Excerpt
Chapter 1: Welcome to Chicago, 1871
The streets were busy with footsteps, cartwheels, and the sounds of a city that never really rested. Chicago in 1871 was full of movement—people walking to work, children playing in alleys, and shopkeepers calling out their daily specials. The smell of fresh bread mixed with smoke from chimneys and the clatter of horses pulling heavy wagons. The city felt alive, like it was stretching and growing every single day.
Chicago wasn’t a quiet place, and that’s because it was packed with people from all over the world. Many had come recently—some from Germany, Ireland, Poland, Sweden, and Italy—looking for work or a fresh start. Their clothes were often different, their food smelled new to the neighbors, and their words came out in different languages. But one thing most of them had in common was the dream of something better.
Lots of families lived in small, wooden houses. These homes were often built quickly and sat close together, which made neighborhoods feel a little crowded. On warm days, people opened their windows to let in fresh air, and voices and music drifted from one house to the next. Chickens might wander a backyard while laundry flapped on clotheslines above. There wasn’t much space, but neighbors looked out for each other. If one family didn’t have enough bread, another might bring some over without being asked.
Kids had chores, but they also had plenty of fun. They played tag in the streets, skipped rocks near the river, or slid across icy sidewalks when winter hit. School was part of their day too—though not all children went. Some worked instead, helping their parents earn money. It wasn’t always fair, but it was the way things were.
The streets themselves were a challenge. Dirt roads turned to thick mud when it rained. Horses pulled carts and carriages through the mess, and their hooves kicked up the smell of manure and wet earth. People walked carefully, trying not to slip. Wooden sidewalks helped a little, but not much. In the drier months, the roads got dusty, and the wind carried that dust into people’s eyes and homes.
Shops lined the busier streets, selling everything from boots to books to barrels of pickles. There were blacksmiths hammering metal, bakers pulling golden loaves from ovens, and butchers slicing meat behind glass windows. Most stores didn’t look anything like the ones you’d see today. They were smaller, darker, and full of the smell of whatever they sold. If you were lucky enough to have a few coins in your pocket, there was always something tempting to spend them on—especially sweet things like candy sticks or molasses cookies.
At the center of all this movement was the Chicago River. It twisted through the city, carrying boats loaded with lumber, coal, and goods. Workers shouted back and forth as they unloaded crates or tied up ropes. The river wasn’t clean—far from it—but it was the reason the city had grown so quickly. Boats brought in supplies, and railroads carried them right back out to other parts of the country. Chicago was like a giant shipping station, buzzing with business.
There weren’t many tall buildings. Most places had only two or three floors, though a few hotels and banks tried to show off with four or five. Builders used whatever was cheap and easy to find—mostly wood. Wooden walls, wooden roofs, wooden fences. Even the sidewalks and bridges were made of wood. It was fast, it was simple, and it was what they had. People didn’t think much about what might happen if a fire ever got started. Fires were common in cities, and they usually stayed small. Chicago had burned before, and it always bounced back.
At night, the city didn’t go completely dark, but it wasn’t glowing either. Gas lamps lit up parts of the street, casting a yellowish light and long shadows. If you peeked through a window, you might see a family gathered around a stove, reading aloud or telling stories while the fire crackled. The sound of the city softened but never disappeared. Somewhere, a train whistled. A dog barked. A baby cried.
The people of Chicago worked hard. Some were bricklayers, others sold goods in markets, and many worked in the stockyards or on the railroad lines. It wasn’t easy work. It meant long hours, sore muscles, and dirty clothes. But there was pride in it too. Each person helped build the city, even if it was just one brick at a time.
Church bells rang on Sundays, calling families to gather. Markets filled with noise and color. People argued, laughed, bargained, and shouted greetings. There was a kind of rough beauty in the way the city operated—fast-paced and full of grit. You could almost hear the clanging of hammers and the calls of street vendors wherever you went.
Chicago wasn’t perfect. It had problems like every growing city. There were too many people packed into too little space. Streets weren’t always safe. Poorer neighborhoods didn’t get much help from the city, and some people felt forgotten. Fires, sickness, and accidents were part of life. But the city kept moving, kept growing, and kept hoping for better days.
The streets were busy with footsteps, cartwheels, and the sounds of a city that never really rested. Chicago in 1871 was full of movement—people walking to work, children playing in alleys, and shopkeepers calling out their daily specials. The smell of fresh bread mixed with smoke from chimneys and the clatter of horses pulling heavy wagons. The city felt alive, like it was stretching and growing every single day.
Chicago wasn’t a quiet place, and that’s because it was packed with people from all over the world. Many had come recently—some from Germany, Ireland, Poland, Sweden, and Italy—looking for work or a fresh start. Their clothes were often different, their food smelled new to the neighbors, and their words came out in different languages. But one thing most of them had in common was the dream of something better.
Lots of families lived in small, wooden houses. These homes were often built quickly and sat close together, which made neighborhoods feel a little crowded. On warm days, people opened their windows to let in fresh air, and voices and music drifted from one house to the next. Chickens might wander a backyard while laundry flapped on clotheslines above. There wasn’t much space, but neighbors looked out for each other. If one family didn’t have enough bread, another might bring some over without being asked.
Kids had chores, but they also had plenty of fun. They played tag in the streets, skipped rocks near the river, or slid across icy sidewalks when winter hit. School was part of their day too—though not all children went. Some worked instead, helping their parents earn money. It wasn’t always fair, but it was the way things were.
The streets themselves were a challenge. Dirt roads turned to thick mud when it rained. Horses pulled carts and carriages through the mess, and their hooves kicked up the smell of manure and wet earth. People walked carefully, trying not to slip. Wooden sidewalks helped a little, but not much. In the drier months, the roads got dusty, and the wind carried that dust into people’s eyes and homes.
Shops lined the busier streets, selling everything from boots to books to barrels of pickles. There were blacksmiths hammering metal, bakers pulling golden loaves from ovens, and butchers slicing meat behind glass windows. Most stores didn’t look anything like the ones you’d see today. They were smaller, darker, and full of the smell of whatever they sold. If you were lucky enough to have a few coins in your pocket, there was always something tempting to spend them on—especially sweet things like candy sticks or molasses cookies.
At the center of all this movement was the Chicago River. It twisted through the city, carrying boats loaded with lumber, coal, and goods. Workers shouted back and forth as they unloaded crates or tied up ropes. The river wasn’t clean—far from it—but it was the reason the city had grown so quickly. Boats brought in supplies, and railroads carried them right back out to other parts of the country. Chicago was like a giant shipping station, buzzing with business.
There weren’t many tall buildings. Most places had only two or three floors, though a few hotels and banks tried to show off with four or five. Builders used whatever was cheap and easy to find—mostly wood. Wooden walls, wooden roofs, wooden fences. Even the sidewalks and bridges were made of wood. It was fast, it was simple, and it was what they had. People didn’t think much about what might happen if a fire ever got started. Fires were common in cities, and they usually stayed small. Chicago had burned before, and it always bounced back.
At night, the city didn’t go completely dark, but it wasn’t glowing either. Gas lamps lit up parts of the street, casting a yellowish light and long shadows. If you peeked through a window, you might see a family gathered around a stove, reading aloud or telling stories while the fire crackled. The sound of the city softened but never disappeared. Somewhere, a train whistled. A dog barked. A baby cried.
The people of Chicago worked hard. Some were bricklayers, others sold goods in markets, and many worked in the stockyards or on the railroad lines. It wasn’t easy work. It meant long hours, sore muscles, and dirty clothes. But there was pride in it too. Each person helped build the city, even if it was just one brick at a time.
Church bells rang on Sundays, calling families to gather. Markets filled with noise and color. People argued, laughed, bargained, and shouted greetings. There was a kind of rough beauty in the way the city operated—fast-paced and full of grit. You could almost hear the clanging of hammers and the calls of street vendors wherever you went.
Chicago wasn’t perfect. It had problems like every growing city. There were too many people packed into too little space. Streets weren’t always safe. Poorer neighborhoods didn’t get much help from the city, and some people felt forgotten. Fires, sickness, and accidents were part of life. But the city kept moving, kept growing, and kept hoping for better days.