By JENNIFER HALPERIN

Black Metropolis

Ambitious vision of a regenerated Chicago neighborhood includes millions of dollars and 'investment9 in the future rather than tackling immediate problems caused by poverty

Chicago's mid-south community has seen better days. The faces of once-beautiful mansions are covered with graffiti, their windows smashed. Neighborhood playgrounds, littered with shattered glass and garbage, offer a lonely swing or two amid mostly broken equipment. More than half of the residents are poor.

But this area along the Dan Ryan just east of the new Comiskey ball park — dubbed "Bronzeville" at the turn of the century and renamed "Black Metropolis" after the roaring '20s — once brimmed with economic and cultural life. Sitting about seven miles south of the Loop, it was the hub of African-American entrepreneurship, where black-owned banks and insurance companies were launched. Such jazz and blues greats as Duke Ellington and Buddy Guy kept its nightclub district thriving.

We've helped a lot of other parts of the state when it came to things they need — the coal miners, the farmers. Now it's time for them to help us

"It was very glamorous," recalls 86-year-old Abner Williams, whose family moved to Bronzeville in 1916. "It was segregated, but you had everything you needed — banks, businesses — and they were all owned by blacks. It's a different ball game today on the streets there — very downtrodden. I'm talking about a time when people got dressed up on Sunday to go to the Regal or Metropolitan theaters, or to the dance halls. Or to Morrison's restaurant. You had to have a shirt and tie to get in. That was real class."

It's hard to imagine such fanfare today. Yet a group of community activists and public officials envisions a big comeback for the area: a day when visitors come to tour the community's many historic buildings, then kick back at nightclubs in a planned restored blues district. They see the creation of badly needed jobs as new businesses take hold. They see the sale of single-family homes. More important, they see neighborhood residents moving off the welfare roll, the unemployment line and the hopeless road that leads many into a life of drug-dealing and crime.

But these are ambitious plans, and ambitious plans take lots of money. Black Metropolis backers sought an initial $10 million from the state legislature last year. They call the $825,000 they received a mere "drop in the bucket," but it was enough to whet their appetite. They don't know how much they'll need, partly because they still haven't assessed the extent of the damage to the community's historic buildings. They'll use the money they have to begin restoration of run-down but notable buildings that would comprise a "Black Metropolis Tour," including the Eighth Regiment Armory where the nation's first all-black regiment of the U.S. Army trained.

Supporters in the legislature vow they'll be back for more money next year — with a vengeance. As Sen. Donne Trotter, a Chicago Democrat who heads the minority legislative caucus, puts it: "We're trying to preserve part of the African-American culture, an integral part of our self-esteem. We've helped a lot of other parts of the state when it came to things they need — the coal miners, the farmers. Now it's time for them to help us."

Their success will depend in part on convincing skeptics that the state must look beyond meeting short-term needs to long-term economic regeneration.

"One of the main problems we have in Springfield is the absence of long-term thinking," says Douglas Gills, an assistant professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago's school of urban planning and policy. "We've missed some golden opportunities for long-term public policy. For example, when it came to the McCormick Place expansion, the Kennedy and Dan Ryan improvements, the new White Sox park, no effort was made to guarantee that people in these neighborhoods got jobs relating to the projects. No efforts are made to tie hospitals in the mid-south area — like Michael Reese or the University of Chicago — to jobs for people living there. And I'm not talking about doctors and nurses; I'm talking about lab technicians, suppliers of soap and toilet paper. These efforts could have anchored some economic opportunities in this community."

Jim Quane, associate director of the University of Chicago's

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Black Metropolis once brimmed with cultural life. This 1894 scene is on Martin Luther King Drive, looking south from 35th Street.

Center for Study of Urban Equality, agrees that concentrating only on short-term needs — like welfare — doesn't do much to attract mixed-income groups to a neighborhood. "It's a dilemma," he says. "Sure, if you're talking about the indigent groups left behind when a neighborhood declines, you have to worry about welfare needs. But if you can develop economic opportunities that bring mixed incomes to a neighborhood, your tax base will rise and investment will follow."

Right now, though. Black Metropolis looks like a difficult sell in the legislature. Senate Minority Leader Emil Jones Jr., a Chicago Democrat whose district on the city's far South Side has economic woes of its own, says he can't be optimistic about the project attracting many state dollars. "We have some serious educational problems in this state," Jones says. "The Chicago schools are in trouble. We're going to need more money going into Medicaid. The dollars are going to be very scarce next spring, and any capital project you run into has to take a back seat."

Such priorities may lead to short-term solutions, say some of Jones' colleagues, but they do nothing to solve long-term problems.

"We get caught up in a lot of social and welfare issues," says Trotter, "but we have economic concerns, too. We need to improve the cash flow in these kinds of neighborhoods — get people in there shopping, or as tourists, and create jobs. Because of a lack of leadership, we've seen these projects actually fall to the wayside in the past. Any kind of economic development would help that community survive; otherwise, you'll see it disintegrate."

He says $10 million may seem like a lot of money to shoot for, but it's just a goal. "We realize like everyone else there's a negotiating process: We'll ask for the world and hope for a couple of moons. We're not stuck on one amount of money, but we do need more dollars to continue the development, to keep focused."

Another Chicago Democrat, Rep. Monique Davis, agrees. "I don't think it should be an either-or situation between social services and economic development. Many times the social needs are a result of neglecting a community's economic needs. This is an idea in which those who get jobs as a result of development in the area would be living in the same communities and spending their money right here in the communities.

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"You know, even in Anchorage, Alaska, there's a blues tour that I went on and it was phenomenal," she says. "I certainly think that when our conventioneers come in, Black Metropolis would be a lure. I get excited thinking about the day in Chicago when conventioneers at McCormick Place get done with taking care of business for the day, and they head to Black Metropolis to relax, listen to some blues and eat some soul food. But one of the roadblocks has been Springfield. The black community gets crumbs down there from the legislature."

This feeling of being shut out has led to frustration and resentment among members of the black caucus. The state seems to have no problem supporting economic development in other parts of the state, Davis says. She cites riverboat gambling, which the state legalized in 1990 to pump money into ailing river towns. "I know riverboats won't be passed for Chicago until this (Black Metropolis) passes. We do a lot for a number of other communities; they've got to support us on this."

Ironically, Bronzeville's illustrious period during the early part of this century was due in large part to segregation in Chicago.

African-American migrants who moved from the South looking for factory jobs during World Wars I and II were restricted from most Chicago neighborhoods, so they made their homes in communities like Bronzeville. Unable to buy insurance or conduct business with white-owned companies, they spent their money at African-American-owned enterprises, helping to build a thriving economic culture. Jesse Binga founded the first bank owned and operated by African Americans. Supreme Life Insurance, the first black- owned insurance company in the North, opened for business. At night, clubs were packed with patrons eager to hear the likes of Louis Armstrong and Muddy Waters.

But the Depression ruined many of Bronzeville's businesses and the local jobs they offered. As housing restrictions on African Americans in the city were lifted, many residents moved farther south. At the same time, the federal government funded programs to clear urban land and to build high-rise public housing. As housing went up, the area lost many of its single-family homes — and many of its residents. Between 1950 and 1990, mid-south's population dropped from 193,000 to about 66,000. Businesses and night clubs shut their doors. Today, most new businesses in the area are fast-food restaurants. Nearly one-third of the land here is vacant or abandoned.

So what is government's responsibility now? Black Metropolis supporters may succeed in getting some money by becoming a "squeaky wheel," but they hope instead to gain support for long-term investment.

"There is a certain logic to the argument of government helping to undo some of the damage that government policies — like high-rise housing — helped create in the past," says Cedric Herring, an associate professor in the sociology department at the University of Illinois at Chicago and at the Institute of Government and Public Affairs. "Policy-makers for a long time tried to deal with economic problems from a supply side — providing education and job training to get people ready for jobs. But if the real problem is the utter scarcity of jobs, then there's a need to concentrate on changing that. That's taking more of a demand-side approach."

Leroy Kennedy, associate vice president for community relations at the Illinois Institute of Technology, supports this

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line of thinking. "This is a community that has been victimized by disinvestment over the years," he says. "As a result, a lot of social and economic problems are felt here. There's been a lot of folks who lost jobs, homes and didn't get an education. The only way we're going to get that back is by bringing some of that investment back into the community. Enriching the culture and history here will help."

Supporters like Kennedy acknowledge they have some big obstacles to overcome — not the least of which is attracting millions of dollars from state, federal, city and private sources. "It's a lot of money," says Pat Dowell-Cerasoli, executive director of the Mid-South Planning and Development Commission, which is coordinating the restoration project. "But if we don't get it, we can write off this part of the city."

Internal political scuffles haven't helped the project, either. Differences between project leaders hampered early efforts to marshal resources and present unified plans. Bill Wheeler of the Illinois Historic Preservation Agency says proposals he's seen haven't stressed economic development. He cites the proposed restoration of the armory, where, he argues, no definite use has been identified. Photos by Jennifer Halperin
Buildings such as the Eighth Regiment Armory (right), where the nation's first all-black regiment of the U.S. Army trained in Chicago, need extensive repairs. Yet, advocates believe they can restore some of the architectural grandeur of Chicago's Black Metropolis section. This photograph (left) highlights the beautiful detail carved above the front doorway on one of many old mansions along Martin Luther King Drive.

"There has been talk about its history, setting up something commemorating the soldiers of the regiment, but no one's shown the real economic benefit of the restoration." Instead, he says, there seems to be an attitude that supporters just want to see something done; they want to see some money made available to restore this important piece of African-American history.

Even supporters acknowledge the proposed project won't guarantee long-term economic regeneration. There is some question, for instance, whether people would want to tour this area — whether the planned renovations would be enough to lure visitors to a community that many people now fear visiting in broad daylight. Lucas says the lack of available jobs in Black Metropolis has caused many young people to turn to crime, making its streets an intimidating place for strolling. And the close proximity of several massive public housing developments helps cement the area's reputation as dangerous.

"I don't think we can return Bronzeville to its heyday by bringing in service sector tourism jobs alone," says Gills. "But it could be a catalyst for local development. It's a way to signal the area is alive and there's hope there."

"We have a mandate in inner-city neighborhoods to break the cycle of poverty," adds Harold Lucas, Bronzeville project coordinator for the mid-south commission. "But lawmakers are too taken up with welfare issues. I think they're crisis-oriented. In general, our communities are so dominated by social service needs that leaders haven't looked ahead." Looking ahead, with economic and cultural development in mind, is the only hope, Lucas says, for the salvation of communities like Bronzeville. "Otherwise, they're just not going to make it." 

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