The Daley Dynasty: Irish American Influence in the City of Chicago
“If a man ever reflected a city, it was Richard J. Daley and Chicago. In some ways, he was this town at its best—strong, hard-driving, working feverishly, pushing, building, driven by ambitions so big they seemed Texas-boastful. In other ways, he was this city at its worst—arrogant, crude, conniving, ruthless, suspicious, intolerant. He was raucous, sentimental, hot-tempered, practical, simple, devious, big, and powerful. This is, after all, Chicago” (Royko 1988:5).
Making a Machine
John Patrick Hopkins became Chicago’s first Irish-American mayor in 1893, setting a precedent for the next century of Chicago’s municipal politics. Since Hopkins’ inauguration, Chicago has elected eleven additional Irish mayors. The dynamic dozen controlled City Hall for more than 8 decades (Skerrett 2005). Autocratic, aggressive, and resourceful, these mayors reinforced the definitions of “Political Machines” and scheming City Bosses. The most powerful of them all was Richard J. Daley, a fervent Irish-Catholic who fought his way to the top and enjoyed more than 20 years in office (Royko 7). In his domineering, blunt, and pragmatic way, Richard J. Daley of Bridgeport has come to epitomize both the Democratic Machine and the politicking Irish American — two undeniable trademarks of Chicago.
The Catholic Church
Sociologist Emile Durkheim stressed religion as vital to the understanding of society and culture. Durkheim argued that religion provided “the basis for all categories of thinking, all essential ideas” (Griswold 2013:51). To understand Daley, one must understand the holy places he frequented. Embracing Durkheim’s ideology, I have chosen to concentrate much of my study on several well-known Catholic churches within the city limits.
Nativity of Our Lord
Daley was a pious man. He started his day in faith. It is aptly fitting that I start my visit to Bridgeport, the neighborhood Daley grew up in, in much the same way. Upon my arrival at the Sox-35th platform, I head immediately for Nativity of Our Lord about a mile west. The church and Bridgeport Catholic Academy (its adjoining parochial school) are nestled among rows of private residences. I attempt to enter the church through its main doors facing 37th street, but am disappointed to find that all sets are locked. Perplexed but nevertheless determined to see this church, I stumble upon Nativity’s offices tucked behind the east side of the building. I am greeted by Lillian Buckley, the Development Director at the Academy, who ushers me into the foyer and inquires how she can help me. Ms. Buckley explains that the church is locked during the week to avoid any vandalism, and will only be reopened again for Friday night mass. Her associates recommend that I return the next evening when facilities are open to the public.
After seeing my disappointment and learning about the academic purpose of my visit, Ms. Buckley offers to give me a private tour of the church instead. She recounts some history of Nativity of Our Lord. Founded in 1886, it is one of the oldest Catholic churches in Chicago (personal interview 2015). Though the neighborhood has changed, the church has remained a constant in Bridgeport for more than a century. The church is treasured for its elaborate stained glass windows and traditional architecture. Ms. Buckley highlights the colorful vignettes that hang above the altar. They depict the Five Joyful Mysteries of the Catholic Church and were hand-painted by inmates of Cook County Jail.
Married in this church in 1973, Ms. Buckley has witnessed Nativity’s demographic transformation through the decades. She explains that nearly one-third of students in the parochial school today identify as Hispanic and that the church increasingly services Korean, Hispanic, and African-American families. Irish ethnic presence has dwindled. I asked if church attendance would swell this weekend, given the approaching St. Patrick holiday. “No,” she shrugged, “It will be another typical weekend. We expect the usual attendance. In fact, we hosted our holiday dinner and fundraiser several weeks ago” (personal interview 2015).
Mayor Daley would not recognize the church he frequented for so many years. He was baptized here, he got married here, and he attended holiday services here. Daley even graduated from Nativity’s elementary school. A picture of his graduating class hangs prominently in the cafeteria. Due to budget constraints and declining attendance, many of the parochial schools in Bridgeport have since been consolidated into Nativity’s facilities. This is reflected in the school’s name change to Bridgeport Catholic Academy.
Despite the dramatic shift in church demographics and a declining Irish presence, Ms. Buckley notes one constant throughout her 40 years with the church. The Daley family has always been incredibly generous. John Daley, one of the youngest sons, maintains an active role in the church as member of the Finance Council. Nativity of our Lord is partially funded by generous donations on behalf of the Daley family.
St. Peter’s Church
Another day of fieldwork brings me to St. Peter’s Church, a prominent Catholic Church in Chicago’s Loop where Daley made his pilgrimage each weekday morning. Even on a blustery Saturday afternoon, several dozen people are scattered throughout the pews. It is dimly lit and remarkably quiet; faint overtures of a Catholic hymn echo within the hallowed space. Sunshine streams through stained-glass windows and casts shadows along the stone floor. A marble shrine to the Virgin Mary is tucked away in the corner. Directly opposite the shrine is the confession box — a trademark of the Catholic Church. It remains an important religious indicator in Catholicism, a place where one asks for penance and verbally distinguishes between the sacred and the profane (Carroll 2015; Griswold 2013: 52). This Catholic tradition defies the privatized notion of religion in America. It is a reminder that the Catholic Church is a powerful intermediary between man and God.
Raised as a Catholic, I am familiar with much of the standard doctrine and practices of this church. When I enter, I walk to the vessel of holy water at the foreground and perform the Sign of the Cross. I again perform the sign as I genuflect before entering a pew. The Sign of the Cross and genuflection are emblematic of many of the values of the Catholic Church. They reinforce tradition, obedience, and respect.
Much like the Catholic Church, Daley liked routine. He attended daily mass, remained loyal to his wife (somewhat of an anomaly in Illinois politics), and worked tirelessly to drive the Machine. He refused to abandon tradition during changing social and political climates of the 1960s — even when he had the opportunity to embrace the civil rights movement or hasten racial integration in Chicago. He preserved tradition by surrounding himself with Bridgeport’s finest. Some might call it nepotism, but Daley didn’t see it that way. Daley’s leadership mirrored the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. Daley — the father — dictated absolutely. His myriad of loyal municipal employees (boyhood friends and Bridgeport natives) carried out each almighty decree. From the fifth-floor of City Hall, Daley doled out his own forms of penance: those who fell out of favor or jeopardized his monopoly were re-slated that coming election season (Royko 1988:38) Daley constructed a house of worship and acquired his own disciples. The loyal were rewarded and the unfaithful were punished. Daley’s Catholic values and workplace values became inseparable; tradition, respect, and obedience reigned supreme.
Bridgeport
Daley hailed from the neighborhood of Bridgeport, a blue-collar, union-heavy neighborhood just south of the Loop. Nicknamed the “Cabbage Patch” for the abundance of cabbage growing in private gardens, Bridgeport earned notoriety for its exclusivity and its alleged ethnocentrism (Royko 1988: 32). News journalist and Chicago native Mike Royko writes, “It was a community that drank out of the beer pail and ate out of the lunch bucket. It had as many Catholic schools as public schools, and the enrollment at the parochial schools was always bigger” (Ibid 33). Bridgeport was white, religious, and proud. To outsiders, “the name itself signaled hostility, whiteness, and power” (Boyd 2000:113). The community had been at the center of racially charged protests for much of the mid-twentieth century (Royko 1988:134-136).
Over the last few decades, Bridgeport has seen a significant shift in demographics. It no longer claims such a definitive, haughty edge. On a recent trip to Bridgeport, I observe this new diversity in the central commercial area of the neighborhood. Here Irish icons are clearly outnumbered by symbols of Mexican, Korean, and African-American heritage. Storefronts along Halsted Street boast authentic Gyros, trendy clothing, and the best tacos in the neighborhood. Despite this ethnic eclecticism, Bridgeport is united by a common language—baseball. White Sox signs adorn most doors or windows down Halsted; restaurants highlight their unique game-day specials.
Further from the main streets of Bridgeport, I find a few reminders of the neighborhood’s Irish past. The Irish presence is concentrated within a two-block radius of Mayor Daley’s former Bridgeport abode. Here residents have pasted Leprechauns, shamrocks, and pots of gold on their front windows. St. Patrick’s Day is just around the corner, and the Irish families still left in Bridgeport seem to take great pains to celebrate it. Daley’s former home (one of the nicest on the block) is tastefully decorated with a St. Patrick’s themed-wreath. The American and Chicago flags flutter proudly in the front yard. I take note of the campaign signs staked in the front yard: “Elect Patrick D. Thompson: 11th Ward Alderman” (Dardick 2015). In fact, they are in every front yard down the entire block. Upon further research I discover that the “D” in Thompson’s name is short for Daley (ibid). Not only is Thompson the grandson of Mayor Daley, he is also the owner of this home. He is looking to transition from the his private practice as a real estate attorney into a more political role, and is making a bid in the 11th ward. He is favored in the upcoming election. Considering his family history, one can assume that this is only Thompson’s first step on the way to the top. Bridgeport’s Daley dynasty is quiet, but still going strong.
St. Patrick’s Day
The United States is often described as a “melting pot” of ethnicity, race, and beliefs. The annual St. Patrick’s Day festivities transform this melting pot into a pot of gold. Rivers, blood, and beer flow green. Everyone embraces the luck of the Irish. St. Patrick’s Day’s adoption from a sacred Irish-Catholic holiday to a secular, spirited party offers a glimpse into the changing dynamics of Irish identity in the City of Chicago.
The holiday began as a day to honor Saint Patrick for driving the snakes out of Ireland and delivering the pagan Irish to the threshold of Christianity (Durkin 1997:5). The ethno-religious celebration took on grand proportions in the late-twentieth century when Irish immigrants arrived in America (Gans 1994:580). For families whom endured the hardships of the potato famine, the opulent ceremony, grand buffets, and street-side fanfare were highlights of the much-anticipated celebration.
Previously contained to the South Side, the holiday was later embraced by the larger Chicago community. In 1956, Mayor J. Daley issued a permit for the parade to follow a northern route along Columbus Drive. Since then, the parade has grown in both popularity and prominence. It is an important cultural symbol for the Irish. Gaelic music and traditional dancing are an ode to Irish ancestry. Green beer and early-morning bar crawls exemplify the ascribed identity of the rowdy “Fighting Irish” (Carroll 2015). Most importantly, the parade is a testament to Irish power in municipal politics. It is one of the few ethnic parades where Chicagoans mingle among police chiefs, judges, and politicians. The Mayor always makes an appearance.
The 2015 celebration is no different.
Packed into the balcony of Old Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, I am granted a bird’s eye view of the pews below. Civilians chatter in their seats while city officials meander to the reserved sections at the front of the church. In his opening remarks, Father Thomas Hurley welcomes some of the more prominent figures in the crowd this Saturday morning: members of the Chicago Journeymen Plumbers Union and the St. Patrick’s Court, Governor Bruce Rauner, and Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel. When he is finished with his proper greetings, the 30-person choir behind him breaks into a beautiful version of “Bearing Love of Christ to All”. The mass is conducted with impressive, precise, and jubilant flair. It embraces many aspects of a typical Catholic mass, but includes Irish aspects as well. Many of the speakers have strong Irish connections; their thick accents charm the audience throughout the morning. In the concluding rites, Bishop Raymond Goedert remarks, “You’re either Irish or you want to be Irish”. This earns him a standing ovation from the congenial crowd.
After mass, first floor attendees are shepherded to the front steps of the church where a group photo is immediately captured — Mayor, fire chiefs, and bagpipers in tow. In her sociological commentary on Saint Patrick’s Day in Chicago, Eileen Durkin writes, “While known primarily for ‘The Mass,’ Saint Patrick’s has hosted festivities both sacred and secular where almost imperceptibly the religious ceremony ends and the community celebration takes over” (Durkin 1997:4). The line between sacred and secular is blurred. This suggests the holiday’s political significance: leaders have implied that the originally religious holiday is worthy of a civil celebration by the whole community. This can be explained by several factors.
First, the Catholic Church held a strong presence in Chicago for much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The Archdiocese wielded considerable power and united ethnic groups such as Italians, Irish, and Polish. Many European ethnic groups have rallied around the Catholic church, so it makes sense that they would permit this holiday and even join in the celebration. Secondly, the Irish were often credited with building Chicago. The first wave immigrated to the city to build canals and railroad lines. Future generations went on to work for the Police Department, Fire Department, and other municipal divisions. They helped mold the city. Ultimately, the Irish’s biggest advantage stemmed from a genetic disposition. They were white. This was incredibly beneficial in a city as polarized as Chicago. The Irish never faced a “coercive pluralism” the way other minorities groups did (Livezey 2001:50). Their ethno-religious values were compatible with those of the Chicago elite. Sociologist Karl Marx proclaimed that society’s ruling ideas reflected the ideas of the ruling class (Griswold 2013:30). If Marx’s theory holds true, this explains why the Irish fluidly transitioned from blue-collar laborers to political aristocracy.
The Dynasty in Decline
At the height of his tenure, Mayor Daley was described as “the most powerful political leader in Illinois history, and, with the exception of the president, the most powerful politician in the country” (Royko 1988:125). Daley would be the last of his kind. The death of Mayor J. Daley in 1976 signified the end of American “City Bosses” and the unquestioned usurpation of municipal power. Sequential mayors never attained the same authority that Daley exercised. The powerful communal, religious, and ethnic ties that propelled him to office no longer exist absolutely in Chicago neighborhoods. Besides, our modern interpretation of government emphasizes meritocracy over nepotism, equality over elitism, and transparency over efficiency. In retrospect, Richard J. Daley was both a man of his time and a man for the ages.
Conclusion
I hail from a proud Irish-Catholic family. Fleeing the plight of the potato famine, my great-great-grandparents immigrated to the Irish ghetto of Philadelphia in the mid-nineteenth century. They worked to shed the Irish stereotype and establish a better life for their children. Within a decade, they had secured enough money to move from the Irish ghetto to a small apartment on the fringes of the city. The next generation enjoyed even more prosperity.
Richard J. Daley (of even stronger Irish descent) and his clan rose from slaughterhouse butchers and railroad laborers to economic and political headliners. His story fascinates me. Daley appears to be the ultimate American success story — but many underlying factors certainly improved his chances along the way.
In the freshman seminar at Northwestern University, Visual Sociology of Chicago, my final project was to investigate a sociological topic of my choice. The topic needed to focus on the interaction among religion, ethnicity, and race. I jumped at the chance to learn more about Daley and Irish-Americans in Chicago.
Those who fail to understand the past are doomed to repeat it, as the idiom muses. My sociological study of Richard J. Daley’s rise to power through ethnic, religious, and communal factors offers an interesting — albeit limited — take on how Daley rose to the top. It also helps to explain some of the internal dynamics of notoriously corrupt Chicago politics. By offering a glimpse into the past, I hope my study can provide context to the city’s current political turmoil and how it came to be.
References
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Buckley, Lillian. 2015. Interview by author, Chicago, IL, March 12.
Carroll, Christopher. 2015. Visual Sociology of Chicago First-Year Seminar. Lecture: Spring Quarter 2015. Northwestern University: Evanston, IL
Dardick, H. 2015, February 4. 11th Ward hopeful labors to grow the Daley legacy. Chicago Tribune.
Durkin, E. 1997. Saint Patrick’s Day at Saint Patrick’s Church. In E. Skerrett (Ed.), At the Crossroads: Old Saint Patrick’s and the Chicago Irish (pp. 1–19). Chicago: Loyola Press.
Gans, H. J. 1994. Symbolic ethnicity and symbolic religiosity: towards a comparison of ethnic and religious acculturation. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 17(4), 578–592.
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Livezey, L. W. 2000. Communties and Enclaves: Where Jews, Hindus, Christians and Muslims Share The Neighborhoods. In Public Religion and Urban Transformatio: Faith in the City (pp. 45–70). New York University.
Richard J. Daley views skyline in 1966 from atop then-new Daley Center. [Photograph]. UIC Library Special Collections. 2013.
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