, they are definitely a dying breed."

(2004-11-30)

Also by David Witter

Take me to the river
While it has yet to become Fisherman's Wharf or Baltimore's Chesapeake Bay, Chicago restaurants have begun to exploit Chicago's rediscovered waterfront resource
(2004-05-12)

A moll meal
While most of the culinary hangouts of the gangsters have vanished, a handful remain in more or less their original state
(2004-02-18)

Steel stomachs
Lack of change and strong ethnic identity has resulted in a neighborhood filled with unique bars and eateries
(2003-11-05)

Young Turks
Like a blast from a giant hookah pipe, Turkish food, led by the mini cult craze of Shwarma, is threading its way into the tapestry of mainstream Chicago dining
(2003-08-13)

BAR NONE
(2001-04-26)

BRAIN MATTERS
(2001-01-11)

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