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![]() Bohemian Requiem Why does the city want to replace a historic Pilsen building with a vacant lot?
On Maxwell Street, just off Halsted, a marker recounts the significance of the market that once flourished here, a part of the city's commercial, ethnic and cultural history. Around it, sparkling new brick condos and picture-perfect retail shops make up a kind of pop-up neighborhood, an urban planner's dream, albeit virtually nondescript as to its place in the city's history.
Less than a mile down the street, at 1920 South Halsted, another historical marker points out the location of the garment workers' strike of 1910-11. But surrounding it are buildings old enough to have watched the historical events take place, as South Halsted Street in Pilsen is a largely preserved time capsule of Chicago history. This is thanks almost entirely to the efforts of the Podmajersky family, who have been acquiring buildings for three generations, ever since John Podmajersky Sr. landed here from Slovakia in 1914. Eventually, his son and grandson transformed it into an artists' enclave, with hidden gardens, storefront galleries and a monthly "Second Fridays" opening night.
"What do you see?" John Podmajersky III asks, sweeping his arm around the vast raw space, with its mother lode of vintage brick, inside 1920 South Halsted. "I see a blank canvas." His vision includes a sculpture garden and a new building connected to this smaller structure, but the market's not ready for the project yet. When you've been caretaking a neighborhood for three generations, you tend to take the long view. Unfortunately, if the city has its way, this three-story building won't be around long.
For nearly a decade, almost since his father bought the building, the city has been pressuring the family to redevelop the building or tear it down. According to Podmajersky, the family has put more than $400,000 into cleaning up, repairing and securing the building. "Except for redeveloping the building, everything the city has asked us to do, we have done," he says. But now, after paying $150,000 in fines to the city, and facing the prospect of paying tens of thousands more, he's ready to give up. Demolition is scheduled for September 6.
So why is the city hell-bent on tearing down a vintage building in a district on the National Register of Historic Places that is well-maintained, poses no apparent danger, and is structurally sound? Podmajersky details a complex legal history interlaced with layers of city bureaucracy, but ultimately lays the blame on the city's authoritative demolition powers, which forced the Podmajerskys into a consent decree to tear it down, and a lawyer in the city's legal department, Ann Dudley, who seems singularly focused on seeing it demolished. ("She's possessed," Podmajersky says. Dudley did not return calls for comment.)
"It sounds like a case of Kafka-esque bureaucratic snafus along the line that can never be solved," Preservation Chicago president Jonathan Fine says. "But bottom line, this is a historic building in fine shape in a historic part of Chicago that the city seems intent to demolish and replace with a parking lot. And they're not just punishing the Podmajerskys, they're punishing the entire city of Chicago."
Also by Brian Hieggelke Play Ball
The Hollywood Issue
Super Special
Tip of the Week
Who are the 100 Most Famous Chicagoans?
Chicago Fame 150
The Nineties in Rerun
By Design
Sand on the Brain
Fanfare for the Uncommon Man
Life without Newspapers
Life without Newspapers
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