Historian Bill Savage, a senior lecturer in English at Northwestern University, writer, and longtime bartender, likens them to another imprint of Chicago’s working-class roots, the hot dog stand: “It’s the same business model, with tight margins, providing inexpensive and vital things for the neighborhood.” But there remained those indispensable corner or midblock joints close to home, work, or an El stop, with cheap drinks and zero attitude. Immigrant bars in ethnic enclaves allowed patrons to speak the language and dance to the music of their old countries assimilated bars helped people adopt those of the new.įollowing Prohibition, bar subgenres developed to suit different identities and interests, from gay bars to sports bars, art bars, cop bars, and cocktail lounges.
bars near industry plied workers with a nickel beer and free meal after long-ass shifts. In burgeoning, pre-Prohibition Chicago, like many cities, different bars opened up to serve different cultural and social purposes, as outlined by Perry Duis in “The Saloon: Public Drinking in Chicago and Boston, 1880-1920.” Opulent bars unfurled inside glittering downtown hotels, while 7 a.m. In the late 1980s, urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg dubbed this category the “third place” - informal spaces separate from home and work, where people go voluntarily to build community and tie one on. Pictured: the Levee.Īlmost every American city and town has its historic neighborhood taverns, which at times have served as community centers meeting spots for union organizers, politicians and journalists and gathering spaces for immigrants or marginalized communities. The ice-cold bottle of Old Style I order depletes the last $4 in my purse, including tip. He shoos away assistant barback Milo, a self-starting Golden Retriever who keeps propping his front paws up on the bar. Owner Warren Johnson, a Vietnam War Marine veteran and former semi-pro football player who bought the bar in 1979, walks over to take my order. Almost every inch of the wood-paneled walls is covered in framed jerseys, photos of community and youth sports teams, beer and Chicago Cubs neons, and a replica of the famous scoreboard at the Cubs’ home stadium, Wrigley Field. Ferns and cream-colored couches furnish the entryway of this sprawling, decidedly ’70s tavern with Styrofoam ceiling tiles, stained-glass pendant lights, and an adjacent party room complete with billiards, darts, and a makeshift Pop-A-Shot basketball game.Ī few regulars post up at the snaking brass-edged bar, where upholstered barstools resembling elongated office chairs sport one or two deep-set stains. on a Wednesday when I walk into the Levee, an aging, cash-only corner bar on Chicago’s northwest side. This story about Chicago’s dive bars is from our debut issue, Fifty Grande #1.