They look down from above, watching.
Gargoyles, demons and assorted grotesques decorate many of our older buildings, but unless you look up, you will not notice them. Stephen King, the master of the macabre, has called them “nightmares in the sky.”
Some of them wear an expressionless mask; others grimace, their faces locked in immortal agony, as if they have witnessed the horrors that the world can bring and wish to see no more.
The gargoyle is one of the more durable of architectural ornaments. It is an ancient symbol and one that elicits strong emotions in most of us.
“They’re fascinating to people,” says Maureen Dawson, retail and customer service manager at Design Toscano, a studio and store that specializes in gargoyles and other fantastic creatures. “There’s something fascinating in their creepiness.”
Gargoyles are associated primarily with Gothic architecture. During the Romanesque and Gothic periods in Europe, the Roman Catholic Church allowed many formerly pagan symbols to flourish. And flourish they did. Gothic architecture is a vibrant and vigorous style that veers toward the wild and the fantastic. Hence, Gothic gargoyles tend to be highly fanciful and otherworldly creatures. The rooftop gargoyles of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris are perhaps the most famous examples.
The word gargoyle is derived from the Old French gargouille, meaning throat or gullet. Traditionally, the gargoyle was supposed to ward off evil spirits (it’s no accident that workers recently placed a gargoyle atop the Oakland Bay Bridge-the same bridge that was damaged during the 1989 earthquake), but they also served a utilitarian function-waterspouts designed to divert water away from cathedral walls.
During the latter half of the 19th Century, a neo-Gothic revival swept across America. All manner of decoration graced the facades of public and residential buildings in such cities as New York, Philadelphia, Boston and Chicago.
Whether stone, cast concrete, terra cotta, metal or brick, “ornament adds an element of visual interest, some personality to the building certainly,” says Alice Sinkevitch, chief editor of the “AIA Guide to Chicago” (by the American Institute of Architects; Harcourt Brace, $22.95).
“Chicago has an incredibly rich palette (of ornamental architecture), a variety that you just don’t get in other places,” says Sinkevitch.
During the late 19th Century, Chicago was home to many fine European craftsmen, who brought with them knowledge of their native lands’ myths and folklore. Some of the creatures that populated these myths and stories undoubtedly made their way to the buildings in the form of stone faces or fantastic creatures.
During this time, too, the city became a leader in the manufacture of architectural ornament-the Northwestern Terra Cotta Co., founded in 1877, created many exquisite designs. Also, the popularity of the classically influenced buildings of the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893, says Sinkevitch, led to increased interest in traditional ornament.
Gargoyles aren’t the only stone creatures found on buildings, however. Griffins and cherubs are among the other icons of ornamental architecture. Griffins, a combination of lion and eagle, were believed to have magical powers. They were the sentinels of kings. Cherubs, on the other hand, were angelic winged spirits thought to be messengers of gods. They were associated with lyric and love poetry.
Another ancient symbol, and one that is perhaps the least known, is the Green Man. The Green Man usually is a male head surrounded by shrubbery. His hair can be made of leaves; sometimes vegetation grows from his mouth. The Green Man is the ancient pagan symbol of renewal and resurrection and is linked, according to some sources, to the Celtic cult of the human head.
The image of the Green Man has become secularized over the centuries and now he symbolizes inspiration and learning. He became a particular favorite with turn-of-the-century Chicago, and many buildings from that era contain variations on the Green Man theme. One of the best examples is the Tree Studios building on Ontario Street. The face is a wise one, the pose serene.
Other places to check: a cheery Green Man at 1620 N. LaSalle St.; a Green Man at 208 W. Willow St. in the cobblestoned courtyard behind Nookies restaurant in Old Town; a bearded Green Man at Thalia Hall, 1807 S. Allport St.
It is the gargoyle, however, that captures our imagination the most. The best places to find gargoyles are in neighborhoods where older buildings still stand, in the heart of the Loop, on churches or on university campuses. There’s also an element of serendipity involved. You’re never quite sure where they might turn up next.
Most of the gargoyles we’ve chosen here can be viewed at eye level. Others may require a powerful telephoto lens or, better yet, a pair of binoculars.
One of the best concentrations of gargoyles is on the campus of the University of Chicago. Gargoyles and grotesques, demons and dragons, angels and cherubs and all manner of fanciful creatures peer down from the gables and turrets of the gray Gothic towers.
Many of the buildings were modeled after the spires and towers of Cambridge and Oxford in England. The designers of the university here thought Gothic architecture to be both noble and enlightening; in other words, a worthy style for a university campus.
In particular, watch out for the gargoyles on the octagonal tower of Rosenwald Hall; the impish grotesque on Wieboldt Hall, reportedly modeled after a similar creature in Lincoln Cathedral, England; or the jutting gargoyles of Ryerson Laboratory.
Best of all are the series of magnificent winged griffins on Cobb Gate across the street from the Regenstein Library on 57th Street.
Many of the older buildings in the Loop and Near North Side are also good places to go gargoyle hunting. A series of menacing faces decorates the Manhattan Building at 431 S. Dearborn St. Look straight up. You can’t miss them. Farther north, off Michigan Avenue, a demonic face with a lascivious grin watches over the entrance to the Richmont Hotel at 162 E. Ontario St.
The courtyard of the Archbishop Quigley Preparatory Seminary, at Rush and Chestnut streets, has a wonderful selection of flying gargoyles. It’s the next best thing to visiting Notre Dame in Paris. The faces are remarkably expressive. On sunny days, their winged bodies cast a long and eerie shadow. Look up as you enter the courtyard to see a pair of grinning gargoyles, one on each side.
One of the most frightening gargoyles, because of its snarling expression, is in the courtyard of Pars Cafe, a Mediterranean restaurant at 435 W. Diversey Pkwy., near Sheridan Road.
Some building owners have gone to great lengths to add a gargoyle to their property. The residential building at 617 W. Fullerton Pkwy. was constructed in the 1890s. Perched high atop a pitched roof is a gargoyle with chains and outspread wings. About 30 years ago, the owner of the building, Douglas Mackay, saw a “magnificent” gargoyle in a “dumpy neighborhood bar” near the intersection of Fullerton, Ashland Avenue and Clybourn Avenue. Mackay was intent on buying it but before he did, it disappeared.
Sulking over his loss, Mackay shared his tale of woe with his friends who, generously, decided to band together to buy him another one. Mackay then hired a contractor to install the gargoyle on his roof-no easy feat because it required scaffolding to do it.
Ultimately, time and the extremes of Chicago weather eroded the beast, and Mackay was forced to replace it. It is this second gargoyle, which weighs in at 450 pounds, that sits precariously on his roof today. To protect it from the elements, Mackay coated it with a fiberglass compound. He checks its condition every spring.
Even in today’s increasingly secular and rational world, the gargoyle still wields considerable power over our collective imagination. The gargoyle is the stuff of nightmares, of images culled from both pop and ancient culture. The renewed popularity of this most primitive of icons reflects our seemingly insatiable interest in the weird, the fantastic, the bizarre.
So next time you walk by an old building, look up. You may be surprised at what you see-and, perhaps, what sees you.
