Curious City

Patrick Jensen, Senior Civil Engineer at the MWRD, said it’s a lot like pouring a giant pail of water into a small kitchen sink. “That sink is going to overflow, not necessarily because the drain isn't working, [but because] it simply cannot handle that flow in that fast amount of time to prevent it from overtopping.”

When that happens, pressure builds in the pipes, pushing in every direction — including backwards, into basements. Any water flushed down the toilet or down the drain also has a hard time leaving and will likely back up into the house.

Beyond the design of our sewer system, there are two key reasons this is happening more often in recent years: First, our built environment has covered up most of the grass and soil that might otherwise absorb stormwater into the ground. Second, heavy storm events are happening with greater frequency — and that is expected to become the norm rather than the exception as our climate continues to change.

I thought Deep Tunnel was supposed to stop flooding in the area. What gives?

The Tunnel and Reservoir Plan, commonly referred to as Deep Tunnel, is designed to provide a holding place for excess water when our sewer system is overwhelmed. It consists of 110 miles of giant tunnels that lie below city sewer systems throughout Cook County, ready to capture and carry away excess water to one of three massive reservoirs, where it is held until the water treatment plants have a chance to catch up.

The reservoirs can currently hold more than 11 billion gallons of water. But in July 2023, one of them — the McCook Reservoir — filled to capacity. To increase capacity by 6.5 billion gallons, crews are currently blasting through rock and creating a fourth reservoir, set to be finished by 2029. In total, Deep Tunnel has been under construction for almost 50 years.

But here’s the catch: While Deep Tunnel helps hold excess water, it’s up to local municipalities to get the water from their sewer systems into the tunnels. That means it’s the responsibility of the Chicago Department of Water Management and its suburban counterparts to keep their sewers clear and functional. “And that's the biggest problem we have,” said Dick Lanyon, retired executive director of the MWRD. “The sewers have to be maintained, periodically inspected by closed circuit TV cameras, cleaned, [and] any failures have to be repaired.”

Things like leaves and debris can block pipes, and sometimes they cave in after years of use. While the top engineer at the MWRD said the rule of thumb is to inspect sewer lines every five years or so, depending on how often an area experiences issues, the Chicago Department of Water Management Deputy Managing Commissioner Matt Quinn said his crews make their way through each neighborhood about once every 10 to 15 years. Other than that they respond to problems when people file complaints and inspection requests with 311. (Our public records request found that the DWM doesn’t keep centralized records of when and where it inspects sewer mains and structures, so it’s hard to say with certainty how often they’re checked, on average.)

Does opening the locks reduce basement flooding?

The Chicago Harbor Lock is located near Navy Pier between Lake Michigan and the mouth of the Chicago River. During heavy storms, the MWRD can open gates at the lock after the river rises above the level of the lake to reduce flooding along the river banks by temporarily allowing water to flow towards the lake.

However, doing so pollutes Lake Michigan, our source of drinking water. Plus, it doesn’t actually do anything to reduce basement flooding, according to Lanyon. “Even if you could open the locks earlier,” Lanyon explained, “the water has to go such a distance to get to the lakefront — and through all the sewers and canals — that [it’s] not a solution at all.” Extraordinary rain events overwhelm the city’s system, period — regardless of whether the gates and lock are open or not.



What are local leaders and agencies doing to deal with this?

There are two main agencies responsible for the sewer system in Chicago and the surrounding area. The Metropolitan Water Reclamation District (MWRD) is the regional stormwater management authority that cleans wastewater and releases it back into area waterways. They also own and manage Deep Tunnel, designed to reduce pressure on the system, and thus the amount of sewage and rainwater runoff released into those waterways during heavy storms. The Chicago Department of Water Management (DWM) manages about 4,500 miles of sewer pipes running under city streets and delivers drinking water to Chicagoans. The two agencies have several initiatives aimed at improving the function of and reducing pressure on the system during heavy rains.

Replace and repair sewer mains: In the past decade, the DWM has lined or replaced more than 750 miles of sewer mains as part of an infrastructure improvement project that kicked off during Mayor Rahm Emanuel’s administration. This is a great start — but it accounts for just 17% of the system. Moving forward, the work will continue at a pace determined by funding, with the department prioritizing older sewer lines and those that hydraulic modeling suggests might be problem areas, often because they are too narrow for modern rain events.

Install water restrictor valves: Restrictor valves, or ‘rain blockers,’ are barriers that attach to storm drains and act as funnels, controlling the flow of water into sewers during heavy rains. The DWM has installed restrictor valves on most Chicago streets — which makes them act as temporary retention pools when the sewer mains get overwhelmed. According to the DWM, “water in the street is better than water in the basement.” However, they say, residents don’t always see it that way and sometimes remove restrictor valves to avoid having flooded streets.

Create green infrastructure: In the past decade, the DWM has partnered with the MWRD, Chicago Public Schools and other organizations to rip up large swaths of impervious pavement on more than 30 schoolyards and replace them with permeable pavement, vegetation and other stormwater retention features. The MWRD has also been investing heavily in green infrastructure and rainwater management. In partnership with local municipalities, they currently have more than 220 green infrastructure and flood resiliency projects in some phase of planning or construction as part of their Green Infrastructure Partnership Program.

Increase capacity: DWM Commissioner Dr. Andrea Cheng said the DWM is also designing and seeking funding for additional large-scale tunnels that would help get Chicago’s sewer and stormwater to the MWRD’s Deep Tunnel system more quickly. It’s unclear what the timeline for the project will be.

Educate and provide resources to residents: The MWRD has a number of resources available for homeowners interested in learning more about protecting their home and reducing their contribution to regional flooding problems. The agency also sells and delivers discounted rain barrels to Cook County residents.

What more could the city be doing?

Over the years, city leaders have put out several well-researched plans to try to tackle this issue comprehensively. (See Daley’s plan for Green Urban Design and Climate Action Plan, Emmanuel’s Green Stormwater Infrastructure Strategy, Lightfoot’s Climate Action Plan.)

But none of those plans have been executed in any meaningful or comprehensive way.

However, there are other cities that are finding solutions and can provide a model for regional leaders. Here are just a few of the lessons and efforts local experts are calling for:

Create a centralized plan: “Milwaukee has made really clear plans, has a clear vision and has put in place millions of gallons worth of stormwater storage with green infrastructure,” said Nicole Chavas, president of Greenprint Partners, a sustainable planning and engineering firm based in Chicago. The city’s Environmental Collaboration Office acts as a hub for promoting and coordinating sustainability efforts across government agencies and communities. Chicago’s Department of the Environment, with a similar mandate, was dismantled by Mayor Rahm Emanuel in 2012 — though it could be re-established under Mayor Brandon Johnson.

Provide government assistance for flood mitigation: Several suburban communities — including Wheaton, Oak Park and Morton Grove — offer rebates, cost-sharing options or grants to help residents install flood mitigation retrofits such as check valves, overhead sewer lines or even green infrastructure on their property. “I do think that a lot of the federal funding that's coming down the pipe is eligible and could be used to implement grant programs to support homeowners,” said Chavas.

Send emergency alerts during heavy rains: Professor Rachel Havrelock from the University of Illinois at Chicago’s Fresh Water Lab said our region should have mass alert notifications that encourage people to adjust their behavior during heavy rain events. The MWRD already has an opt-in text notification, but Havrelock said these ought to be similar to the air quality alerts over the summer that were impossible to ignore. “People need to hold their household water use when it is raining,” she said at the recent City Council hearing. “Anybody in an area that's flooding, their phone should light and buzz … in conjunction with billboards [and] public service announcements for people to begin to understand that any water put into the system during a rain event can resurface in your household. ”

How can I keep water out of my basement?

If you own your home, you have a few options to reduce the likelihood of sewage backing up into your basement during heavy rains, particularly for older buildings. (If you rent, there are some resources for renters whose apartments flood.) These solutions tend to be costly — and they make things worse for people on your block that do not have flood control mechanisms because they result in more pressure on the system. Still, when faced with a flooded basement, those who can afford to may choose to install some upgrades. Here are some of the most popular options in the Chicago area:

Install a check valve: Check or backflow valves are installed into the private sewer pipe, usually by digging a pit in the front yard, to make sure wastewater can only flow out and cannot back up from the public main. 

Cost: Typically between $5-8,000. 

Caveats: In the event of a heavy storm, a check valve might not be able to allow any sewage to leave the home, meaning you have to be careful not to flush or pour anything down your pipes. They also require regular inspections to make sure they don’t get stuck.

Construct an overhead sewer line: This is a major reconstruction of your internal plumbing system that pumps wastewater from basement facilities (like your washer and any bathroom you might have in the basement) to a pipe in the basement ceiling or first floor, sending it out of the house from there. The higher elevation means that it’s less likely your pipes will back up, unless flooding outside reaches above the level of the pipe. 

Cost: Between $15 and $25,000, depending on how much reconstruction is needed. 

Caveats: None, outside of the cost.

Use a standpipe: A standpipe is basically a big PVC pipe that is sealed to the sewer drain in your floor. It’s used to raise the lowest drain opening in the home to a level that is higher than the sewer, making sewage backup into the home less likely. 

Cost: Around $30​. 

Caveats: This is only useful when all you’re getting is a small amount of backflow coming from the floor drain (otherwise the water will likely find its way in through other openings in your home). Plus, sometimes the seals crack and need to be replaced.

The above projects only help prevent sewage backups. If you also experience seepage during heavy rains, you might want to explore installing drain tiles, waterproofing or sealing cracks in the foundation.

You can also ask the city to inspect your sewer if you suspect there may be a larger problem.



How can I reduce pressure on the sewer system?

There are several small-to-medium lifts that can greatly reduce your contribution to the sewers during heavy rains, thus improving outcomes for you and your neighbors. They include:

Disconnect your downspouts: Chicago city code used to require downspouts carrying water from our roofs feed directly into the sewer, which added a lot of unnecessary pressure on the system during heavy rains. According to the MWRD, a house with a roof that is 800 square feet can send about 500 gallons of water to the sewer during a one-inch storm. And when the system gets overwhelmed, all of that water can come right back into your home. If you’re a homeowner and you haven’t done it yet, this guide from the MWRD can help you tackle the project.

Plant a rain garden — or at least native plants: Native plants provide myriad benefits to ecosystems and gardeners (they’re easier to keep alive and disease-free!). They also do a great job soaking up water from your yard or rain garden. Check out this guide from the MWRD to learn more about plants native to Cook County that are particularly adept at thriving in wet environments and returning stormwater to the ground, as nature intended.

Install a rain barrel: A rain barrel placed under a modified downspout can reduce your utility bill and help decrease the amount of stormwater you’re sending to the sewer. The MWRD sells rain barrels at a discount and has guidance for how to install and maintain them. (Pro tip: empty it before the first freeze and store it inside for the winter.)

Replace concrete and asphalt with permeable pavement: Unlike traditional paving that often directs stormwater directly into the sewer, permeable paving allows water to drain through and absorb into the ground. (It also is less likely to form a slippery coat of ice in the winter.) Design and construction can be more complicated, but there are guides to get you started.

Have your sewer line checked: The privately owned sewer pipes (also called “laterals”) that run from your home or building to the main under the street can cause you problems if there are tree roots, grease, or other blockages obstructing the pipe, preventing wastewater from leaving the house. You may also have issues if cracks or connections to other pipes are letting in additional water and causing them to exceed their capacity. Periodic private inspections from a certified plumber can help identify and resolve any issues.

File a request with 311: Whenever you have water in your basement or suspect a problem with your sewer line, notify the city online or over the phone. This helps them identify problem areas, measure the extent of the problem and plan future projects.

There are many excellent resources with more detail on how to do the above and much more. They include the MWRD’s Green Neighbor Guide, its Overflow Action Day text alerts and the Center for Neighborhood Technology’s RainReady Homeowner Guidance.

Jessica Pupovac is a Chicago-based reporter, producer and editor.

Back in 2018, Curious City talked with former Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) rail operators and learned the ins and outs of a day on the job.

While the logistics of being a rail operator have largely stayed the same, a lot has changed since the COVID pandemic began.

Like other transit agencies in the U.S., the CTA is facing a labor shortage, which has had cascading effects on service. Previously, bus and rail operators could only be hired from the CTA’s existing part-time or contingent workforce. The most recent union contract negotiation, in February 2022, changed that for bus operators, who can now be hired full-time. But critics say the path to becoming a rail operator remains too long.

This week, we hear from former Chicago rail operators about what’s changed about the job — and check in with CTA and union leadership about recent efforts to recruit more operators.

Hannah Edgar is a writer, editor and audio producer based in Chicago.

Every year in Chicago, tens of thousands of people take part in 5Ks, marathons and other running and walking events across the city.

One Curious City listener wanted to know: What’s the process like to get permission to hold one of these events? And what rules do event organizers need to follow?

This week, we're revisiting the answer to that question.

The Shriner aesthetic

The Shriners are an offshoot of the Freemasons, a fraternal movement that originated in Europe and has historically been associated with secrecy and ritual.

In 1870, a New York Freemason named William J. Florence returned from a trip to Cairo and Algiers and shared notes and drawings from his travels with another member of his fraternity, Walter M. Fleming. Fleming created a ritual incorporating symbols and motifs from Florence’s notes. Soon afterwards, according to the Shriners’ own historical accounts, the two men brought together a small group of Masons to create a new organization based loosely on the “glamour, pageantry and mystic splendor” Florence had seen during his travels. They called their fraternal order the Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine.

The Shriners came to Chicago not long after the organization’s founding, creating their first permanent home in the city in 1883.

In order to become a Shriner, members must first be Freemasons. Freemasons require new members to meet several criteria, including being adult men and being religious in some capacity. (They can be of any faith, though Freemasonry is mostly associated with European Protestantism.) Longtime member Paul Barber described the Medinah Shriners as a non-religious organization, “but Masons are religious men.” Masons in good standing must perform several additional rites and rituals in order to join a Shrine.

The Medinah Temple that stands today was constructed in 1912 by Shriners Harris Huehl and Gustave Schmid, two architects who designed hundreds of buildings throughout the Chicago area in the 19th and 20th centuries. The Medinah Temple is part of the Moorish revival architecture movement, a style that makes the temple look more like a mosque than a Masonic lodge.

The original interior of the building had several different chambers, most notably a 4,200-seat concert hall. This interior feature has since been demolished and remodeled, but the pavilion was incredibly ornate and acoustically ideal when it stood.



Jason Kaufman, an independent scholar and author who previously taught sociology at Harvard and studied the role of secret societies and fraternal organizations, said the Shriners are not unique in the appropriation of their aesthetic. Use of an Orientalist aesthetic that incorporated commodified, often racist imagery from Asian, North African and Middle Eastern cultures was part of a wider colonial trend during the 19th century. Western fraternal organizations frequently used Eastern characteristics to connote secret wisdom and knowledge.

“As this particular order of Masons developed, it had a very ritualistic ceremonial and mysterious quality about it,” Kaufman explained. “... [Their thinking was] if we're going to form a group, we're going to have this aesthetic that embraces it. And we're going to have rites and rituals that create social solidarity amongst the members.”



In the past few decades, Shriners have taken small measures to change the way they style themselves — including calling their buildings Shrine Centers rather than temples. But they hold steadfast in how they dress, title their leadership positions and make use of Middle Eastern and North African symbolism. Jay Alfevirc, the current leader, or potentate, of the Medinah Shriners, said, “It's been our heritage, it was a fun thing.”

So the temple’s design, as visually impressive as it is, has an antiquated and misappropriated origin. But the building itself helps tell the history of Chicago through the events that took place there.

Symphonies, graduations and the Shrine Circus

The Medinah Temple hosted some of Chicago’s — and the country’s — biggest acts throughout much of the 20th century. This includes performances by Bozo the Clown and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, as well as speakers like Studs Terkel. The temple also hosted countless community events such as high school graduation ceremonies.

Shriners like Paul Barber joined the organization mostly to get involved in the musical performances that took place there.

“The very best performances I ever saw [were] there. [The temple] used to be the recording studio for the Chicago Symphony. … And when [it] was recorded, I would sneak in and listen to that.”

Perhaps the temple’s biggest draw was the Shrine Circus. It came to town every year for decades, and drew thousands of people from across the Chicago area.

Barber, a Medinah Shriner since 1964, said he’ll never forget the time a circus tiger got loose.

“There was [a tiger] that came on to the bandstand one day … It didn't eat anybody but was just looking around,” he said.

New types of performances often meant temporary changes to the building’s design.

“When the ice show was there, they built a rink on top of the stage,” Barber said. “I filled it with water and ran freezers into it from out on Ontario Street and Ohio Street … they'd have to run for a couple of days in order to make the ice.”



The Medinah Temple also hosted a number of well-known political, spiritual and cultural figures, including Mayor Harold Washington, the Dalai Lama and former Vice President Dick Cheney in the 1980s and ’90s.

The Shriners had a close relationship with Mayor Richard J. Daley, and made him an honorary member while he was in office.

“He was well known for being the number one Irishman in Chicago and dying the river green,” explained Jay Alfirevic of the Medinah Shriners.

Because of that, instead of the typical red fez, the Shriners presented Daley with a green fez with “Mayor of Chicago” stitched on it.

Medinah Shriners part ways with the temple

Eventually, many Shriners moved out of Chicago, and their largely suburban membership did not find the trips downtown worthwhile.



So after nearly a century of calling downtown Chicago home, the Shriners made the decision to sell the building and move to the suburbs.

The only problem was by that point, the temple had become architecturally iconic in the city. And people like Ward Miller of Preservation Chicago wanted the building officially designated with landmark status — which comes with a host of regulations around how the building’s exterior can and cannot be updated.

“All of a sudden when we decided we had to move from Medinah Temple, it got landmarked, and that made it way less attractive for buyers,” said Barber.

Regardless, the building was landmarked in 2001, and sold later that year. Its exterior is protected from significant change or demolition due to its architectural importance.

The Medinah Temple is owned by Friedman Properties, a real estate firm that has rented the building to Macy’s (which operated it as a Bloomingdale’s for 16 years) and most recently to Bally’s Corporation. The entertainment company opened a casino at the venue earlier this month. It has three floors of gaming and nearly 800 slot machines. City officials have said they have high hopes for the tax revenue the venture will bring for Chicago.

But with Bally’s scheduled to move out in a few years once the casino’s permanent location in nearby River West is completed, there is still a question of the building’s future.



“I'm hoping that in time the Medinah Temple can have a cultural and creative use,” said Miller. “And that people will be attracted to it by its architecture, by its history, by its historical and cultural legacy — more than [by its use] as a temporary casino.”

Anna Mason is a journalist and producer living in Chicago, specializing in local history and archival media. Follow Anna @annadotmason

On a nice day, it’s common to find a pack of dogs running around together at one of Chicago’s 34 dog parks. They can be off leash and socialize with other dogs while owners relax. But sometimes, a playful romp can turn aggressive or uncomfortable. That’s what happened to one of Kelsey Kamp’s dogs.

“We had our boxer over at Churchill dog park, and someone brought in … eight dogs and puppies that just started attacking her, and they were hanging off her face,” Kamp said. “She was not very happy about it.”

Growing up in the Chicago suburbs in the 1980s and ’90s, Joe Principe was a kid filled with a little rage and plenty of restlessness. Like other teens, he was searching for an outlet in music that grabbed him by his adolescent collar.

“I got into punk when I was really young, probably fourth grade … I would go into [my sister’s] bedroom and steal her cassettes. And I remember coming across Dead Kennedys’ Plastic Surgery Disasters.”

The music spoke to him. Kids like Principe gravitated towards punk music in all its iterations — hardcore punk, grindcore, even pop punk — because punk meant freedom. It was about challenging the status quo and powers-that-be.

Principe started going to punk shows at a hodgepodge of Chicago-area venues: VFW halls, house shows, church rec rooms — basically any place that would take the young teenager. Like today, there weren’t any established all-ages music venues in the city.

But there was a moment, nearly 30 years ago, when a run-down bowling alley opened its doors to punk musicians and fans from across the city. A whole generation of young people, Principe included, laced up their Doc Martens and came to the Fireside Bowl in Chicago’s Logan Square neighborhood to mosh, dance and shout along to the anthems of the era. For a little over a decade, the walls shook and the music blared at the rare all-ages punk venue.



The Fireside’s origins

With bowling on the rise as a popular pastime in the U.S., the building that’s home to the Fireside Bowl converted to a bowling alley in 1941. It’s believed the building was named the Fireside Bowl after President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s radio addresses, the Fireside Chats.



According to Jim Lapinski, his father Rich Lapinski purchased the building in 1964. Lapinski said that his late father put a lot of love into the bowling alley, but he also ran it into the ground. By the early 1990s, the Fireside Bowl was on the brink of going under, and Jim Lapinski took over the business.

“It was kind of a rundown hole-in-the-wall … [it] was in really bad shape at that time,” Lapinski recalled.

A regular at the bowling alley named Russ Forster started organizing “disco bowl” nights. Forster was also part of the local punk scene, and ran a punk music label.

One day in the early 90s, he mentioned the Fireside to local musician Martin Sorrondeguy as a potential one-off show venue.

“He said, ‘There's this bowling alley, and it's about to go out of business or something,” Sorrondeguy remembered. “‘They're desperate to do stuff, and I think they'd be willing to do shows.’ And that was the first time I heard about the Fireside.”

“I think it was punk shows that really saved [the venue] and brought it back to life,” Sorrondeguy said.



Early days as a music venue

In some ways, the dilapidated interior of Fireside Bowl in the mid-’90s was a perfect fit for the punk ethos of the bands that played there. But it was nothing to write home about.

“Walking into Fireside, you had carpet, which was disgusting,” said Francisco Ramirez, a man who often worked at Fireside shows. “It smelled like smoke because everybody smoked. … There wasn't [sic] stage lights at the time, so they would just have those fluorescent lights on the whole time. So it was ugly. … And of course the bathrooms were horrible.”

One fan recalled a broken stall door on the floor of the women’s bathroom. She said she and another patron literally took turns holding the door up to give each other privacy.



Brian Peterson and David Eaves, both of whom did extensive booking around the city and the suburbs, approached Lapinski about putting together more regular shows at the Fireside.

“I didn’t have anything to lose at the time,” Lapinski said. “I couldn’t really put any money into the place.” So he took Peterson and Eaves up on their offer. “It kinda grew from there.”

Peterson in particular became closely associated with the Fireside.

“No matter what, Brian Peterson always made sure the touring band got paid,” Ramirez said.

He said even if there were a few people there, Peterson made sure touring bands got paid, sometimes out of his own pocket. Local bands would do the same and voluntarily give up their cut of the door to make sure the touring artists got at least gas money, if nothing else.





As things started to take off, Peterson realized he needed staff — including live sound engineers and people to work the door — to keep shows running.

Though a bowling alley might not seem like an ideal spot for a decent sounding live music experience, Elliot Dicks – who oversaw sound at the Fireside – said it wasn't as bad as you might think.

“For me, the Fireside was easy because it had that sort of a more dead sound…because it has acoustical tile ceiling... wood paneling walls,” he said. “I could always get the vocals up over the band at the Fireside."

By the summer of 1994, the Fireside started to become known more as a music venue than a bowling alley. Peterson and Eaves were booking shows several nights a week.

The Fireside was starting to hit its stride. Though on paper the venue operated as a hall that could be rented out (similar to a VFW) to bands, in practice it was a punk music destination at a bowling alley that was quickly gaining national recognition.



‘It’s the place where you grew up’

In the mid-1990s, bands like Green Day were topping music charts.

And Chicago’s indie scene was on the rise, too. Punk rock bands like 88 Fingers Louie and Smoking Popes had developed cult followings.

One of the many reasons young people were drawn to this music was it spoke to the angst, restlessness and isolation of being a teenager at the turn of the 21st century.

Joe Principe, the bassist for 88 Fingers Louie, and later for Rise Against, said the Fireside helped young people who were drawn to that music find each other. “It’s the place where you grew up,” he said.

“[The Fireside] was your punk-rock Cheers,” added Daryl Wilson. “Every day of the week, you had a place to go.”

Wilson, the lead singer for the band The Bollweevils, said having a space in the city where he felt comfortable was no small thing. “As an African American kid who likes punk rock, that’s definitely [putting] you in one of the smaller brackets,” Wilson said. “You’re looking around for the kid who looks like me to let them know, ‘Hey, you’re accepted. You’re part of this.’ ”



While many North Side music venues tended to draw a majority-white audience, and the Fireside was no exception, shows there were often a reminder that the punk scene strived to be inclusive.

“The scene was very diverse, in terms of all the different students and tweens and teens who are converging on the Fireside,” said Alex White, who plays in the band White Mystery and goes by the stage name “Miss Alex White.” Back then, in middle school and high school, White attended shows and performed at the venue. “Black, Hispanic, queer, Asian — it was all identities kind of united just by the ability to hang out somewhere that was all ages, and people were listening to [everything from] hip-hop to punk to two-tone ska.”

Sorrondeguy had been on tour with his band Los Crudos and tested the waters by coming out as gay on stage at those shows. He finally decided to try it at the Fireside. “It was awkward. It was nerve wracking, but I did it,” he said. “There were little ripples that happened afterwards, and people who were a little homophobic [and] didn't like it.” But overall, “the response was really positive.”



White, who started going to the Fireside when she was 13, remembered her mother’s hesitancy the first time she went to the venue. “My mom goes up to the door guy, and she's like, ‘Is this cool? That I'm, like, dropping my kid off here?’ And he was like, ‘Yeah, she'll be fine.’ ”

Sorrondeguy said the Fireside helped open up new audiences to bands like his. His band Los Crudos favored playing all-ages shows so all people who were into punk and underground music could access them.

The venue also served as a familiar stop to the burgeoning ’90s riot grrrl movement, with bands like Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney coming through the space.



Ramirez, a regular at Fireside shows, said things weren’t always peaceful at the venue. Occasionally, skinheads would show up at the Fireside, and they’d have to choose between getting out and getting beaten up.

“Someone would come up to me and say, ‘There's a guy wearing Nazi pins. He's gonna get jumped,’ ” remembered Ramirez. “So I would go to him, like, ‘Hey, listen, this is not a good place for you to be. A lot of people are angry that you're here. I'm gonna give you your money back, but you need to leave.’ Obviously, I wasn't happy that they're there. But I didn't want somebody to get destroyed at the club because they're an idiot.”

People kept each other safe at the Fireside in other ways. They “self-policed”: people in the scene kept an eye out for potentially dangerous behavior. “We’d go up to someone and say, ‘Hey, you’re way too drunk for this,’ or ‘you’re way too violent for this,’ ” Fireside regular Christopher Gutierrez explained.



The Fireside was full of recognizable personalities. One of the most curmudgeonly fixtures was “Hammer,” a man mostly known by his nickname.

“[Hammer] was a staple,” Wilson explained. “If he wasn’t there, you knew something was wrong.”

Hammer worked at the Fireside as a bartender, though his bartending skills were questionable.

“He was a terrible bartender,” Lapinski said. “He didn’t know how to make a drink … just gave you whatever he felt comfortable making.”

Hammer was a neighborhood kid who’d come around the bowling alley looking for odd jobs. After that, he never really left.

Like all great venues, it was the people — bands, bookers, doormen, sound engineers, bartenders and, of course, regulars in the audience — who made the Fireside what it was.





A slow demise

By 1996, bigger acts were consistently coming through the Fireside. “It became a go-to stop on people's tours,” Principe said. Blink-182, My Chemical Romance and Taking Back Sunday all played in the cramped bowling alley at one point or another.

The venue was selling out shows — and often going way over capacity.

“I remember the cops came in. We had a big show. And they were just like, ‘You need to get these people out of here within 10 minutes,’ ” Ramirez said. “So we … stopped the show. Made an announcement. We had people go out the back door, and we were like, ‘Hey, they're gonna come and do an inspection. [But] as soon as they leave, everybody's coming back in.”

Neighbors started complaining about noise from the venue, underage drinking, parking issues and public urination.

In response, bookers started passing out flyers explaining rules to showgoers: no littering, no graffiti, no going into neighbors’ yards.

But the Fireside’s troubles went beyond complaints from neighbors and visits from police. Starting in the early 90s, the city pushed to seize several buildings on the 2600 block of Fullerton Ave., including the Fireside, using eminent domain. The neighborhood was changing. The city wanted to expand Haas Park, located just west of the venue, to create more greenspace.

While small improvements to the building were made over time, the constant threat of being shut down by the city disincentivized Lapinski from giving it a proper facelift. According to several people we spoke with for this story, by the early 2000s, the air conditioning had given out, making mosh pits at Fireside extra sweaty.

“It was grimy, it was rundown and it was small,” said Gutierrez of the venue during these years. “It had charm, though.”

Despite the money coming in, Lapinski said he was getting tired of the risks that came with running a club. Even if he won his battle with the city, he craved a simpler, more predictable day-to-day work schedule that would come with reverting the venue back to a full-time bowling alley.



The legacy lives on

By the end of its decade plus run, the Fireside’s time as a music venue had largely come to a close.

On August 20, 2004, Fireside Bowl was set to host a double show: MU330 a ska punk band from St. Louis followed by a garage rock band, according to Ramirez.

“I was a manager at the time, and the other manager came in and he’s like, ‘Hey, we got to pull the safe down. We’re closing down [at the end of the night],” said Ramirez.

According to people we spoke with, someone made an announcement from the stage that this would be the final night of music at the Fireside. Word spread fast following the sudden declaration, and people rushed in for the Fireside’s final show.

“The place filled up and things went missing: bowling pins, trophies, bowling balls,” Ramirez said. “I walked out with a trophy and a bowling pin.”



Everyone wanted a piece of the place. At the same time, those who had been part of the punk scene for a while were familiar with the ephemerality of beloved venues.

“We were used to places disappearing,” Sorrondeguy said.

Today, people of all ages can still catch shows at venues like Subterranean in Wicker Park and Bottom Lounge in the West Loop. Any Chicago business that’s licensed to have live music (most commonly through a public place of amusement license) can technically allow people of any age into their space. While most concert venues have licenses to serve alcohol and allow entry to patrons of all ages, it is extra work for business owners. Tavern licenses require businesses to limit entry to patrons 21 and over.

Memories of the Fireside during its heyday live on in those who spent time there. “The experiences [the Fireside] gave to thousands upon thousands of people … made that place legendary,” Gutierrez said.



The Fireside will forever be a spot where countless bands got a foothold in the indie music scene. It was a venue where Chicago’s up-and-coming bookers learned how to get paid and make it in the music world. It was a DIY networking space for a whole generation of punk musicians. It’s where people made lifelong friends and found a space to call their own.

“It's still a punk rock venue,” Wilson said. “It's written in the walls. It's in the carpet. It's in the dankness of the room. It's even in the bathroom.”

“You walk through this Halcyon dream of the Fireside and go, that really happened and you were part of it.”

Joe DeCeault is a Senior Producer for Curious City.

This story was inspired by a listener's question about all-ages music venues in Chicago.

Curious City listener Diane Judge thinks a lot about what she throws away. The longtime Ravenswood resident composts what she can, recycles what she can and consigns to the garbage bin only what she has to.

Because of that, she makes a trip to her alley to toss her garbage in the city-issued bin less often than most. But when she does, she sometimes runs into a Chicago Streets and Sanitation collection crew making their rounds.

That got her curious about the people who pick up her trash. Specifically, a few years ago, Diane got to know an all-women sanitation team whose route took them through her alley. She wrote to Curious City to find out more about what it’s like to be on an all-women garbage collection crew in Chicago.

So we met up with one such crew in Garfield Ridge to find out what a day in the life is like.



In Chicago, garbage from different types of residential buildings is collected in different ways.

Trash from “low density units” — that’s single-family homes and apartment buildings with four or fewer units — is collected by the city. People who live in larger buildings have to hire private trash haulers.

The city collects garbage from about 600,000 households — over half of the total households in the city. Mimi Simon, the director of public affairs for the Department of Streets and Sanitation, said garbage haulers for the city pick up about 800,000 tons of trash each year.



Joan Mitchell, Maretha Boyd and Jasilyn Williams are one of the only all-women sanitation teams currently working for the Chicago Department of Streets and Sanitation.

For the last three years, they’ve worked the same route together in the Garfield Ridge neighborhood.

Their weekday mornings start around 4:30 a.m., when they get dressed and “prepare for the smell,” Boyd said.

“I have incense on the truck to help with the smell and the bugs,” Williams explained. “And you chew gum,” Mitchell added with a laugh. “And you keep going.”

The three didn’t choose to work together, but rather were assigned randomly by the city. “We just was lucky,” Mitchell said. “And it was a bond.”

Like most Chicago alleys, the ones on their route have around 25 homes each, and they cover between seven and 15 alleys a day.

Boyd, who drives the truck, used to be a Chicago bus driver. “Buses just go straight,” she said, but the garbage truck is different. “We have to do a whole lot of turns and backing up … I still get nervous.”

Keeping the other two calm on the job is Mitchell, who Boyd and Williams describe as the “mother” of the group. She’s the one who reminds them to stay hydrated and take bathroom breaks, and who coaches them through lifting heavy items into the truck.

Technically, if you’re a Chicago resident and the city collects your garbage, just about anything is fair game to be disposed of. Some of the most difficult things the crew has had to lift? Williams listed a few as she remembered them: “A couch… hot water tanks… basement sinks… hot tubs.”

While you’re supposed to call 311 to give notice about these larger items, people often don’t, so the three are sometimes surprised by the things they come across.

Boyd, Mitchell and Williams said the hardest things to get used to, when they first started the job, were the heat and the animals — including rodents and their marsupial friends.

“A live possum was in the can!” Mitchell recalled. “We dumped it. And I was like, ‘Oh, no, no! It's a possum. So we had to let it run out [of the truck].”



It takes about three hours to fill up a Streets and Sanitation garbage truck, which can hold between 16,000 and 25,000 pounds of trash. Once the truck is full, they take the garbage to a transfer station where it’s sorted before being sent on to a landfill.

The three agree that being a garbage collector is actually a pretty fun job. They have a real sense of camaraderie between their crew, and they love many of the neighbors they’ve gotten to know over the years.

Their one complaint is that they wish people were a bit more mindful when taking out their trash.

“[Some] people don't use garbage bags, so that's nasty,” Williams explained. “They treat garbage like garbage. … They don't treat garbage how it should be treated.”

“And we’re here to clean it up,” Mitchell added. "That's what we do."

So tie your garbage bags tight, keep it contained and don’t take it for granted that after you toss your trash in the bin, there’s someone who has to pick it up.



More about our question-asker

Diane Judge has lived with her husband in the Ravenswood neighborhood for about 40 years.

In her backyard, Diane keeps a large compost bin for her fruit scraps and grows native flowers to attract butterflies. And just beyond her back fence is the alley where she first met the all-women city garbage crew that prompted her to ask Curious City what it’s like to be a woman on the job.

When did she start thinking about garbage? “A long time ago,” Diane said. “I can't pin it on any particular time or event, but I read the news, I became aware of what we're doing to the Earth, and I don't want to contribute to that.”

These days, the retired nurse practitioner spends much of her time gardening, reading and caring for Monarch butterflies, which she raises in her home. She also writes letters about the use of single-use plastics, which she’d love to see politicians do more to limit.

Maggie Sivit is Curious City’s digital and engagement producer.

South Asian hubs are everywhere

Today, the South Asian population in the Chicago area is about seven times larger than it was in 1980. A WBEZ analysis of census data shows that in 2021 about 255,000 South Asians lived in the region compared to about 35,000 people four decades ago.

Patel Brothers, an Indian grocery that gained its popularity on Devon, now has four locations across the Chicago region. There’s also the big “Mall of India” in Naperville and many other South Asian stores.

Cultural events like the Pakistani and Indian Independence Day parades have become premier events in the suburbs. The Indian Independence Day Parade and celebration in Naperville earlier this month drew more than 37,000 people, according to Viral Shah, treasurer of the Indian Community Outreach, the group that organized the event. Famous singer Shankar Mahadevan was even flown in to headline the festivities.



“We brought a very versatile, legendary singer, who is part of Bollywood, and he has sung songs in multiple languages,” said Shah. “He's known across … the country.”

Shah said about 80% of India was represented in the parade, including the regions of Maharashtra, Mizoram, Kashmir and Punjab.

Shah, like other paradegoers, said their hub is not Devon Avenue anymore. Today, there are many hubs in places like west suburban Naperville and Aurora. Residents don’t have to go far to attend their temples and cultural events.

“Today, Devon Avenue is purely nostalgic,” Shah said. “I don't think I've been to Devon in the last, maybe, 10 years.”



An evolving South Asian community

As an adult, question-asker Salek Khalid has made an effort to go back to Devon Avenue and explore the neighborhood on his own. He now works at a community organization in West Ridge. Over time, he’s noticed that not everyone comes from India or Pakistan, but surrounding countries like Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and Bhutan. He said Devon Avenue is a unique experience.

“It's a more immersive, cultural experience,” Khalid said. “You can walk around, you can sample traditional sweets. If you wanted to buy something to wear, you have that option as well. It's … a much more intense experience to the senses than if you were to just go to a random restaurant in an all-American strip mall.”

Roughly 6,200 people who identify as South Asian immigrants live in the West Ridge neighborhood. Many parts of the community are still considered working-class where the median household income is below $64,000, according to census data. The median household income for the 14-county Chicago metro area is about $79,000.

Shajan Kuriakose, executive director of the South Asian American Chamber of Commerce, said the expansion of South Asians into the suburbs has had an impact on Devon, but it’s minimal.

“If you have families that are coming from Indianapolis, or coming from Detroit, Michigan, or coming from parts of Iowa … they're going to go to Devon first before they go to the Schaumburg or Naperville area,” he said.



Still, there are challenges that keep the area from responding to the demands of suburban consumers. Smaller mom and pop shops have a hard time embracing innovation. Some business owners can be very private about their operations, and it’s difficult to get them to apply for government grants to weather economic hardships or to get assistance for remodeling projects.

Throughout her work in the neighborhood, Kalayil noticed people tend to stick with their own communities. Residents come from many different countries, and some have strong religious differences. Other advocates said this neighborhood is still a port of entry for many immigrants who are adjusting to a new country.

It’s a challenge to mobilize them and get them civically engaged. Some don’t feel welcomed or empowered to speak up at neighborhood forums.



Shajan Kuriakose with the chamber said a survey from earlier this year found that many business owners share similar concerns about the neighborhood — parking and safety are at the top.

He’d like to see bigger festivals on Devon Avenue, the way he remembers them growing up. The chamber and other groups are advocating for those changes, but it’ll take some time.

Meanwhile, local business owners insist Devon will always be an anchor.

“Once you're here, you're gonna really enjoy the vibe because that's something that you can't recreate in the suburbs at the end of the day,” said Mita Shewakramani, whose family opened Regal Jewels and Sari Sapne on Devon Avenue in 1982.

But Kalayil said it shouldn’t be about the city versus the suburbs. It should be about the larger community.

“I also don't think that we need to look at these hubs, whether it's in Naperville or Des Plaines, as something that is juxtaposed to … the Devon Avenue hub,” she said. “They're all different experiences. … The sum of that is what defines our community, because our community has evolved.”

Adriana Cardona-Maguigad is Curious City’s reporter. Alden Loury contributed data analysis.

El otoño pasado, un oyente de WBEZ nos contó la historia de una casa embrujada en Barrington, IL, donde un niño murió en circunstancias trágicas y su espíritu quedó rondando.

¿Tienes una historia similar que ha pasado aquí en Chicago o en los suburbios para compartir con nosotros? Tal vez hayas notado objetos moviéndose inexplicablemente por una habitación, dispositivos electrónicos apagándose y encendiéndose u otras inquietantes señales de una aparición. A lo mejor investigaste la historia de tu casa o lugar de trabajo y encontraste algo revelador, o escuchaste espantosas historias de tus vecinos que se han quedado en tu mente.

Cuéntanos lo que sabes completando nuestro formulario de Google. Si tu historia también nos pone a temblar de terror, Curious City podría ir a entrevistarte y conocer más sobre tus visitantes del otro mundo.

This week, we're revisiting a story from 2022 that answers a question about the history of lesbian parties in Chicago.

A more grown-up dance show

Back in 1970, young people lined up around the block of the Chicago Board of Trade building to be part of the first airing of this new dance show. They’d pack the tiny WCIU studio along with mostly Black creatives who were invited to showcase their talents on TV.

Artist Michael Griffin was one of those creatives. He was part of a group of designers and models named Les Ménage.

“I was known as a good dancer and someone who dressed well, which is kind of how those friendships began,” he said. “Our group was pretty much well-known in the Chicagoland area.”

Being on the scene is how he got to know Clinton Ghent — a Juilliard-trained dancer and choreographer who grew up with Don Cornelius. Cornelius tasked Ghent with finding hip people for the show, which was an extremely essential role. Ghent invited Griffin’s group on to Soul Train to model their clothing designs.



Ericka Blount Danois, author of Love, Peace And Soul, says the show allowed the city’s young people, like Michael Griffin, to become the show’s stars. And that was part of the magic.

“It was in this small space, like 10-by-10, no air conditioning,” she said. “But these kids were so talented that it took off. And also, just being able to sort of see yourself on TV, the kids felt like they were local celebrities, because they were.”

The idea of a dance show wasn’t necessarily new. There were other dance shows in Chicago, Kiddie A Go Go and Red Hot and Blue. But Don was motivated. He wanted to show Black youth in a way that the national media wasn’t portraying them at the time. His idea was to reimagine what a dance show could be: make it fresher, edgier, cooler. And pairing the city’s young people with that vision proved to be a winning formula.

“This dance show that he created on WCIU Channel 26 was a little bit edgier,” Danois said. “These were teenagers, a little bit older, and they had dance moves that were good.”

On top of this edgier approach, Chicago was already a music city, especially for Black musicians. So much of the most popular music of the 1950s and ’60s, leading up to Soul Train’s launch in 1970, came from the city.

“Etta James, Muddy Waters, the Dells, Chuck Berry — all of these people in this sort of place that is not New York, but is a music town,” Danois listed. “Earth Wind and Fire Curtis Mayfield, in terms of businesses, also, Sam Cooke … and Curtis Mayfield creating their own labels.”



The role of the Black radio celeb

Don Cornelius’s rise in entertainment was swift. But it likely started with a chance encounter while working as a Chicago police officer. Legend has it that he was discovered by an executive at radio station WVON during a traffic stop, when the exec was blown away by Don’s voice and suggested he come work at the station.

Cornelius started working at WVON in 1966, and at the time, the role of Black radio personalities mirrored that of celebrities. As migration to Chicago from the South continued during this time, communities of Black folks who loved their radio personalities continued to swell.

“Chicago was the Mecca,” said Melody Spann Cooper, chair and CEO of the company that owns WVON — the first station in Chicago to cater to Black audiences.

Her father, Pervis Spann, was one of the city’s most well-known names in radio as well as the station’s co-owner.

“They all had monikers,” she explained. “You had E. Rodney Jones, ‘The Mad Lad,’ who was the program director; you had Bernadine C. Washington — she had the biggest women's club in Chicago, 3,000 women strong. … But all of them have their own special identity, special brand, and they brought their own DNA, which made it so powerful.”

Steele, Cornelius’s friend, says he was ambitious and took full advantage of how well-loved WVON personalities were in the communities.

“WVON was the killer radio station at that point,” he said. “And Don was a news guy who filled in as a disc jockey from time to time. Because ‘VON had such high visibility, it gave the personalities visibility, even the news people.”

Cornelius had music sets in high schools across the city called record hops. Those events created his audience for the show he would create.

In addition to radio, Don Cornelius already had ties in television. He hosted a daily news show called A Black’s View of the News at WCIU, the TV station where Soul Train would air. Don used $400 of his own money to produce the pilot.

“It became a success,” said Steele, about the start of the local show. “The first people he had on were the Impressions and Staple Singers. … And these kids were dying to be on television, show their dancing skills, and be there on Soul Train with Don Cornelius.”

Soul Train wasn’t the only show in the country, though. Every major metro area had a dance show with local teens clamoring to be on it. But there was something about Soul Train — and Don Cornelius — that made this particular show stand out.

“He was cool,” Steele said. “Don went to DuSable High School. … And if you knew him, you wouldn't say, ‘Oh, this is the erudite television personality.’ No, he's Don from the hood.”

As a host, Don Cornelius’s connection with the audience was effortless. And, it was authentic.

“With him, since he was from the inner city and from the community, he connected directly, he didn't have to stretch to do that,” he said. “He knew who everybody was, what they were about, as you do when you grew up in a community and you're a person who's involved a lot.”

And it’s that culture, that Chicago cool, that took Soul Train far past the walls of its 10-by-10 studio. In 1971, just a year after being a local show, Cornelius got a syndication deal, and created a new version of the show in Los Angeles. There, it became a national phenomenon.

Even after Don Cornelius moved out to Los Angeles, he continued to produce a local version of Soul Train in Chicago. Clinton Ghent, who helped him launch the original broadcast, hosted the Chicago show until 1976 (with reruns airing until 1979). And kids still lined the block for that one, too.



A long-lasting legacy

Although Soul Train ended in 2006, its legacy — and that of its founder — did not.

“It was fitting that Don Cornelius, from here, would start something like that,” said Duane Powell, a DJ and music historian. “Because he was literally seeing the vibrancy of this soulful culture right where he's from. And I do see it [now].”

Here in Chicago, Powell says there are new young creatives who are connecting with each other, taking control of their own futures, and creating resources to display Chicago talent to the world.

“I think that millennial-wise, a lot of millennials have taken up the mantle of a lot of Chicago goodness, and have been really, really forging new paths globally,” he said. “So I do see that era has shaped … where we are now.”

He’s really proud of creatives — like Chance the Rapper, Vic Mensa and Noname — who are doing the very same things that people like Don Cornelius did in his day. Because of this, he wants young Chicago to know about the city’s full influence.

“There's so much of Chicago history that has not been really covered and talked about,” he explained. “We still are this really untapped market. And, just how influential we were all over the world. This is the home of house music, this is the home of the modern blues, this is the home of gospel.”

And, Chicago is the home of soul.

Arionne Nettles is a lecturer and director of audio journalism programming at Northwestern University’s Medill School. Follow her @arionnenettles.

Correction: Don Cornelius and Richard Steele both worked at WVON, but their tenures did not directly coincide.

Something lurking in the water

The North Branch of the Chicago River around W. Foster Ave. is among the areas where a lot of red swamp crayfish hang out. Reuben Keller is a freshwater ecologist at Loyola University. He and lab manager Rachel Egly go out on the water regularly to set traps. On a sunny weekday afternoon, Egly pulls up a cage from the water to find two red swamp crayfish that are less than six inches long from claw to tail.



These creatures are bright red with two long antennae, pincer claws and eight legs. They look like lobsters, but much smaller. American lobsters can get up to about two-feet long while red swamp crayfish max out at about five inches.

Unlike calico crayfish that are native to the Chicago area, red swamp crayfish come from the southern U.S. They’re a big part of the food culture in Louisiana, where fishermen have been harvesting them commercially since the late 1800s. But it’s not recommended to eat the ones found in the Chicago River because their densest populations are found about a mile downstream from a sewage treatment plant.

There are several theories on how the red swamp crayfish got to Chicago. The crustaceans could’ve been used as bait, some may have come from pet shops or a few may have escaped a pending boil. But Keller believes the likeliest culprits are local elementary schools.

“They’re a great classroom pet for elementary schools. They’ll stay alive for a long time under the pretty awful conditions that elementary students will subject them to,” he said.

At the end of the school year, Keller thinks some classes may have turned the crayfish loose in the river without realizing these things are rather invasive.

Claws out of control

The red swamp crayfish are known as one of the most invasive species in the world. They can take over the waters they inhabit. They eat fish eggs, which affects fish reproduction. And they outcompete both fish and native crayfish for prey.

“The red swamp crayfish is a burrowing species,” Keller said. “In some parts of the world, it will weaken levees and lead to levee failure and flooding.”

Keller said that if Asian Carp are a code red issue for the Illinois River, he predicts that the red swamp crayfish could be just one step below that. He doesn’t know yet the impact the creature has had on the area, but he knows the problems they can cause if things get out of control.

It happened in southeast Wisconsin in 2009. The Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources kept getting calls from residents complaining about crustaceans on their lawns.

“They were just being aggressive to the homeowners … They don’t back away or move away. They just lift up their claws and show that they are ready to fight,” said Bob Stroess, who enforces Wisconsin’s trade rules for commercial fish and aquatic species.

Stroess said it took four years and $800,000 to remove the red swamp crayfish that had taken over two ponds — one in Kenosha and the other in a subdivision about 20 miles northwest of Milwaukee. Wisconsin officials had to put fabric lining around the ponds and a metal fencing with rocks on top of that to keep them from burrowing down or burrowing back up. They also used chemicals to kill them, and had to completely fill one pond as a last resort.

“No state, no city, no county can afford the cleanup for these if they expand beyond a small little area,” Stroess said.

Keeping crayfish in check

Bringing red swamp crayfish into Wisconsin alive is illegal now. That’s also the case for Minnesota, Michigan and Illinois.

Conservation police officers are charged with enforcing that law in Illinois. One such officer is Brandon Fehrenbacher, who oversees the Illinois Department of Natural Resources’ Office of Law Enforcement Invasive Species Unit. His purview is all invasive species, but he’s doubled down on the red swamp crayfish in recent years.



“There are hundreds of invasive species that are out there, but [the red swamp crayfish] is a common one we started to recognize and see lots of people having — not just fishermen, but also food markets,” Fehrenbacher said. “We started a campaign to identify and notify distributors of the red swamp crayfish that you can’t ship to Illinois.”

Dead, frozen red swamp crayfish are allowed in Illinois. But having, importing or selling live crayfish in Illinois carry penalties ranging from a petty offense to a Class 3 felony. Fines go from $195 to tens of thousands of dollars.

A lot of the time, people just don’t know the law and need to be informed. But from a culinary perspective, there’s a strong desire to bring them in alive: That’s certainly the preferred way to boil them, according to just about every video tutorial online.



Still, the state’s work stops much of the bleeding, so to speak. But it doesn’t reduce the population that’s already here. That’s why part of the work Keller and his team are doing involves killing red swamp crayfish.

Keller’s work life and personal life collided over the red swamp crayfish when his own daughter’s elementary school classroom had one as a pet.

“I was talking to the teacher throughout all this and sort of nudging and saying this is an invasive species,” he said. “When you’re done with the crayfish, you need to do the responsible thing, and that is to kill the crayfish.”

In the end, Keller was the one who had to kill the crayfish, which he said is a sure way to create a rift between yourself and your child.

For now, his lab currently has about 200 traps in the water, which are emptied out twice a week throughout the summer.

“Our first priority is to figure out how to reduce the population because based on everything we know, there’s really good reason to believe that they are having large impacts here, where they’re established,” he said.

Keller’s lab is seeing fewer red swamp crayfish in the traps these days. They’re still experimenting with their traps with the hope of catching even more. So far, they’ve learned, they catch more crayfish when they use hot dogs as bait.

But the most difficult part of reducing the population is that Keller and his lab are the only ones doing this work. The trapping work that Keller and his lab are doing to keep the Chicago population at bay is taxing. They’re just one lab and they’re outnumbered by the crayfish.

The least the public can do is not bring live crayfish around these parts. If you spot one, think twice before you kill one yourself: It takes some training to properly identify the red swamp crayfish (while the adults are bright red, the juveniles look similar to some native crayfish). The safest option would be to contact the Illinois Conservation Police.

Keller said volunteers could be a valuable part of the culling work, but they should “be part of a well-organized effort” that has the proper training, time and resources required to make a meaningful impact.

You can learn more about red swamp crayfish research at the Keller Lab website.

Laura Pavin is a journalist living in the greater Chicago area.

The first wave

Jewish people first arrived in Chicago from Germany in the 1830s and ’40s. In the 1880s, Jews arriving from Eastern Europe settled on the Near West Side around Maxwell Street.

Over the next few decades, peddlers with pushcarts became businessmen with brick-and-mortar stores. This step up in economics and social acceptance brought a migration west to the Lawndale neighborhood, which became one of the largest and most vibrant Jewish communities in the country.

After World War II, the GI Bill helped many Jewish veterans go to college and purchase homes. Families began buying homes in West Ridge.



Rabbi Leonard Matanky is the spiritual leader of Congregation K.I.N.S., a synagogue at the corner of California and North Shore that lies in the heart of Orthodox Jewish West Ridge. He and his family have been in the neighborhood for more than half a century.

“My family moved to West Rogers Park in 1966,” he said. “Sacramento wasn't paved between Lunt and Pratt, right where Lerner Park is today. It was almost like an alley. During that time, there were these massive sunflower fields where the large buildings known as Winston Towers were then built.”

Devon Avenue was a major shopping corridor for the Jewish community, where you could find everything from bakeries and bookstores to high-end goods.

“The community was very different at the time, but it was still a very, very strong Jewish community,” Matanky said.



Matanky said the level of observance to Jewish law and customs varied widely at the time. In the 1930s and ’40s, as Jewish immigrants and their children were establishing new communities, some wanted to leave the old ways behind, imagining an America without Orthodox Jews. This idea was especially enticing to a group of people who for centuries were not allowed to own land, vote, go into most professions or even live where they wanted to because of their religion.

So by the 1950s and ’60s, with the dream of physical and economic safety fulfilled, most American Jews — including those in West Ridge — were practicing newer, less stringent forms of Judaism than their parents and grandparents. For some, eating lox and bagels became the only tie to their faith and their heritage.

Gradual change

In the mid-20th century, a series of debates took place within the Jewish community that would eventually have a big effect on Orthodox Judaism in the city and the nature of modern West Ridge.



As the older generation that had founded many of the city’s Orthodox synagogues died off, the younger generation faced a decision about how to move forward. “There were discussions of perhaps joining with the Conservative Movement or the Reform Movement, which were both on the ascent,” Matanky said. “There was a compromise that was reached. And that compromise was that there would be mixed seating, family-style seating in the synagogue. And other than that, [it would be] a regular Orthodox service.”

Matanky said that was the general practice in the community for many years. In Orthodox Judaism there is no mixed or family-style seating. Instead, men and women are separated during prayer services. There’s an opaque partition — usually made of fabric or frosted glass — called a mechitza separating the sections.

But the compromise created by these “traditional” synagogues wasn’t destined to last. Between a famous Michigan court case and larger shifts happening in American Judaism, people headed toward one side of the debate or the other.

While there isn’t an exact date when West Ridge’s Jewish population became dominantly Orthodox, the gradual movement began in the 1960s, when the small number of Jews who continued to live an Orthodox life were joined by a sizeable group of young spiritual-seekers raised in secular homes looking for a deeper connection to their religion and their roots. That trend has continued to this day.

“I became the rabbi [at K.I.N.S.] in 1994. And they returned once again to having a mechitza. And that was also part of that general movement that we see across America, where there has been an ascendancy of the Orthodox movement,” Matanky said.

By the 1990s the original residents of West Ridge either passed away, headed to warmer climates or moved out to the suburbs. Younger, more religious families start buying those houses and shaping the neighborhood to be more conducive to an Orthodox lifestyle.

Orthodox life today

The influence Orthodox Jews have on the West Ridge neighborhood can perhaps be most visible during Shabbat. That’s the Jewish Sabbath, or day of rest, that begins every Friday at sundown.

“On Shabbat what we focus on is recognizing God as the Creator. And so we cease activities that would be considered creative in nature,” Matanky said.

For thousands of years, Rabbis have argued with each other about what exactly “creative” means. It’s boiled down to 39 categories of things you don’t do on Shabbat.

“One of them, for example, is lighting a fire. For example, when you turn on a car, there's a spark, that's a fire, [so] we can't turn on that car on Shabbat,” Matanky said.

Another big one is carrying things outside the home, like keys, groceries or the kids. This can be a challenge for Orthodox Jews who need to get to synagogue or do things outside the home on Shabbat. But Orthodox communities, like the one in West Ridge, have stretched the rule by building what’s called an eruv, a large area demarcated by anything from wires, fences, roads or natural boundaries like rivers. For example the northern border of the West Ridge eruv is the CTA Yellow Line tracks just north of Howard St. The western border is the North Shore Channel that runs between Kedzie and McCormick. Everything inside the eruv is considered the same as being inside your home, meaning you can carry things on Shabbat as long as you’re within its boundaries.

Matanky said the eruv in West Ridge was built about 30 years ago.

“We have opportunities because of the eruv and it also strengthens communities because Orthodox Jews want to live in a community that has an eruv versus a community that might not,” he said.



Alderperson of the 50th Ward, Debra Silverstein, is part of the Orthodox community, and she’s lived in the neighborhood for more than 30 years.

She said she’s seen a lot of growth in the area in just the decade she’s been in office.

“We've had many more synagogues opening up,” she said. “I was actually at an event just this Sunday, and one of the trivia questions that we had [was] ‘How many synagogues are on Touhy Avenue?’ And the answer was 13.”

While the Orthodox community has grown significantly in the last couple of decades, this is a very diverse ward.

“We have Indians, Pakistanis. We have Croatians. We have Rohingya. In our schools, we have 40 plus languages at each school,” she said.

Silverstein said different groups within West Ridge get along well, but she acknowledged that they don’t really mix.

“I do think that the communities stick with their own communities,” Silverstein said. The Ward office often tries to organize events to bring residents together, according to Silverstein. “But it's not always the easiest, it's a challenge,” she said.

Still, people show support for each other at important moments. A few years ago, there were a number of anti-Semitic attacks in the neighborhood. Silverstein said it brought the community, Jewish and non-Jewish, together.

More about our question-asker

Alice Henry is an environmentalist currently living in Vancouver, British Columbia.

Alice and her family practiced Reform Judaism, which is less strict than Orthodox Judaism about following the traditional rules of the faith. When her parents moved to the West Ridge neighborhood almost 30 years ago, there weren’t many Orthodox families on their block.

“We were aware that there was a history of a large Orthodox community here in West Rogers Park, but … it seemed to be slowing down,” said Alice’s mom, Nina Henry, a retired social worker. “We had some neighbors that were Orthodox, but it was not what I had heard or expected it to be. … I thought we were going to be the only Reform Jews on the block!”

Over time, however, the neighborhood grew more Orthodox Jewish, and Alice’s family felt like somewhat of an anomaly in the area. That got Alice curious about this history of the community all these years later.

Nina and Alice’s dad, David, still live in the West Ridge home in which Alice grew up.

Jason Marck is Curious City’s senior audio producer.

In the 1920s, the Tribune’s publisher, Robert R. McCormick — or Colonel McCormick, as he was known — was a larger-than-life media mogul. While there’s debate over whether or not he actually coined “Chicagoland,” McCormick can be credited with adding it to the popular vocabulary to describe the region.

McCormick wanted to tie a familiar voice to “Chicagoland.” So he commissioned James O’Donnell Bennett, a distinguished novelist who was also well known for his war reporting, to write a series of articles documenting his travels in the Chicago region.



That’s how the word made its first appearance nearly 100 years ago in the July 27, 1926 edition of the Chicago Tribune. Across the front page was a story by O’Donnell Bennett titled “Chicagoland’s Shrines: A Tour of Discoveries.”

In the articles, O’Donnell Bennett spoke highly of the communities he visited: the restaurants, the entertainment and the scenery. He wrote about places such as Dubuque, Iowa; Holland, Michigan; and Moline, Illinois under the banner of Chicagoland. Soon enough, residents of places like Peoria and Kankakee wanted to be included, and wrote to the newspaper asking O’Donnell Bennett to visit their hometowns, too.

But the term was not embraced by everyone. A 1926 Tribune editorial quoted a woman from Nauvoo, Illinois who did not want Nauvoo associated with Chicago. According to Peter Alter, the Gary T. Johnson Chief Historian and Director of the Studs Terkel Center for Oral History at the Chicago History Museum, the author of the editorial essentially dismissed Chicago by saying, “It’s far away, it’s corrupt and it’s violent.”

Nevertheless McCormick was determined to instill a sense of civic pride in Chicago residents and to elevate the city’s profile.

“New York was [thought of as] the city of culture and Chicago was the city of business, and McCormick didn't like that concept,” explained Jeffrey Anderson, director of the Glen Ellyn Historical Society and the former historian of Cantigny Park, McCormick’s former estate. “[McCormick] had artwork printed in the Tribune, so people could cut it out, frame it and put it in their homes. [He implemented] lots of ways to bring culture and the world to the residents of Chicago.”

By positioning Chicago’s newspaper — and, by proxy, the city itself — as a cultural hub, McCormick hoped residents of nearby cities and towns would want to be associated with it, all under the banner of “Chicagoland.” And this in turn might lead to an increase in the Tribune’s readership. So the use of “Chicagoland” was in part a business strategy by McCormick, according to Alter.

“Robert R. McCormick was really looking to say, ‘Okay, if Chicagoland encompasses pretty much Iowa, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan and Wisconsin, then that's all of the places that should be reading the Tribune,’” Alter said.

How has Chicagoland’s meaning changed?

Back in the 1920s, “Chicagoland” covered a whole swath of the Midwest.

But as other Midwestern cities grew and developed their own local newspapers, they were no longer considered part of Chicago’s orbit. That’s part of the reason the area we consider “Chicagoland” shrunk.

At the same time, Alter theorized that the suburbanization of the Chicago area following World War II meant that the city’s suburbs remained decidedly under the Chicagoland umbrella. People who grew up in the city began moving to the suburbs, but they kept reading the newspaper their parents read.

Today, we generally consider "Chicagoland” to mean a smaller and denser area of the city and suburbs. Depending on who you ask, it may also encompass Northwest Indiana and a small portion of southern Wisconsin.



“Chicagoland” in media

Today, you’ll still find “Chicagoland” used in Chicago Tribune articles and hear it on WGN broadcasts. But you’ll be somewhat hard-pressed to find it in publications not associated with Tribune Media.

Here at WBEZ, there’s an unwritten rule that it’s preferable to use “the Chicago region” or “the Chicago area” instead of “Chicagoland.”

According to Torey Malatia, former WBEZ CEO and current CEO of the Public’s Radio in Rhode Island, he once got legal advice to stop using “Chicagoland" to prevent litigation by the Tribune Media Company. He told WBEZ staff to avoid using it.

“Chicagoland” is not currently under copyright, and when we asked the chief legal officer for Chicago Tribune Media Group if there ever was a copyright on the term, she said she wasn’t sure.

Still, the term is used frequently by advertisers and brands that strive to appeal to consumers beyond the immediate city. Car dealerships, for example, love to use "Chicagoland."

While Chicagoland’s current use may have become divorced from its original meaning, perhaps Colonel McCormick would still be proud to see that the term itself has stood the test of time.

Marie Mendoza is WBEZ’s podcast fellow.



The unlikely rise of Malört as Chicago’s drink

Throwing back a shot of Malört is practically a rite of passage for residents and visitors to the city, and if you spend long enough at any Chicago dive bar you’re likely to see patrons ordering a Chicago Handshake: the iconic pairing of a Malört shot with an Old Style beer. But how did Malört become a Chicago thing? Its ascendancy happened more recently than you might think.

We went in search of the best pizza-by-the-slice in Chicago

Historically, “Chi-Town” has been a pie town, with pizzerias that sell only whole pies far outnumbering those that offer it by the slice. But that’s changing. We teamed up with WBEZ’s daily news show Reset to find out why it’s harder to find pizza-by-the-slice in Chicago than New York and how the pandemic helped change that. 

Korean chicken wings: spicy, saucy and totally Chicago

Gam pong gi wings are a Chicago-invented dish forged in Albany Park kitchens that have gone on to become a national hit. The chicken lollipops, as they’re sometimes called, are smothered in a signature sweet chili sauce. The story of how gam pong gi wings came to be can be traced to two immigrant families that settled in Chicago and put their own creative tweaks on a traditional dish.



What's the history of Chicago-style giardiniera?

Giardiniera (pronounced jar-din-air) is a mix of pickled vegetables that’s great on everything from Italian beef sandwiches to pizza. Chicago-style giardiniera — a specific blend of peppers, carrots and other veggies mixed together in a spicy, salty, oily concoction — is its own art form, distinct from the Italian blends on which it’s based. According to industry estimates, we eat about 15 million pounds of the stuff in the Midwest each year. In this episode, we learn all about how it got to be so big here and the controversy surrounding how it’s pronounced.

Nicky’s and the Big Baby: Unveiling the history of a Chicago fast-food favorite

Nicky’s Grill on Chicago’s Southwest Side serves up all the Chicago fast food classics, like pizza puffs and hot dogs. But they’re perhaps best known for their signature double cheeseburger, known as the Big Baby. We learned that the dish’s popularity has to do with Chicago’s Greek community and a particular way of stacking ingredients.

Beyond deep dish: Exploring Chicago’s native foods

Chicago is known for deep dish pizza and Chicago-style hot dogs, but lots of other dishes were invented here in the city — gyros, brownies and pizza puffs were all created in Chicago, to name a few. In this episode, we dive into the origin stories behind lesser-known Chicago-invented foods including Italian beef, jibaritos and the jerk taco. Plus, we tell you where to try them.



From Mexico to Chicago, the story behind “La Michoacana” ice cream shops

Spend time walking around Pilsen or Belmont Cragin and you’re bound to notice a number of ice cream shops that all have “La Michoacana” in their names. While their names may be similar, the shops have different owners, different offerings and even different prices. We learned about original paleta makers in Michoacán, the state in Mexico that lent its name to ice cream shops across North America — and the ongoing litigation over the copycat names.

Steak and lemonade: What are the origins of this Chicago food combo?

The beef sandwich and slushy drink are sold together all across Chicago’s South and West sides. To find out how the two came to be paired together, we visited half a dozen steak and lemonade joints, asking owners where steak and lemonade originated. Eventually, we tracked down the man behind the combo — and it turns out steak and lemonade restaurants have their roots a lot closer to home than we expected.

Yes, Chicago has good bagels. Here's where to find them.

New Yorkers may be reluctant to admit it, but we’ve got some pretty darn good bagels here in Chicago. In this episode, we recount the 100-year history of Chicago bagel bakeries, which saw a surge in the early part of the 20th century followed by a dip by the ’80s and a glorious bagel renaissance today. We also did the ultimate taste test of Chicago-area bagels, looking for that perfect combo of crisp exterior and dense, chewy center.

Want more answers to your Chicago food questions? Check out our full playlist of Curious City food stories.

It’s summertime in Chicago and, once again, large teen gatherings are making headlines.

It got one Curious City listener wondering who’s behind the social media push for these so-called “teen takeovers.”

These meetups have been happening for years, and they are especially popular among Black teens. The gatherings are known as “trends,” a word that often appears on flyers, usually signaling a large meetup at a public place, like Grant Park or North Avenue Beach.

But in some instances these large gatherings have gotten out of control. Recently, an 18-year-old woman was run over with a car and a couple was assaulted in the Loop. Last year, 16-year-old Seandell Holliday was shot and killed during a gathering in Millennium Park.

Curious City spoke with teens and youth advocates to understand who is behind these flyers, why these meetups are happening and what the city’s response should be.



Lil Troup, a 20-year-old who works for C.H.A.M.P.S, a youth mentoring program, said he understands why kids organize and attend these gatherings. He asked to only use his artist name to protect his privacy. He hosted a house party for his 17th birthday. Between 50 and 100 young people showed up.

He said there weren’t any fights during the event, and he told people to “leave the B.S. at home.”

Lil Troup described his teen self as angry, with little support or structure. With a lack of guidance, he often went to “trends” meetups hoping to find positive connections. He said other teens might be experiencing similar struggles.

In hindsight, he says he recognizes that he was lucky nothing happened during the event he organized. “I can say I did a lot of dumb things that I thought [were] fun,” he said.

Nineteen-year-old Quan said he and his friends have gone to “trend” meetups at movie theaters, the beach and downtown.

“People just want to go hang out,” Quan said. “We’re just trying to have fun, that’s all we want to do.”

But he said he and his friends know things can turn bad, and they leave if things get heated.

Vondale Singleton, who heads C.H.A.M.P.S, said at first he thought these “trends” flyers were made by young adults in their early 20s. He later realized kids as young as 14 were making them, and they can spread like wildfire.



He said part of the reason why young people are attracted to these events is because there isn’t a lot to do in their own neighborhoods.

“If you ask a young person on the Southwest Side, ‘Hey, do you go to your local park?’ They say, ‘... [The] reason why I don't go [is] because I don't feel safe,’” Singleton said.

A recent WBEZ analysis shows many places of amusement like arcades and bowling alleys in Chicago are mostly located in and around downtown.

After Seandell Holliday was fatally shot last year, the city expanded its citywide curfew hours and increased police presence downtown. But some have questioned how effective the city’s measures have been and who they protect.

Groups like C.H.A.M.P.S and My Block, My Hood, My City have been countering “trend” events with their own organized youth gatherings. And public safety experts and youth advocates have pitched ideas for how to keep the city safe.

Mayor Brandon Johnson’s administration is trying to expand summer job opportunities for young people. He said he’s committed to centering youth voices when it comes to policies and decision-making. Youth advocate Asatta Lewis with Good Kids Mad City said she’s eager to see that happen. She said there’s been a lot of effort put into stopping young people from gathering, and it might be time to try something new.

Adriana Cardona-Maguigad is Curious City’s reporter. Follow her @AdrianaCardMag

The unlikely rise of Malört

In the late 2000s, Sam Mechling was working as a bouncer at a wine bar when a guy at work dared him to try Malört.

“In one day, 100 people came in to buy these Malört t-shirts,” said Pat Berger, owner of the now-defunct Paddy Long’s.

Not only did that grab the attention of more fans — but also the brand’s then-owner, Patty Gabelick.

Sales skyrocket

Around 2012, Gabelick showed up with her lawyer unannounced to Paddy Long’s, where Mechling worked at the time. The meeting was tense at first, with the lawyer questioning Mechling’s intentions. But then Mechling showed them a heartfelt letter he tried to send Gabelick months earlier, professing his love for Malört. He’d also included a check with profits he’d made from t-shirt sales. The letter had been returned to him by the Postal Service.



That quickly changed the mood. Instead of serving him a lawsuit, Gabelick offered Mechling a job.

“It was like going from thinking that I was going to be financially destroyed by this corporation to landing a dream job in the matter of five minutes,” Mechling said.

Mechling worked for Malört for nearly a decade. He continued to host events, but now they were official. Malort sales jumped significantly.

“That was the start of … Malört’s giant resurgence from just being available at VFW halls and the Green Mill to being in every hipster bar in Chicago,” said Berger.

In 2018, Tremaine Atkinson, CEO and head distiller of Chicago’s CH Distillery, bought the company when Gabelick retired. Production of Malört had moved to Florida in the late 1980s, but under Atkinson, it returned to its original home in Chicago in 2019.

Chicago may be known as the home of deep-dish pizza, the blues, and modern architecture.  

But an international dance capital? It turns out a lot of famous dances were created in the city’s clubs and on its streets. The hops, skips, twists and turns took form in just about every corner of the city.

We started digging into this part of Chicago’s cultural history after we received a question from a couple of teenagers who stopped by a Curious City outreach event at the Dunning branch of the Chicago Public Library. They didn’t give their names, but they did give us a lot to think about when they asked: What dances were invented in Chicago?

Our reporting found dozens of moves that were born in the Chicago area, from a slowed-down, Chicago-style polka to a wedding reception favorite, the “Cha-Cha Slide.”

To tell their stories, Curious City tracked down several creators and pioneers of these Chicago-area dances — many of whom were still alive and grooving. They include band members, musicians, and dancers who helped create or popularize five dances we focused on: Polka Hop, Steppin’, el Pasito Duranguense (the little step from Durango), the “Cha-Cha Slide,” and Footwork. 

On a recent afternoon, about 70 people sat quietly in the pews of the Chicago Temple Building in the Loop. They were there to remember nearly 300 people who died alone, without next of kin, in Cook County. Religious leaders from different faiths read the names of each person aloud, and the St. Sabina Youth Choir filled every corner of the room with songs.

We visited the service because Curious City listener Chris Ferrigno wanted to know what happens to people who die without any known family members — something that particularly affects some of the city’s most vulnerable residents, including people who are unhoused or who struggle with addiction. What happens to their bodies after they die? Who makes funeral arrangements for them? And if family members come forward later, are they able to bury their loved one where they would like?

In most cases, the body of someone who dies in Cook County goes directly to a funeral home, if the individual or family has made arrangements with one. In cases such as homicides, suicides, accidents or unexpected deaths, police departments are usually responsible for identifying the body and notifying next of kin.

Generally, when police can’t identify a deceased body in about 10 days, it becomes a case for the Indigent Disposition Program at the Medical Examiner’s Office. The program is responsible for trying to identify unclaimed bodies, contacting family members and arranging cremation, burial or both depending on the case. The department also makes final arrangements for those who have died of a drug overdose and unhoused people when their bodies remain unclaimed.

This process has changed a lot in the last decade to address previous issues, including very long processing times and inhumane conditions.

We spoke with officials at the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office to learn more about the steps they take when unclaimed and unidentified bodies arrive at the agency.

1. Identification: First responders might look for a wallet or ID, or contact a landlord or neighbor. If the person’s identity remains unknown, police then collaborate with the Indigent Disposition Program. They use techniques including fingerprinting, comparing dental records and in some cases taking DNA samples. The vast majority of bodies that come through the Indigent Disposition Program are eventually identified — about 99%, on average, over the last six years.
2. Notification: In some cases, family members come forward on their own. If they don’t, the Medical Examiner’s Office works with organizations like the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless or consulate offices to help locate potential next of kin.
3. Cremation: After 30 days, if no relatives come forward or can be found, the body of the identified deceased person is cremated. The cremated remains are stored and held by the Medical Examiner’s Office for up to a year.
4. Burial: After about a year, the cremated remains are buried in Mount Olivet Cemetery on the Far South Side. The Medical Examiner’s Office works with agencies including the Cook County Funeral Directors Association and Catholic Cemeteries to arrange two burials each year. The cremated remains of each unclaimed and identified body are placed in small, labeled boxes the size of urns. Each box goes in a large casket with dividers that holds the remains of 20 people.
5. Record-keeping: The cemetery keeps the GPS coordinates for the deceased in case relatives later come forward looking for them. If family members want to remove the remains of their relative, they can contact the cemetery and pay to have the casket unearthed to retrieve them.

While most cases that fall under the Indigent Disposition Program follow these steps, there are other cases to consider. For example, there are situations in which the family is notified, but they are unable to pay for cremation or burial. When that happens, the Medical Examiner’s Office will still cremate the body of the person. Family members have the option of picking up the cremated remains from the Medical Examiner’s Office. The fee for cremated remains is $250. Otherwise, the cremated remains will be buried following the process above.

In very few cases, when a deceased person can’t be identified, the body is not cremated. It is preserved and stored by the Medical Examiner’s Office for up to a year, and then buried intact. Photos and sketches of the deceased are sometimes added to a virtual cemetery to help relatives identify their loved ones. A DNA sample from the person is collected and shared with law enforcement databases.

While these steps can feel procedural, many volunteers and officials involved say they’re invested in making sure the bodies of unclaimed people are cared for and laid to rest with dignity and respect.

“Everyone deserves to have somebody there for them,” said Julian Gamboa, a senior at Brother Rice High School who has volunteered at burials organized by the Medical Examiner’s Office. “Even if it wasn't there during their actual life, they deserve somebody there for their afterlife.”

Nisan Chavkin, who is part of the interfaith planning committee that helps organize these services, added, “It's not an empty box you throw away. People are people, and they deserve respect and to be remembered. Taking care of someone when they die, after they are gone, and burying them properly is a great gift … .”

Adriana Cardona-Maguigad is Curious City’s reporter. Follow her @AdrianaCardMag