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Big Ideas: 1900–1945
The 20th century dawned here with all the glory of the first sunrise in Eden—and in many ways, its first 20 years still cast a long shadow over the present. The era’s flash point came in 1904, when 19.7 million people attended the World’s Fair and St. Louis became the first U.S. city to host the Olympics. The Saint Louis Art Museum and nascent Saint Louis Zoo were soon in place. The city’s 150th anniversary was grandly fêted in Forest Park in 1914; two years later the city welcomed the Democratic national convention. But all this progress came at a cost: Coal smoke had begun to choke Forest Park’s trees, and the city’s waste had turned the River des Peres into an open sewer. It would take some big reforms from some big personalities to keep the whole enterprise afloat ...Halsey C. Ives (1847–1911)
Who he was: Artist–turned–Wash. U. professor–turned–all-star civic arts player. Biggest roles: art department chair for the Chicago and St. Louis world’s fairs and first director of the City Art Museum. What he did: Offered free drawing classes at Wash. U. in 1875; the public ate them up and demanded something bigger; the St. Louis School and Museum of Fine Arts was born. Why it mattered: Because that, too, grew, splitting into two lasting institutions—the City Art Museum (later the Saint Louis Art Museum) and Wash. U.’s School of Art. Ives secured special tax support for the former, making St. Louis the first U.S. city to have a municipally funded art museum. The next time you walk into SLAM without paying a penny, think of Ives.
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John F. Queeny (1859–1933)
Who he was: Founder of Monsanto Chemical Works, named for his wife, née Olga Mendez Monsanto. What he did: Established the company in 1901 to manufacture saccharin—then got elbowed out by Coca-Cola and turned to developing plant-derived chemicals such as caffeine and aspirin. Began manufacturing polymers in the 1930s; later produced uranium for the Manhattan Project. The company has since spun off its plastics and pharmaceuticals divisions to focus on its pioneering discoveries in biotechnology. Why it mattered: Monsanto, now a multinational corporation with revenues of $7.3 billion in 2006, retains its world headquarters here and continues to survive environmentalists’ scrutiny of its growth hormones and genetically modified crops.
John F. Wixford (1861–1935)
Who he was: An eccentric chemist and forgotten—thanks to the petty politics that got him fired—local hero. What he did: Transformed the notoriously murky output of the city’s waterworks into sparkling streams just days before the opening of the 1904 World’s Fair. Why it mattered: Clarifying the water supply was the most important civic improvement effected in St. Louis during the Progressive Era, if not in the entire history of the city.
George Kessler (1862–1923)
Who he was: A landscape architect who threw himself into park plans for the World’s Fair, then moved here permanently in 1910. What he did: Came up with a well-defined, well-connected system for accessing the city’s 2,286 acres of parkland. Outlined “the Kingshighway” as a boulevard connecting Carondelet and Forest parks. Created a scenic riverside drive (Broadway) and a new parkway from Forest Park to the Mississippi. Why it mattered: Kessler believed that parks were vital for the “proper physical and moral development of a city’s population” and that spending money on parks was investing in the city’s future.
Dr. Malcolm Andrew Bliss (1863–1934)
Who he was: A “widely-known specialist in nervous ills” in the early 20th century. What he did: Campaigned in 1918 for zoning laws to restrict overly congested city neighborhoods, in order to save St. Louisians’ nervous systems “from the incessant blows of countless little hammers that never cease day or night.” Organized the Malcolm Bliss Psychopathic Institute, now Metropolitan St. Louis Psychiatric Center. Why it mattered: By the time Bliss died of a heart attack at his summer home (“Blisshaven”) at the age of 71, he was internationally famous. He could have had a lucrative private practice; instead, he dedicated his career to improving psychiatric care for patients without money.
William B. Ittner (1864–1936)
Who he was: An architect, born and reared in St. Louis. What he did: He brought an intuitive intelligence to the drawing board, designing 500 schools in all, 45 in St. Louis, and making sure each had what he considered essential: horizontality, light, ventilation, landscaping and cheer. Also designed the Continental Building, Missouri Athletic Club and the Scottish Rite Cathedral. Why it mattered: He understood that a building, inside and out, makes a difference in how a person learns, worships, conducts business, perceives beauty and heals.
Joseph “Holy Joe” Folk (1869–1923)
Who he was: A progressive circuit attorney who shocked St. Louis by living up to his campaign promises, becoming a symbol of moral reform in a frankly corrupt era. Evangelical Christians adored him. Politicians did not. What he did: “Vigorously uncovered and prosecuted scandalous examples of boodling,” as one reporter put it. Neutralized huge bribes for lucrative contracts to work on the streetcar lines and light the city’s dark, trashy streets. Made saloons obey the law. Why it mattered: “Equal rights to all, special privileges to none,” Folk urged, saying, “With this maxim as our chart, the infamies of privilege in every form can be destroyed.” He set St. Louis upright again.
William H. Danforth (1870–1956)
Who he was: Pet-food tycoon and author of the ubiquitous self-help classic I Dare You! What he did: After wearying of the seasonal nature of his first calling—the brick business—Danforth had the epiphany that “animals must eat the year round” and went into farm-feed manufacture in 1894. By the time of his death in 1956, Ralston Purina had become one of the world’s leading manufacturers of dog and cat crunchies, not to mention monkey chow. Their checker-board logo encapsulated Dan–forth’s philosophy of living a “four-fold life” that balances one’s physical, mental, social and religious pursuits. Why it mattered: Ralston Purina was one of the 100 largest corporations in the U.S. at its height, and it still ranks among the top 250. Though high-school seniors roll their eyes when handed a copy of I Dare You! as a graduation gift, William H. was on to something: his progeny include former Washington University chancellor Bill Danforth and Sen. John Danforth.
Tom Turpin (1873–1922)
Who he was: Dapper, dewlapped proprietor of the Rosebud Café, an early 20th-century tavern that became the center of ragtime music in America. What he did: In his early twenties, Thomas Million Turpin opened the Rosebud at 2220 Market, surrounded by gaming dens, “bawdy houses” and dance halls. At a time when longshoremen on the Mississippi made $18 a day, there was plenty of dough to fuel this little valley of vice, and Turpin supplied the jolly soundtrack. Why it mattered: Holding court in his saloon, banging out rags he composed on the premises with his legendarily heavy hands, Turpin helped spread what’s considered the first original American music. He also schooled some of ragtime’s greatest players and provided a steady venue for young musicians—including Scott Joplin.
Alice Martin Turner (1873–1973)
Who she was: A New Orleans–born impresaria, dancer and writer, revered alumna of and teacher at Mary Institute. What she did: Introduced Anna Pavlova and Isadora Duncan to St. Louis. Founded an acting company and a children’s theater group. Birthed, in 1913, the hesitation waltz, the one-step in waltz time, which won first prize in Paris. Helped found the waggish mag and gossip rag Much Ado (and was indicted for sending obscenity through the mail). Why she matters: Turner thumbed her nose at staid St. Louis and coaxed us into the 20th century.
Thomas Egan (1874–1919)
Who he was: A Fifth Ward Democratic committeeman who, with state Sen. Thomas “Snake” Kinney, led Egan’s Rats—one of the most ruthless gangs in Prohibition-era St. Louis. What he did: Bossed about 400 men from the Kerry Patch (Irish neighborhood), grooming them to bootleg whiskey, stick up banks and armored cars, shoot gangsters and terrorize polling places on election day. When Egan’s Rats went up against Jelly Roll Hogan’s gang, the death toll was 23. Why it mattered: Some trace St. Louis’ current political game board to the 1920s gangs, whose players pushed and slid the tokens around for decades.
Joseph Everett Mitchell (1876–1952) and William Mitchell (1878–1945)
Who they were: Idealistic, politically savvy brothers who saw the connection between language and power. What they did: Founded the St. Louis Argus in 1912, made the plates themselves, walked them to a church-owned printer and brought the newspapers back in a wheelbarrow. Refused to preach or moralize; urged their readers to fight for justice. Formed the Citizens Liberty League to formalize that fight and, in former U.S. Senator Bill Clay’s words, “put the party of Abraham Lincoln on notice that the passive, accommodating behavior of Negroes was a thing of the past.” Why it mattered: The Argus is a giant with 100 eyes, and its namesake was equally vigilant. The Mitchell brothers forced the Republican party to listen to blacks, and thanks to the league’s support, Charles Turpin became St. Louis’ first African-American elected official.
Wesley Winans Horner (1883–1958)
Who he was: Chief engineer for the city’s Board of Public Service; reinventor of the River des Peres. What he did: When a major storm hit the city in 1915, the River des Peres (by then a polluted, waste-filled cesspool of a river) overran its banks, sweeping away homes and killing 11 people. An embarrassed Mayor Henry Kiel quickly commissioned Horner to make sure this never happened again. Using rainfall and runoff data, Horner created a 10-part plan, lettered A-J, for rebuilding the river. This plan was approved in 1923 as part of what was then the largest city bond issue ever adopted in the United States. Why it mattered: By 1933 the river’s makeover was complete, sparing western and southern St. Louis the prospect of even more devastating floods—a neat, if less than elegant, solution.
David P. Wohl (1886–1960)
Who he was: Founder of Wohl Shoe Company and a major philanthropist. What he did: Made his fortune with Wohl Shoe (which he sold to Brown Shoe Company in 1951) and served as the director of the Mercantile bank and trust company. Retired to a new career—philanthropy. Donated to the Jewish Community Centers Association, the Girl Scouts and the Boy Scouts, Washington and Saint Louis Universities, whole handfuls of hospitals and cultural institutions—the list goes on. Why it mattered: The Wohl name is everywhere in this town: Girl Scouts at Camp Cedarledge in Pevely still get their meds at Wohl Lodge. Wash. U. students living in the dorms still get their meals at Wohl Center. And the center of life at the JCC is still the Carlyn H. Wohl Building.
Bernard F. Dickmann (1888–1971)
Who he was: A Marine veteran, real-estate broker and Exalted Ruler of the St. Louis Elks Lodge who shocked the city by winning the 1933 mayoral election—as a Democrat. St. Louis had been solidly Republican since 1909. What he did: Pushed through clean-air reforms, Homer G. Phillips Hospital and the decision to clear the riverfront and create a Jefferson memorial. Why it mattered: The smoke in the city was so thick that the 1927 holiday season was nicknamed “Black Christmas,” and by 1933 the aldermen had mandated coal-washing. Homer G. endeared Dickmann to the black community and solidified the Democrats’ advantage. And the Arch took 30 years to plan as it was; if Dickmann hadn’t started the ball rolling, we might still be dithering.
Sam (1888–1961) and Harold Koplar (1915–1985)
Who they were: A practical builder with a genius for numbers and an artistic son with a genius for people. What they did: Sam built the Chase Park Plaza Hotel, and Harold made it wildly fun and glamorous. Harold also founded KPLR and broadcast such classics as Wrestling at the Chase. Why it mattered: The Ritz is everywhere, the old Coronado’s gone and the new one’s not quite there yet. Every city needs a hotel of its own, one that’s both elegant and a tiny bit decadent. And today’s Chase is anchoring Maryland Plaza’s renaissance.
Harland Bartholomew (1889–1989)
Who he was: An engineer and urban planner who, as city planning commissioner from 1919 until 1950, inked the master plans that shaped 20th-century St. Louis. A Modernist and technocrat who lusted after clean efficiency, he had scant patience for tradition. What he did: Sliced highways through the city, trying to wipe out blighted areas. Organized downtown’s central business district. Made the Milles fountain and Babler Park happen. Pushed through zoning and reconfigured street patterns and land use (creating neighborhood parks, but destroying some of our finest historic homes). Why it mattered: Because he was all about cars. Bartholomew loved the future, and he made some brilliant changes (like recommending the Bi-State agency), but he was a tad cavalier about context and historic preservation.
Margaret G. Smith, M.D. (1896–1970)
Who she was: A pathologist who joined the Wash. U. faculty in 1929. What she did: Isolated two killer viruses: the salivary gland virus, which killed infants, and the St. Louis encephalitis virus. During the 1933 St. Louis encephalitis epidemic, she found a virus, undetectable even under a microscope, in victims’ corpses; in the 1937 epidemic, she traced the cause to a mite infesting first chickens and then children. Why it mattered: Simply put, she saved lives.
Jordan “Pop” Chambers (1897–1962)
Who he was: The father of black politics in St. Louis. Upon his death in 1962, President Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson both wired their sympathies to Chambers’ widow. What he did: Led African-American voters out of the Republican and into the Democratic party in the 1930s. His political philosophy was a precursor to the Black Power movement: He said African-
Americans needed to unify themselves economically and politically, rather than merely push for desegregation. He used his nightclub, The Riviera—where a very young Miles Davis performed—to make deals and maintain his political base. Why it mattered: He bum-rushed St. Louis’ white power structure, forcing local government to take a quantum leap.
Josephine Baker (1906–1975)
Who she was: Vaudeville star, Art Deco muse, clown, Queen of the Folies Bergères, French Resistance courier, adoptive mother to a “Rainbow Tribe” of 12, idealist, force of nature ... What she did: Helped ignite the Jazz Age in Europe with her sensual stage act at the Folies Bergères, where she danced in a girdle of bananas; after becoming one of Europe’s biggest stars, she used her fame to bolster the civil rights movement, returning to America to speak at the March on Washington alongside Martin Luther King Jr. She remarked that the crowd was “salt and pepper—just what it should be.” Why it mattered: Baker fled St. Louis because it represented “fear and humiliation” to her, but returned in 1952 to perform at the Kiel. The Post-Dispatch buried news of her performance on the crime pages, but she dazzled her small audience—and never performed in St. Louis again. Her refusal to play segregated venues was a powerful symbol for African-Americans—especially in her racially divided hometown.
Dizzy Dean (1910–1974)
Who he was: St. Louis Cardinals pitcher with a knack for a great quote: “It ain’t braggin’ if you can back it up”; “The doctor X-rayed my head and found nothing.” What he did: Dean led the N.L. in complete games in four consecutive seasons (1933–36), in strikeouts in four consecutive seasons (1932–35), in shutouts twice (1932 and 1934) and was voted MVP in 1934. Why it mattered: Because Diz was a legend, what Red Smith called a natural phenomenon, “like the Grand Canyon or the Great Barrier Reef.” Inducted into the Hall of Fame, Dean was the last pitcher to win 30 games until 1968. A member of the legendary Gashouse Gang, he epitomized the Cardinals’ glory days.
Oliver Lafayette Parks (1899–1985)
Who he was: Marine in WWI, car salesman, pilot (his first pilot rating, No. 6373, was signed by Orville Wright), Curtiss-Steinberg Airport director and partner, antique telephone collector. What he did: Back in 1927, when there were no government regs, “Lafe” Parks, realizing his own training as a pilot was shallow, established Parks Air College at Lambert Field. Motto: “Learning by Doing.” Faculty: one. In the late ’30s Parks convinced the Air Corps that his college could train combat pilots. In 1946 Parks gave his school to Saint Louis U. Why it mattered: The reputations of Parks, his school and his airport were solid reasons for St. Louis’ elevated place in aeronautics history. All the biggies—Lindbergh, Earhart and Wiley Post—flew into Curtiss-Steinberg, now St. Louis Downtown Airport. Parks College is the nation’s oldest federally certified school of aviation.
William Marion Reedy (1862–1920)
Who he was: Mound City’s H.L. Mencken ... before Mencken really was Mencken. What he did: Edited and published The Mirror (Reedy’s Mirror after 1913), a weekly magazine devoted to politics and the arts.Why it mattered: “What’s the Matter With St. Louis?” Reedy inquired in a famous 1899 essay by that title, blasting locals for their timidity about hosting a World’s Fair here. Between 1891 and Reedy’s death in 1920, his Mirror published such budding literary luminaries as Ezra Pound and outsold The Atlantic. When he mounted the bully pulpit regarding his hometown, though, the burly belletrist could rumble with Old Testament thunder. And St. Louis progressives, surprisingly, heeded his exhortations.
And we wish we’d never heard of …Wayne Wheelin, who wrote a circular used by The United Welfare Association to get a city law passed that would keep blacks out of white neighborhoods. The ordinance was never put into effect; nonetheless, it reinforced the bigotry that divided St. Louis’ neighborhoods.
Annie Turnbo Malone (1869–1957)
Who she was: “Beauty culturist” and inventor of the Poro System, the first beauty line made specifically for African-American women; it made her a millionaire several times over. What she did: Long before Avon Ladies, there were Poro Agents. In the early aughts, when black women were straightening their hair with scalp-damaging goose fat, Malone invented her “Wonderful Hair Straightener” and sold it door to door. A network of African-American women sold her products, and her empire stretched to Africa and the Philippines. Why it mattered: In an era when African-American women had few opportunities outside domestic work, Malone offered them a chance to become economically independent. Her multimillion-dollar Poro College of Beauty Culture, constructed in the Ville in 1917, had a gymnasium, roof garden, restaurant, theater, lecture hall and chapel; in its era, it was the center of black life in St. Louis.
Luther Ely Smith (1873–1951)
Who he was: A lawyer with a streak of idealism even the practice of law couldn’t erase. What he did: Fought for more than 30 years to transform the downtown riverfront—splotched with decrepit warehouses emptied by the shift from waterways to railroads—into a memorial to Thomas Jefferson’s westward expansionism. Died 12 years before we broke ground for the Arch. Why it mattered: His project succeeded, and it instantly branded—forgive the verb—St. Louis.
Dwight Davis (1879–1945)
Who he was: One of the era’s greatest tennis players, Davis established dozens of free tennis courts during his time as St. Louis parks commissioner—then leaped from civic politics to national prominence. What he did: Honed his skills growing up in St. Louis, founded the Davis Cup, captained the first U.S. Davis Cup team, represented the U.S. in the 1904 Olympics. Served as St. Louis parks commissioner from 1911 to 1916, then left to be U.S. Secretary of War; in 1929, was appointed governor-general of the Philippines. Why it mattered: The tennis courts he commissioned in St. Louis were the first municipal courts built in the United States, and he added baseball diamonds, golf courses and playgrounds to further this city’s finest civic tradition: free entertainment.
Where would we be without … Charles Lindbergh, who extracted enough money from local power brokers to buy himself a plane and let the whole world see the Spirit of St. Louis.
David R. Calhoun Jr. (1902–1974)
Who he was: A native with a firm grip on St. Louis politics, Calhoun used his salesmanship and connections to pull for progress. What he did: After rising through the ranks at Ely & Walker and Walker Textile (the “Walker” there is the same as in “George Walker Bush”), Calhoun sold himself into a new job: president of the St. Louis Union Trust Co. One of the original eight Civic Progress members, he was a major force behind the United Fund, the St. Louis Chamber of Commerce and numerous civic institutions. Why it mattered: Calhoun used his powers of persuasion for the good of the city. When two of his Jewish friends wished to join the St. Louis Club, he made it clear that either the Jews were in or he was out—and if he was out, he’d take everyone else with him. His friends got in.
The Rev. Alphonse Schwitalla, S.J. (1882–1965)
Who he was: Beloved dean of Saint Louis University’s medical school for 24 years—without a medical degree. (He held a Johns Hopkins Ph.D. in zoology.) What he did: Opened a school of nursing, organized the department of social services, built a new medical school and hospital—the latter at the height of the Great Depression—and helped create the Catholic Health Association. Why it mattered: Schwitalla almost single-handedly raised the standards of Catholic higher education. He was ahead of his time in urging volunteer and government partnerships, and he urged humanitarian health care for the poor.
