We live on a quiet, somewhat raggedy-looking street at the southern end of Lincoln Park, not quite in Old Town, not quite in De Paul. In other words, not quite expensive–yet. On our block six buildings are under construction. That’s 18 percent of the block. Ripped up, empty, so at night the moon shines through holes that once were windows.
It’s not as though construction in this neighborhood is new, it’s been going on, slowly, for the past 15 years. It could be it’s the new style, the attitude, that’s alarming. Two-story frame houses are bulldozed into oblivion, because the lot is more valuable than the house. The three-story brick buildings–of which there are many, because of building codes established after the Fire–fare better: they’re merely hollowed out, gutted, like a fish. And it’s not couples doing the rehab anymore, or a one-truck contractor hired to do the work. No, the projects now are big business, with big signs listing the developers, the architects, the banks, the construction companies. An ideal single-family house, the sign says: five bedrooms, six baths, maid’s quarters, sun deck, hot tub (hot tub? in the city of big shoulders?). A BMW slows, the driver reads the sign. Later we find out the house was listed for $650,000 but a bidding war sent the price to $695,000.
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Al, the Polish project manager, gives us a tour. “You have to imagine,” he begins, and indeed we must, because all that’s left from the original building is the facade and two side walls. Al waves his hand in a slow curve, as though describing a shapely woman: “The back of the house will be a wave,” he says. “The garage, too, will be a wave, they’ll fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. But they won’t be together,” he says, pointing to the four-foot space between the two foundations. “There,” he says, “will be a patio, where they’ll drink martini. A real yuppie house.” (Yuppie with a Polish accent comes out something like yap-pee!) “And inside will be the very most special,” he says, pausing for effect: “Four floors of glass-block columns, lit by neon.”
We walk back home, a little amused, a little horrified: what’s happening to our neighborhood?
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photos/Art Wise.
