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| words by: |
| nick zigler |
| photo by: |
| stephanie mcniel |
click to enlarge photo |
I spent two hours wandering around the intersection of Michigan Avenue and … well, nothing really. Just Michigan and the Chicago River. It's not even an intersection per se, but more a main thoroughfare on the south end of the Magnificent Mile . Just a street that passes over a river.
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The underbelly, however, is what makes the intersection interesting. It's a maze of girders and metal and a few cross streets, most notably East Water Street, at which the world-famous Billy Goat Tavern resides. It's another world from the upper level of upscale shops and the seat of Chicago journalism, one where water drips from metal above and traffic drives through on a simple journey from point A to B, instead of the sightseeing tour buses and cars filled with people more interested in the shops and pedestrians, it seems, rather than driving. |
What you need to know: Crossing the street.
Michigan Avenue at that particular intersection is a divided street, so you don't necessarily have to look both ways before crossing, just in one. But make sure you get that right. The area's notorious for taxis, as there's a popular U-turn/taxi waiting area right next to the river. While it's not as bad as New York , where a cabbie will hit you, back up, do it again and give you the finger the whole time, don't cross ‘em. They don't like that.
Since there's no cross streets on the above intersection, you're fine there. On the below one, however, there's a mess of cross- and feeder-streets, with girders galore. Columns to hold up the street above and all that. But almost no worries: there's very little traffic down there. But what there is does count, as much of it consists of deliveries for the Tribune.
Public service announcement: Don't get hit by a truck . The staff of 606 cares about you. |
The Plaza of the Americas, or, a good space to sit.
Chicago is patriotic. It loves a good flag, especially its own . The four-star emblem is everywhere downtown, from a top a pole to the left sleeve of a police officer. And, of course, the flag and the city need to have their own mindless dedication to something no one looks at anymore: a three-times life-size sculpture of Benito Juarez, a former president of Mexico. What he's doing there, I don't know. The plaque only reads that it's “dedicated to the city of Chicago,” and that Juarez lived from 1806-1872. But it's also got a nice garden area. Sit and smell the roses for a minute. Then go across the street and go buy an electric bread slicer or something equally technological and worthless at Hammacher Schlemmer.
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The Billy Goat “Cheeseborger” Tavern.
Trust me: You've heard of it. The Tavern has become an ubiquitous pop culture reference. Ever heard someone say “cheeseborger, cheeseborger” with a faux-Greek accent? How about “No Coke. Pepsi”? It's one of those things parents say to their kids without the kids knowing where it really came from. That was Saturday Night Live's takeoff on the Billy Goat Tavern.
Oh Bill Murray, you influenced millions before they even knew it.
The Tavern itself is so unassuming as to be near-invisible. I'd venture that most tourists passing by the Tribune building on the upper Michigan Avenue level don't know it exists. It was described to me by a writer at the Trib as “a journalist's hangout: out-of-the way enough, and loud enough so your conversations aren't overheard.”
The food's just that. Food. Nothing amazingly special. I was hoping the worker behind the counter would launch into a rendition of the classic SNL skit. But apparently they have a business to run, and I had to nod my head yes to the “Cheeseborger?” inquiry, then pick up my pre-filled Pepsi waiting by the register. It was a good burger, though. |
The mainstay: Starbucks.
What fun modern thoroughfare would be complete without a Starbucks? You can choose from more than 30 varieties of coffees and from more than 20 types of teas! They'll even make your mocha with skim milk if you're a health nut! They also have cafe-type foodstuffs, like carrot cake and scones!
Get over it. It's just a Starbucks.
But there are some great newspaper machines next to it, where you can pick up the latest apartment finder index or the copy of the Pink Pages, if that's your thing. That's pretty much the best part about the Starbucks. |
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The Tribune Tower, and the stones in it.
Of course everyone knows about the embedded rocks in the side of the Trib building. The Great Wall of China, the Berlin Wall, Notre Dame Cathedral. Lots of stuff. There's a glut of classical and modern references made physical, as you can reach out and touch a piece of the Colosseum or the White House.
One caveat: Staring makes you look like an out-of-towner. What I wasn't expecting was the number of strange oblique looks I got while being a shameless tourist. It was as if I were tagging my gang turf instead of looking at a wall and writing on a clipboard. I guess the spirit of capitalism is so pervasive that stopping to appreciate is no longer in vogue, having fallen to the wayside for the ostensible purpose of Michigan Avenue: shopping. But knock yourself out.
No one appreciates culture anymore.
Architecturally, the Tribune Building is an imposing structure, jutting its Art Deco facade out of the riverfront. It represents the quintessential American goal of constant achievement, as only the first nine or so floors of the building hold the offices of the venerable Chicago Tribune, and the rest is residential. The goal, naturally, is to make enough in a paycheck to do all shopping, working and living in the same block of the Magnificent Mile. Personal living space. Sure would be nice to live there. You know, amazing building, great location, walking through the lobby of a major world-class newspaper to get home. Not too bad.
A broadcast booth for WGN radio is located on the corner. Make faces at talk radio personalities while they're on air; that alone is worth the trip. |
Walgreens: The Pharmacy America Trusts When It's Convenient.
Right across the street from the Tribune Tower is, naturally, a Walgreens. I've never felt so high-class buying Q-Tips and Chef Boyardee. Granted, it was the most expensive can of ravioli I've ever purchased, but the location alone was worth it.
Bonus: the two guys fighting turf wars over who's allowed to sell StreetWise, Chicago's weekly newspaper to benefit the homeless, outside the doors. The one with the beard won . The other was relegated to selling outside the Starbucks a few doors down. |
The lower loading dock.
The guys working here are more on par with the Beefeaters guarding British royalty than the average; they don't like jokes or surprises. I had legitimate business here once and, unwisely, tried to make small talk with the guard in the booth:
Me: “Hey, how's it going?”
Guard: ( deadpan ) “Yeah.”
Me: “Umm … I'm supposed to pick up a package here.”
Guard: ( deadpan ) “So is everybody else.”
Me: “Umm … so … here's my name.”
Guard: ( deadpan ) “Who's it from?”
Me: ( stumbling, thinking he wanted to know where I got my name ) “Umm … I was just told to pick it up.”
You get the picture. And this all happened pre-9/11, so this wasn't from Homeland Security. It was just the School of Surly Loading Dock Security Workers. Think of all the fun things you could do with them, though. Impersonating Tribune editors, umm, and doing some other stuff. It could be a great time.
Remember: the 606 staff has never encouraged law-breaking. In fact, if you do anything illegal or stupid, it's not our fault. |
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