Kup's Chicago - Irv Kupcinet [11]
The Streeter story could have happened only in Chicago. It all began in 1886 when Streeter, trying out a boat with which he planned to run guns to South American revolutionists, hit a sandbar. When he discovered the craft could not be budged, he immediately decided to change from gunrunner into houseboat-dweller. In time, sediment began to form a link between his craft and the shore, and Cap Streeter got an idea that he thought might be even more lucrative than gunrunning. He would claim this “new” land, and all other shoreline formed since 1821, when the State boundaries were established by an official survey which showed the water line to have been much farther inland. He named this strip of beach “The District of Lake Michigan,” proclaimed himself the official owner, and appointed a friend of his as military governor. Asserting that the new territory lay completely outside of all Federal, State, county, or municipal jurisdiction, Streeter proceeded to parcel out his claim into lots for sale to speculators.
Chicago officials of those days tolerated a great deal, but this was too much. In 1889, five men were sent to oust Streeter, but the captain, brandishing his rifle, chased them back across what he called “the city limits.” As a result, Streeter was haled into court. The case dragged on and on. Several policemen, who were trying on their own initiative to evict the captain, were doused with scalding water by his wife. Streeter next rallied an army of friendly drunks and hobos and set up barricades of driftwood which it took five hundred policemen to storm. And still Streeter went free – until the day he defied newly elected mayor Big Bill Thompson by selling whisky on Sunday. In 1916 police burned down his shack, and “The District of Lake Michigan” was finally conquered by the City of Chicago and the State of Illinois.
But these are characters of the past. There is as wide a variety of fascinating people in Chicago’s present – men and women who continue to maintain “la différence” between Our Town and the rest of the nation. They are the ones I would like you to meet. Each Friday the thirteenth, for example, a cross section of eminent Chicagoans meets at the Chicago Athletic Club or some other downtown site. Among the members are judges, politicians, businessmen, and sports figures. The name of this organization: The Anti-Superstition Society. Its purpose: To spoof silly superstitions and prejudices in any way that comes to mind. Some members enter the meeting room carrying open umbrellas. Others walk under ladders, or smash mirrors with horseshoes, or light three cigarettes on a match. I am fortunate enough to merit a special distinction in the group: I am the thirteenth vice-president. I can personally testify that regardless of what superstition we defy, none of us has been struck by a lightning bolt yet. (Unless, of course, we travel on an airplane with Bob Hope.)
And then there are our “little guys,” who would do any city proud. There is Joe Swedie, a factory worker who spends evenings and weekends showing movies to children in hospitals. There is Eddie Hamilton, Checker Cabby No. 5000, who offers his passengers free coffee, cigarettes, newspapers, and other comforts while he cheerfully describes the sights of Chicago – which proves that no matter what your station in life, a little initiative can enhance it. And there is Dwight Guilfoil, Jr., a recent “Handicapped American of the Year.” Dwight is restricted