1 day Ago By Edward Keegan
Wrigley Field has always been about a lot more than just Wrigley Field. An essential part of its magic has been the residential structures along Waveland and Sheffield avenues that have provided a very particular and very Chicago backdrop to the ballpark since Wrigley’s 1914 debut as Weeghman Park. We mourn the demise of three of these structures on this opening weekend — one is already gone, and the others are scheduled to go in the coming weeks.
Located at 3627-3633 North Sheffield, these properties’ commercial viability as pricey baseball clubs was neutered when their views of the field were permanently blocked by the erection of the right field video board a decade ago. These properties are best known for their memorable signage over the years: 3631 for the rooftop Torco billboard and 3633 for the Eamus Catuli and AC000000 (Anno Catulorum) signs. But their demolition demonstrates a failure of imagination.
These three vintage three-flats represented more than Wrigley Field’s history. They reflected the architecture that has made Chicago’s neighborhoods attractive and enduring. Their simple, ordinary and unpretentious designs are the basic building blocks that make most neighborhoods in the city related and interconnected parts of what we recognize as Chicago.
And their replacement represents an increasingly dismal view of the city’s future — dull, uninspired and thoughtlessly banal. The gap-toothed smile created by the demolition that meets fans this week won’t go away when they’re replaced with new construction. Because the new 29-unit three-lot-wide structure will be as awkward and unsightly as the now-empty lot.
The new masonry-clad five-story building, designed by Chicago-based DXU Architects, is oversized for this block where three- and six-flats have been the norm. The front facade will be a full story taller than its neighbors, and while the materials and windows try to mimic the patterns and rhythms of its older neighbors, the design falls flat in its girth and articulation. This loss on Sheffield is just the most recent in a series of seemingly small losses in and around the historic ballpark.
Wrigley Field, nee Weeghman Park, was originally designed by Chicago architect Zachary Taylor Davis in 1914. A contemporary of Frank Lloyd Wright, Davis and Wright crossed paths as young apprentices under the tutelage of Louis Sullivan before taking widely divergent architectural paths. While Wright gained fame for his distinctly recognizable forms, Davis drew from diverse architectural sources for projects as varied as the old Comiskey Park and the St.
James Chapel of the Archbishop Quigley Preparatory Seminary. Once the Cubs began their occupancy in 1916, change became typical through the ballpark’s early decades. The upper deck was largely added in 1927 and 1928.
The bleachers were designed by Chicago architects Holabird and Root in 1937 and 1938. As originally conceived, the left, center and right field bleachers had a gentle curve that started at the foul poles and rose upward until culminating in the hand-operated scoreboard. It was a skyline in microcosm, an architectural composition of grace, beauty and utility.
But in the early 2000s, the left and right field bleachers were demolished and replaced with larger structures that broke that gentle curve. A rooftop with a view of Wrigley Field, a three-story greystone at 3627 N. Sheffield Ave.
with the Torco sign, shown July 15, 1990, was for sale at $419,000. (Franks Hanes/Chicago Tribune) Changes became more aggressive following the acquisition of the team by the Ricketts family in 2009. They demolished the left and right field bleachers again and replaced them with even taller seating while adding the right field and left field video boards.
Only the centerfield bleachers and the manually operated scoreboard above them retain Holabird and Root’s original design, although the scoreboard has evolved to handle the addition of more teams to the major leagues. While thoughtful and methodical, the Rickettses completely reconstructed the ballpark in their first decade of ownership, while also adding the new office building, hotel and plaza along Clark Street. Even the exposed superstructure that supports the park’s upper deck was beefed up with added steel that subtly changed the park’s previously elegant proportions.
Last year brought the dreadfully uninspired Gensler-designed DraftKings structure to the southeast corner of the ballpark, where a broad plaza had previously greeted fans approaching the right field gate. With its deep green metal grid and dark glass, it’s as if a suburban Cheesecake Factory has been filtered through ill-advised sunglasses to become an otherwise anonymous sportsbook at Addison and Sheffield. Before a large right field video board blocked their views, fans watch Cubs opening day action from Lakeview Baseball Club across the street from Wrigley Field from atop 3633 N.
Sheffield Ave., on April 8, 2013. (Nancy Stone/Chicago Tribune) Wrigley has always been an alchemical brew of simplicity and sophistication.
Many individual elements have become icons of the Cubs and Chicago: the ivy-covered brick wall, the towering manually operated centerfield scoreboard, the low brick wall behind home plate and down the foul lines, the steel columns that support the upper deck and roof while blocking views for many fans in the grandstands, and the modest residential structures along Waveland and Sheffield. Most new ballparks across the country include at least one of these elements in their designs, some even a few. If imitation is a form of flattery, then Wrigley is quite (rightly) flattered by others.
For a decade, I have characterized the Rickettses’ remodeling of Wrigley Field as a metaphoric poached toad: The changes have been incremental and small, but eventually the temperature has been raised high enough that the frog is dead. Wrigley Field is still a great place to watch a baseball game, but it’s a cartoon version of what was Wrigley until quite recently: a gritty little ballpark that was representative of Chicago. But what’s been lost at Wrigley Field is not nearly as important as what we’re losing in almost every neighborhood in Chicago.
Thoughtless, uninspired new apartments and houses are sucking the soul out of our communities. And much of what’s missing is the nuance of architectural composition and materiality. The new apartment building at 3627-3633 N.
Sheffield typifies this troublesome direction. Chicago and Wrigleyville deserve better. Edward Keegan writes, broadcasts and teaches on architectural subjects.
Keegan’s biweekly architecture column is supported by a grant from former Tribune critic Blair Kamin, as administered by the not-for-profit Journalism Funding Partners. The Tribune maintains editorial control over assignments and content. Submit a letter, of no more than 400 words, to the editor here or email letters@chicagotribune.
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