What Happened In 1917

Aren't public memorials supposed to be permanent? Not in Chicago.

The purpose of a public memorial is to let a later generation know that someone was important enough to remember. Memorials are supposed to be permanent and unchanging.  

Not in Chicago, pal.

For one example, let’s look at a particular public school.

In 1896 the Chicago Board of Education opened a new grade school at Central Park and Armitage in the fast-growing Logan Square community. Many of the neighborhood people were German. The Board named the school after Otto von Bismarck, the first prime minister of a united Germany.

Bismarck School educated young Chicagoans for two decades. Then, in April 1917, the United States went to war against Germany in World War I.

Remember a few years ago, when some zealots were angry at France, and started calling French fries “freedom fries?” That sort of thing happened in 1917. German measles became “European measles.” Sauerkraut became “liberty cabbage.” The noble dachshund became the “liberty pup.”

Bismarck was the symbol of Prussian militarism. He wasn’t a good German like Goethe, or Beethoven, or Humboldt. Therefore, his name had to come off his school.

General Frederick Funston had recently died. He’d been a hero in the Philippines conflict and in the San Francisco earthquake. If he had lived, Funston probably would have led the American Expeditionary Force in the new war. He was the logical person to honor.

It wasn’t that easy. Some members of the school board thought the re-naming business was silly. The matter dragged on for a year. Finally, on May 1, 1918, Bismarck School was officially changed to Funston School. The name remains Funston 93 years later.

And 93 years later, perspectives have shifted. Some historians have re-examined Funston’s career and concluded he wasn’t such a sterling character. And compared to Hitler, Bismarck no longer seems so scary.

I don’t think Funston School should go back to being Bismarck. But I do have a plan that would address changing historical fashions, and also help school finances.

The Board of Education should sell naming rights to its schools.

Think of all the money that could be raised from corporations, or advocacy groups, or political candidates! And as a tribute to a departed loved one, a public school building is more accessible than a lunar crater or a star. Then, after 20 years or so, the Board could auction off the name again, and raise more money.

The Mighty 1090 KAAY: Glaspie B. Dillard, 1917-1920‏

During our pilgrimage to the KAAY transmitter site on April 19, 2011, Jerry Sims, Bud Stacey and I walked among the three towers in a field of tall grass and crawdad holes. Though not as pronounced as inside the building, there were signs of the sad neglect that has befallen The Mighty 1090. Counterpoise wires drooped when they should have been tight. The conduit that contained the feed lines to the west tower lay broken on the ground, thanks to the recent work of copper thieves. And the grass was high and ragged, years since Felix McDonald grazed cattle there. I was hunting the tombstone of little Glaspie Dillard under that west tower. You've seen a couple of references to his name here on the Blog--and there's been a bit of controversy about him. Well, on this fine afternoon, I had witnesses with me. We were going to look at that tombstone and read the name of the child who had been buried in that field ninety years ago. There would, at last, be pictures of his marker and what little we know of his story would be told. We fanned out and searched a good while to the north of the west tower, which is where I remember seeing the stone in 1971. It had stood almost upright, leaning maybe fifteen degrees back toward the building, with Glaspie's name and span facing roughly south. But we couldn't find a trace of it, sitting up or lying down. And here came the questions: had it fallen at last and been overgrown by the grass? Had Dillard descendants finally come to claim it? Had it been removed in an effort to damp down questions? Did I simply not remember its location--or had it never been there at all? We looked for a bit longer. Then, deciding that it was just another lost trace, ambled back to the transmitter building. That was when Frank, the Citadel engineer, asked us if we had seen the tombstone! I told him we'd been unable to locate it, and he said, "Come on, I'll show you." So we piled into his four-wheel-drive pickup, Bud and I riding on the tailgate as country boys will do. Back to the west tower we went--and Frank led us to its south side. The others saw the stone before I did: flat on the ground, lower third broken across and marked by a piece of rebar that had a cultivator foot welded to it, a Radio Cross to designate a grave. Except that the grave wasn't where it was supposed to be. I remember it being on the north side of the tower.

What happened to me

What happened where, a guide to places and events in twentieth-century history

The Russian empire, 1801-1917

Debates in the Massachusetts Constitutional Convention, 1917-1918

General deficiency bill, 1917