Last time I walked by, the tree in front of the Dewes House was blooming, framing the caryatids. A swell address, originally built for a German brewer, it exudes baroque style, inside and out.
I’m glad these historical old mansions survive, but this one, however beautiful, stirs desolation in me. It needs a Kickstarter project to bring it new life–a period drama should be filmed inside it, concerning the original immigrant brewer (41 years of age when he popped for this place) and his family. I can almost see his restless daughters peering out at me!
Finding ways to live with vestiges of the past can be challenging. This house was put up for sale in January for $12.5 million, I believe. Even real-estate groupies admit that as a habitation it might be too much like living in a museum.
The coming of spring has made me strangely nostalgic for the passing season. Nostalgic, yes; nostalgic for a season that wasn’t—for we didn’t really have a winter to speak of. The season was dry, with precious few days when one could go out and snap a picture like this.
Regardless of the possible merits of this picture, what can be said for the specifics of the scene? Is the place that it depicts, on the northern edge of Lincoln Park, in any respects a beautiful locale? Is it appealing? And what about the vaunted ethnic strains that are supposed to make living in Chicago so enriching and rewarding?
These are the questions that come to mind, as I gaze at this fairly absurd statue of Goethe, flanked on the left by a Mies van der Rohe building. Both speak to the once powerful German element in Chicago that’s vestigial now.
Both attest to different waves of city-building, waves that are constantly ebbing and flowing, creating the visual bric-a-brac that make up our surroundings. The wealthy Germans who had this statue erected in the public park in 1913 were asserting their cultural authority, memorializing a great writer from their native land, whose works remained a touchstone of their identity. Symbolically, this German statue “wars” with the more nationalisticstatue of Alexander Hamilton located nearby. (A statue of the German-born Governor John Peter Altgeld, commissioned in 1913, is also hidden nearby in a grove.)
The commemoration of Germans, no matter how Americanized, came to a halt with the outbreak of World War I, as acceptance and admiration for Germans’ cultural heritage turned to suspicion and hostility.
To make a long story short: In every community every building has a story. Let us praise waves of building that leave us with enduringly beautiful and admirable things. Even if you have never read a word of Goethe, you may still appreciate this statue from the bus, and let your imagination soar like the eagle you see.