Tag Archives: poetry

In X L N C U X L: Text Speak Arrived in Indiana in a Love Poem Back in 1849

[This post first appeared on Hoosier State Chronicles: Indiana’s Digital Newspaper Program]

Well, gentle readers, if u r like me, u r probably annoyed @ the terrible vocab skills of the txt generation.

But W8 just a second.  Txtspk isn’t new.  It got 2 to the Hoosier St8 B4 U.

In one of the last issues of Indiana’s oldest newspaper, the Vincennes Western Sun, editor John Rice Jones excerpted a clever love poem addressed “To Miss Catherine Jay of Utica.”

Written by an unknown author around 1832 and previously printed in literary magazines back East, “KTJ of UTK” (for short) is probably the earliest example in a Hoosier newspaper of what we now call “text speak.”

Most of the poetry and fiction printed in antebellum Indiana papers was copied out of Eastern journals carried west by riverboat or stagecoach.  Samuel Morse invented his own “abbreviated” form of communication around 1844, but the telegraph didn’t come into common use until the 1850s.   Early trains often traveled at a speed that we would find maddeningly slow today — sometimes running at less than 20 mph, hardly faster than a horse at a gallop or a steamboat going downriver.  (In fact, due to safety concerns over wandering children and livestock, trains were nearly even banned in Indiana before the Civil War.)

John Jones probably saw “Katie Jay of Uticay” in a copy of Dwight’s American Magazine, published in New York in February 1847.  An even earlier “cousin” of this amazing poem was printed in the Utica Organ in upstate New York, the Columbia (Penn.) Spy, and Atkinson’s Casket, a popular Philadelphia literary journal, as far back as 1832.

The original “KTJ,” in turn, might have been inspired by two incredible British “text-speak” dirges published in The New Monthly Magazine in London in 1828.  Katie Jay’s trans-Atlantic cousins were no less than the unfortunate “Miss LNG of Q” (Ellen Gee of Kew, blinded by a “B” sting in the “I”) and “MLE K of UL” (Emily Kay of Ewell, burned to death while putting “:” [coal on] a kitchen fire grate.)  Sad nymphs and “SX” (Essex) maids, these.  Hark, friends, gather round and listen 2 their f8, and please 4C:  1 day U 2 shall cease 2B an N.TT!

A 2010 article in the New Yorker mistakenly identifies the anonymous poet who wrote “Katie Jay” as Charles Carroll Bombaugh.  In fact, Bombaugh, a medical examiner who died in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, in 1906, only anthologized this clever piece, which came out in his 1867 book Gleanings for the Curious from the Harvest-Fields of Literature.  (The popular anthology of literary witticism was republished in 1890.)

On September 22, 1849, “KTJ” appeared on the front page of the Vincennes Western Sun.  Like this poem, most of what was printed in the Vincennes paper over the years wasn’t local news or literature, and rarely featured much writing by Hoosier wags.  In fact, most of the paper in the late 1840s was taken up with news from Europe, the East Coast, Texas and Mexico.

KTJ shows up next to the latest news from the packet “Europa,” just docked at Halifax, Nova Scotia: Louis Kossuth’s Hungarian Revolution is still being fought.  Kossuth’s revolution against the Austrians eventually failed.  A few years later, in the winter of 1852 (“cold as cold can B?”), the defeated Hungarian patriot sailed over “the Atlantic C” and toured Indiana, coming on the steamboat Wisconsin from Cincinnati.  Kossuth was hailed as a hero of democracy in the Indiana State Sentinel and the Terre-Haute Journal, among other papers.  A small town in Washington County in southern Indiana was named after him.  Alas, “Kossuth, Indiana” has now almost vanished.  We mourn its DK.

With news sometimes traveling west at a great time-lag, people were always eager for entertainment in the meantime.  Sometimes printers like Elihu Stout and John Jones had no news to print, so they regaled readers with whatever they could find.  And unlike the news, poetry — even when written in “text speak” — can occasionally be timeless.

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Hoosier State Chronicles is currently collating issues of the Western Sun from 1837 to 1849 for possible inclusion online later this year.  Here’s some other entertaining excerpts from the Vincennes paper in those days.  (And if you’re in Vincennes, you can visit a reconstructed version of Elihu Stout’s print shop, originally built in 1808, at Vincennes State Historic Site, the location of the old territorial capitol.)

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Jun Fujita: On Time & Tanka


Two film negatives from the 1920s, now in the Chicago Daily News negative collection at the Chicago History Museum, are among thousands of reporters’ images depicting the incredible life of the early twentieth-century Windy City.  Some were made as stock photography, with no particular story in mind.  Others were not published at all, the stories they illustrated tossed out by editors and never seen by the public.

Though not meant to be paired, two images, set side by side, make a certain visual poetry.  In one, “V. Shoemaker,” artist for the Daily News, sits at a drafting table drawing on a large piece of bright paper, so overexposed that it is blank, a silence for the eye.  Has Shoemaker’s drawing just been begun or finished?

In the other photograph, taken in 1921, Mabel Normand, silent film actress, reads a page that, by contrast, is full of dramatic words:  “Erzberger Assassinated;  Shot 12 Times.”

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Two images, seven years apart.  The woman who does not speak is captivated by the presence of words — while the man who sets out to “capture” or create an image, to “say” something rather than be a witness, ends up with a great blankness in front of his face.

That’s an imaginary reading of these photos, one of many that could be made.  Maybe the blankness is full, an old paradox.  Maybe both images speak quietly of the eloquence of saying “no-thing,” of looking simply at the picture (or the complex, bloody, drama-filled spectacle) the world paints.  Even the white void V. Shoemaker faces whispers some truth, primitive or cryptic, to us.  Shoemaker’s blank picture says something we intuitively know must be worth investigating.

Poetically, the pictures are the mirror of a real man, Jun Fujita.  It is not known if he actually made them (many of the countless photographs from the Chicago Daily News were never identified by their photographer).  But as small “poems”, creating a mystery when combined, they give us an image both of this remarkable man and of his spiritual struggle with art and image-making.

Fujita was one of the forgotten founders of American photojournalism, the first Japanese American to serve on the staff of a professional newspaper in the United States.  A staff photographer on the Chicago Daily News, much of his work “on beat” was probably anonymous.

Though his career remains obscure, Fujita was one of the most versatile, multi-talented, and intriguing men of his time.  Photographer, painter, poet, silent film actor, and general handyman, Fujita encountered all of America’s tragic contradictions and paradoxes.fujitajun

Fujita was an Issei, a term that Japanese Americans coined to refer to the “first generation” to leave Japan.  He was born in a village near Hiroshima on December 13, 1888.  His unusual odyssey to America began in 1904, when at the age of 16, Fujita reportedly fell in love with a teacher much older than himself and was publicly shamed after a love letter he had written to her showed up.

In response, Fujita emigrated to Canada.  Then, because he had heard it was the cheapest place to live in the United States, he managed to get over the border and come to Chicago, Illinois.

That he achieved success fairly quickly in the Midwest before to the 1930s is significant, since it is thought that only about five percent of Japanese Americans lived here at that time.  Most Issei went to cities or farms on the West Coast.

In the Windy City, Fujita worked first as a train porter and “domestic slave,” then in construction work.  Around 1914, he got an acting job.  Fujita appeared in several silent films shot at Chicago’s Essenay Studios, the same company that produced Charlie Chaplin movies.

Before the film industry moved to Hollywood in the 1920s, Chicago was the movie capital of the world.  Indiana Dunes, sixty miles across Lake Michigan, was a popular vacation spot for Chicagoans and a mecca for theater actors, who often performed in famous nature-themed pageants held there throughout the 1910s and ’20s.  Though the rested nearly under the shadow of Gary’s booming steel mills, Indiana Dunes served as a desert for early Chicago filmmakers.  The Dunes stood in for Mexico, the American Far West, and the Sudan.

A photograph survives of film crews leading camels through the dunes east of Gary in June 1910.  That same month, there appeared a comic but true account in the Chicago Record Herald titled “Gary Camel Caravan Alarms, Mohammedan Steel Workers Set Up Wail At Sight of Procession.”  Scores of immigrant steel workers, mostly Syrians and Lebanese, were surprised by what seemed like a sudden apparition from their homeland:  a movie crew in full Arabian attire.  The immigrant steel workers stood “amazed at the sight of a procession of some five hundred sheiks with their Bedouins, camels, Berber attendants and gun carriers, all in desert accoutrement, marching through the street with the solemnity of a genuine caravan of the Sahara.”

The young Jun Fujita, in his mid-twenties, appeared as an extra in several of these movies and even played a lead role in the silent film Otherwise Bill Harrison (1915), which had as its subject “the daydream of a newsboy.”



Pageant of the Dunes, 1917.  (Steven R. Shook Collection, Porter County GenWeb)

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Pageant at Indiana Dunes, circa 1915-20.  (Steven R. Shook Collection, Porter County GenWeb)

In 1914, the 26-year-old “Togo” (as his friends called him) bluffed his way into a photography job and became the first photojournalist on the staff of the Chicago Evening Post (later the Chicago Daily News, a now-defunct paper but until the 1930s one of the city’s great journals.)

On the eve of World War I, photojournalism was a new thing – newspapers only recently discovered how to print photographs effectively – and Fujita contributed to its invention.

He was given free rein in Chicago, where he photographed some of its most prominent citizens, including Frank Lloyd Wright, Carl Sandburg, and Al Capone.  Fujita was the only photojournalist to capture the aftermath of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre in 1929, when Capone’s mobsters gunned down nine men loyal to rival gangster Bugs Moran.

Fujita also created important images of the 1919 Chicago Race Riot, Clarence Darrow and the Loeb-Leopold trial, and the tragic sinking of the S.S. Eastland in the Chicago River in 1915.

In the mid-‘30s, he was hired to photograph Federal Works projects throughout the United States.  He photographed one of Albert Einstein’s visits to Chicago.

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Jun Fujita, Carl Sandburg, ca. 1930.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-00718010.  Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

 The most important images of his career were of the aftermath of the Eastland disaster.  Yet as he later said of all of his photography (as he turned toward writing and painting), Fujita would have preferred never to have made them.

The S.S. Eastland was Chicago’s equivalent of the Titanic, which had sunk just three years before.  Around 6:30 AM on July 24, 1915, several thousand passengers began to board the fast, steam-powered Eastland (dubbed “The Speed Queen of the Great Lakes”) while it was docked on the Chicago River near today’s downtown Loop.  Their destination was Michigan City, Indiana, gateway to the dunes.

The Eastland could legally carry 2,572 people, much many more were boarding that morning.  At the height of the summer season, the ship was packed solid with human bodies within less than an hour.  The largest single group of passengers were Czech immigrants from Cicero on 22nd Street.  Almost all were working-class Chicagoans: the Western Electric Company had chartered the Eastland and two other boats that day to take their employees to a picnic on an Indiana beach.

Just before 7:30, the vessel was obviously nearing overcrowding.  Crew members noticed it listing to one side.  In the wake of the Titanic disaster, new safety regulations required all vessels to carry enough wooden lifeboats for every passenger, a law that ironically contributed to the excessive weight aboard the Eastland.

As passengers filled the lower decks, a crowd on top gathered.  When the Eastland started to tip slightly, a crowd rushed to the port side, and at that moment, the boat lurched and fell completely over in the river.

Travelers below-deck were crushed by tables, pianos, cabinets and other heavy objects, and the ship immediately filled with water.  Hundreds were trapped inside.  Although the Eastland was a mere twenty feet from the wharf in the middle of downtown Chicago, 844 people drowned.

Chicago’s citizens and newspapers erupted in anger, outraged that safety rules had been overlooked to put a few more dollars in the shipowners’ pockets.  Unlike today perhaps, Chicago was still a working-class mecca, a cauldron the Progressive movement at a time when American labor was running strong.

Populist poet, journalist and folklorist Carl Sandburg, whom Jun Fujita would later photograph and maybe even share some of his own poetry with, wrote an angry paean against Chicago’s “grim industrial feudalism,” decrying the hands of the rich dripping with human blood.  (Editors considered the poem The Eastland too angry to publish and it was never put in print during Sandburg’s lifetime.)  One scholar wrote that Sandburg was convinced that the working-class victims “had been forced to buy tickets for the cruise and ordered to wear white shoes and white hats so a pleasing photograph of them could be taken for the company’s advertising campaign.”

The tragedy became symbolic of the workers’ lives Sandburg often praised but refused to idealize.  (Sandburg’s famous description of “The People” was “heroes and hoodlums.”)  “I see a dozen Eastlands / Every morning on my way to work,” Sandburg lamented, “And a dozen more going home at night.”

If the victims had been asked to “doll up” for advertising photographs, the photos taken of them that day were anything but good press for the company or the Eastland’s owners.  Jun Fujita was one of the first photographers on the scene, initially taking pictures of the capsized ship from the wharf, then working his way down toward the rescuers.  His pictures are the main visual record of the disaster.  Later, he documented the piled-up bodies of the drowned, scattered in makeshift morgues, their faces covered by blankets.  Yet Fujita also photographed the heroism of rescuers, divers like Harry Halvorsen and Frenchy Deneau, who were given the grim task of scouring the bottom of the river and inside the ship’s hull, retrieving the dead.  They dragged up about 250 bodies.

(In a strange footnote to the Eastland disaster, the diver Deneau later made one of the strangest discoveries in Chicago’s history, “something out of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.”  Deneau was laying cable along the bottom of the river later that year, near the Rush Street Bridge, when his shovel unearthed a submarine buried under three feet of mud.  The press dubbed the zeppelin-shaped vessel the Foolkiller, a common name for daredevil’s vessels, and a rumor circulated that it contained the skeleton of a man and his dog.  Deneau allegedly got permission from the federal government to salvage the vessel and had it dragged out of the river on December 10, 1915.  An article in the Chicago Tribune claimed:  “The boat is said to have belonged to Peter Nissen, spectacular mariner, who was lost in his revolving vessel while attempting to drift across Lake Michigan.  The Foolkiller was so called because it first made its appearance shortly after the Chicago fire, in the days when submarines were unheard of, and drowned its original owner, a New York man, when it made a trial trip.  Nissen then bought it.”  Nissen, in fact, had perished in a pneumatic “balloon boat,” also called Foolkiller, on Lake Michigan in 1904.  Deneau put the submarine on exhibition on State Street, charging admission at 10 cents a person.  The so-called Foolkiller sub supposedly disappeared at a fair in Iowa in 1916.  Skeptics claim the submarine was a clever hoax, but images of its raising from the icy waters of the river were made by the Chicago Daily News in 1915, six months after the Eastland disaster.)

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Jun Fujita.  Eastland disaster survivors and rescuers standing on the hull of the capsized steamer in the Chicago River, July 24, 1915.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection,DN-0064944, Chicago History Museum.

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Jun Fujita.  Victims of the Eastland Disaster, 1915.


Unidentified photographer.  Raising Foolkiller submarine from Chicago River, December 20, 1915.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0065730, Chicago History Museum.

One of Fujita’s own photographs shows an old man carrying the drowned body of a young boy out of the river after the Eastland capsized.  Not forgetting other catastrophes that had struck Chicago, like the 1871 fire, Fujita wrote:

“The horror of the most frightful tragedies in the annals of Chicago is written on the face of the strong man in this picture. The little, limp figure in his arms express its INFINITE PITY. The man, who is evidently a rugged specimen of the type that work on the river, familiar with the uglier phases of life; its hardships and its sufferings, is smitten with an overwhelming sense of woe and terror that his eyes have looked upon. In their fixed stare is photographed the agony of struggle he has witnessed, the torture and the anguish of the drowning multitude.

“From the throng of laughing, happy-hearted holiday makers that a few moments before turning its back upon the toil and grime of the city, faced a day of innocent fun and relaxation, he has gathered this one, small, lifeless body, the pitiful symbol of hundreds more, old and young, on whom a sudden and hideous death leaped from the very threshold of their joy.

“These people were his own kind – workers like himself; men and the wives and children of men who earn their living by toil. Is there any wonder that horror looks from his eyes? God pity those who today are heartbroken. But of what avail is the pity of God against human carelessness?”

Even while he was becoming a successful newspaper reporter and was making some of the most important images of Chicago’s history, Fujita slowly came to have misgivings about photography, and later confessed that he did not consider it a true art form.  Like Franz Kafka and others, who denied much of the camera’s artistry, Fujita came to prefer painting and poetry, two genres he thought had more substance than photography and allowed fuller possibilities of expression than a camera.  Doubtless his love for traditional Japanese art influenced his thoughts on camera work.

By the 1920s, Fujita was so disgruntled both with his newspaper job and with the Chicago the “Roaring Twenties” that he sought to temporarily get away from it all.  He headed north, to Minnesota’s Boundary Waters.  As W.B. Yeats sang  in “The Lake Isle of Inisfree,” Fujita built a solitary rustic one-room wooden cabin.  It was a place “in the deep heart’s core.”  The cabin is still there, along on Rainy Lake near the Canadian border, a spot now within the bounds of Voyageurs National Park.

In the great expanse of the North Woods, Fujita sought a more direct communion with nature.  His hermetical experiences in the deep wildernesses of northern Minnesota led him to craft some of the first Japanese poetry ever written in English.  “Nature and the drama in it are all the companions I need,” he wrote around 1921, when he first came to the Boundary Waters.  “There I shall do what I like best to do, read and write.  And I don’t propose to take another picture!”  He even thought about going farther north, to “the northern end of British Columbia, which I believe is the most beautiful country in the world.”

Fujita’s Minnesota cabin, on an island locals nicknamed “Jap Island,” thirty miles east of International Falls, is now on the National Register of Historic Places.  When he left, he was reluctant to say goodbye to it.

Fujita was a master of tanka, a minimalist genre of classical Japanese poetry.  Some of what he wrote at Rainy Lake, Minnesota, was published in book form in English in 1923 as Tanka: Poems in Exile.  The poet was deeply moved by glacial landscapes, sand dunes, and lakes, all of which he found in abundance in the Upper Midwest.  He could find them close to Chicago itself.  His earliest work from the North Woods shows how, once he returned to urban life, he could find a sympathetic landscape in the nearby Indiana Dunes:

Across the frozen marsh
The last bird has flown;
Save a few reeds
Nothing moves.

The air is still
And grasses are wet;
Thread-like rain
Screens the dunes.

As Denis Garrison, who has republished some of Fujita’s work, writes:  “The reader cannot help wondering if the things he saw as a photographer influenced Fujita as a poet, and likewise, if the way he understood poetry informed his photography.”  He writes about “death-like” expanses of snow, of snowdrifts where “thin fangs dart.”

What is tanka?

“Tanka are notable for their accessibility,” Garrison explains.  “Why?  Because most good tanka have ‘dreaming room.’  They have been composed with the technique of understatement, of suggestiveness, of openendedness.  Words and details which limit the universality of the tanka have been omitted with careful attention to what is not said.  What remains is a poem that is a framework upon which readers from widely different backgrounds can hang their own experiences and values and discover meaning, experience epiphany… Ambiguity is a positive value for tanka.”

Ironically, though Fujita often fled photography, spurning the frequent superficiality of the camera lens while seeking a deeper spirituality than anything photojournalism can provide, the “practice” of tanka, reverent and slow, is not antithetical to art made by cameras.  Tanka is a practice focused less on documenting and capturing — on “shooting” and “taking” (the violent basic vocabulary of photography in English is astounding) — than on further opening up the ambiguities of expression and the spirit.  Tanka, somewhat in the manner of Zen, seeks not answers but further questions.

As philosophers and word-lovers already know, there are two meanings of what we call “mystery” and “mysterious”.  A mystery can be an obscurity frustrating our understanding, something incapable of being known.  That mystery is something that we may obsessively try to “solve” or “capture,” as though it were part of the solution to a murder investigation.  Truth becomes a villain that we feel the need to apprehend.

The other kind of mystery is of something not unknown, but rather, saturated with meaning, a meaning too rich and full for the eye or the mind to master at a quick glance.  The two juxtaposed images from the Chicago Daily News —  V. Shoemaker and the silent film actress Mabel Normand —  are this kind of mystery, a laconic, photographic form of tanka perhaps, a silent mystery full of volumes of unspoken “story.”

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Jun Fujita’s cabin, Rainy Lake, Minnesota.  (NPS/Voyageurs National Park.)

By August 1934, Fujita and his companion, secretary and journalist Florence Carr, whom he could not legally marry until 1940 due to American laws against “race mixing,” had also bought six acres of land at Furnessville, Indiana, in the heart of the dunes.  The couple built a summer cottage there.  Jun and Florence’s cottage was described as “butterfly-shaped” and sat behind the house of Chicago artists Vin and Hazel Hannell, just west of the small Furnessville cemetery.

The lakeshore landscape of the Indiana Dunes had fired Fujita’s soul.  He spent much of the last thirty years of his life visiting Indiana’s Calumet region, where he wrote poetry, painted, and continued to photograph.  Fujita made some of the first color photographic prints of the woods, wildflowers, and surviving prairies of northwestern Indiana and northern Illinois.  These works were displayed at his Chicago art studio, which he kept open throughout the 1930s, and at the photo booth he operated at the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair.


“Furnessville, Ind.  The town that might have been.”  Chicago Daily Times, July 10, 1938.  (Courtesy Steven R. Shook Collection, Porter County GenWeb.)

Furnessville, Indiana, was important to Fujita for another reason.  During World War II, when the majority of Japanese Americans were sent to internment camps or kept under a close eye by police and even their own neighbors, it became a more permanent retreat for him.  The small Michigan Central railroad town, practically abandoned in the 1920s after the exhausted lumber industry collapsed and workers left the dune country for Chicago, was a perfect “hideout” of sorts during World War II.  Yet even “half-ghosted,” Furnessville continued to draw Chicagoans and had already begun a slow return as a seasonal artist’s colony.  Fujita and his wife Florence lived in Indiana off and on until at least 1958, four years after he was finally granted U.S. citizenship – through private sponsorship of a congressional bill.

Jun Fujita died on July 12, 1963.  His ashes were interred in the Japanese section of Chicago’s Graceland Cemetery.  Much of the land surrounding Furnessville, where he spent many of his last years, was included in Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore in the 1960s.  Sadly, the butterfly-shaped Fujita cottage is no longer standing.


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Photographer unknown.  Miss Miriam Mooney, a singer from Tennessee, Grant Park, Chicago, Illinois, c. 1917.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0003451. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.


“Mr. Miyamori” sitting in a room in Chicago, Illinois, 1905.  DN-0003141, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Count Michimasa Soyeshima of Tokyo, Japan, at a railroad station in Chicago, Illinois, 1925.  DN-0079174, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.

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Jun Fujita, photographer.  Benjamin Bachrach, Nathan Leopold, Jr., Richard Loeb, and Clarence Darrow during the Leopold and Loeb Sentencing Hearing, 1924.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0078021, Chicago History Museum.

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Elmer Fanter, the “Boy Murderer,” behind bars, March 2, 1915.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064142, Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

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Photographer unknown.  Margaret Sanger, birth control advocate.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0067907. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

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Photographer unknown.  Women’s suffrage parade, Grace Wilbur Trout leading women holding flags north on South Michigan Avenue, 1914.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0062630.  Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

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Photographer unknown.  Acting out a scene from Alice in Wonderland, c. 1917.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0068275.  Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

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Photographer unknown.  Children playing with an elephant from the Ringling Brothers Circus on April 20, 1917.   Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0067851. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

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Photographer unknown.  The schooner Arendal docked at Clark Street to deliver Christmas trees from Michigan.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0063691, Chicago History Museum.

Eastland disaster survivors and rescuers standing on hull of the steamer in the Chicago River, July 24, 1915. – See more at: http://blog.chicagohistory.org/index.php/2012/07/remembering-the-eastland/#sthash.77PXS024.dpuf
Eastland disaster survivors and rescuers standing on hull of the steamer in the Chicago River, July 24, 1915. – See more at: http://blog.chicagohistory.org/index.php/2012/07/remembering-the-eastland/#sthash.77PXS024.dpuf
Eastland disaster survivors and rescuers standing on hull of the steamer in the Chicago River, July 24, 1915. – See more at: http://blog.chicagohistory.org/index.php/2012/07/remembering-the-eastland/#sthash.77PXS024.dpuf

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Jun Fujita, photographer. The stern of the Eastland during the Eastland Disaster.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-i33115, Chicago History Museum.

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Harry Halvorsen, a diver in the Eastland disaster rescue efforts.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064999, Chicago History Museum.

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Jun Fujita, photographer.  Diver Harry Halvorsen, leaping off a ladder leaning against a quay.   Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0065178, Chicago History Museum.

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Female survivor of the Eastland disaster, wrapped in a blanket, standing on the upper deck of a boat on the Chicago River.   Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064947, Chicago History Museum.

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A boy who survived the Eastland capsize, wrapped in a man’s jacket.   Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064943, Chicago History Museum.

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Captain J. W. Petoskey, standing on deck of his rescue steamer on the Chicago River, July 24, 1915.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064846, Chicago History Museum.

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Eleanor Froelich, 2453 Thomas St., only survivor of family on Eastland.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064919, Chicago History Museum.

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Fireman cradling a dead baby whom he tried to rescue from the steamer.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064958, Chicago History Museum.

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Francis and Florian Nowak’s funeral procession, a man leading the procession.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064961, Chicago History Museum.

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Francis and Florian Nowak’s funeral procession, children carrying flowers precede the pallbearers, July 29, 1915.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0064961, Chicago History Museum.


Chinese-American track athlete Y.D. Wong of the University of Minnesota, at Stagg Field, University of Chicago, 1918.  SDN-061579, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Japanese tennis player Kumagae at a tennis club, 1916.  SDN-060898, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Waseda baseball players from Japan and University of Chicago’s Pat Page sitting on the bench on the sidelines during a game against the University of Chicago played at Marshall Field, 1911.  Marshall Field was renamed Stagg Field in 1915.  SDN-009433, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Japanese baseball captain S. Takanatsu, of the Waseda baseball team, standing on the field at Stagg Field, 1921.  SDN-062672, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Japanese baseball player Yamaguchi of the Waseda University baseball team at Stagg Field, 1911.  SDN-056698, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Baseball player, Omuru of Waseda University (Japan) sitting on the bench during game with University of Chicago.  SDN-009448, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Japanese baseball player Matsuda, Waseda team captain, and University of Chicago baseball captain Frank Collings shaking hands, 1911.  SDN-056703, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Chinese American Ida Mae Wong, Chicago, 1924.  DN-0077708B, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Dr Frederick Seville, with stethoscope, examining a nude Asian man, 1917.  DN-0068534, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Japanese wrestlers in Chicago, 1907.  SDN-053632, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Group portrait of policewomen in Chicago, Illinois.  The policewomen were selected by the Chicago Police Department to learn jujitsu, a form of Japanese wrestling.  March 1914.  DN-0062443, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.

cdnews - tom mix 1925

Actor Tom Mix and his wife, 1925.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0078991. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

cdnews - bull montana 1929

Movie actor Bull Montana, 1929.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0090125. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

chicago daily 34 massacre 1929

Jun Fujita, photographer.  St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, 2122 N. Clark St., Chicago, 1929. Chicago Daily News negatives collection, iChi-14406. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

chicago daily news 39 - capone

Jun Fujita, photographer.  Al Capone, Chicago, 1929.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0094672. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

chicago daily 37

Photographer unknown.  Chief of Detectives Captain James Mooney and Chief of Police Colonel John J. Garrity aim handguns for reporters inside a police station.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0072175. Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.

chicago daily news 8

Photographer unknown.  Mrs. William E. Dever holding a hatchet and standing next to a turkey, 1926.  Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0080759, Courtesy of Chicago History Museum.


Photographer unknown.  Studio of Lorado Taft, “Fountain of Time” sculpture, 1915.  DN-0064729, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Photographer unknown.  Young woman and young Asian man painting at Paw Paw Lake, Berrien County, Michigan, 1926.  DN-0081200, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Photographer unknown.  Japanese man, sitting with papers on his lap, surrounded by a Japanese boy and girl, October 4, 1915.  DN-0065243, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Photographer unknown.  Consul S. Yamasaki and his wife standing on a railroad platform, August 29, 1911.  DN-0057692, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.


Photographer unknown.  Three Chinese American children, Chicago, 1929.  DN-0089489, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum.