Growing up, my mother lived in a home that carried whispers of greatness and a legacy of transformation. This home was originally owned by Philip M. Klutznick, a name synonymous with the grand suburban expansion of the Chicago, Illinois, and the shaping of the Cicero suburb of Chicago. Klutznick’s visionary developments changed the landscape of the area, and within the walls of his home, my mother’s childhood unfolded. From that house she went to school with the “Mellon” sister. maybe better know as the “Mellon Bank” then the family that owned it.
My mother’s mother had married Samuel Gerkin, the chief accountant for Klutznick. Samuel, whom my mother lovingly referred to as “Papa,” had acquired the large house on Nagle after Klutznick moved on to new ventures. This home, filled with history and elegance, became a cornerstone of our family’s story.
When my grandmother passed away, the task of clearing the estate fell to me. I drove to Chicago, my mind swirling with memories and the weight of responsibility. Among the many items that filled the house, two stood out as treasures of significance: a painting and a bar. These weren’t just objects; they were pieces of our family history, each with a story of its own.
The painting, in particular, held a remarkable provenance. I had known its history since I was young, a tale often recounted during family gatherings. My grandfather, Samuel Gerkin, had been instrumental in the financial rescue of Marshall Field’s great urban expansion at the same time as the Suburban movement. This iconic department store faced turbulent times, and my grandfather’s role as the lead accountant was crucial in stabilizing its future icluding a loan from JKF Sr!.
During this tumultuous period, the daughter of Marshall Field’s president was married to Xavier Cugat, a name that carried its own fame. However, their marriage ended dramatically, a saga that was well known in social circles. One day, my grandfather walked into his boss’s office amidst a storm of emotions. The privileged and prominent women had walked in on her husband inflagranti with with the entertainer María Rosario Pilar Martínez Molina Baeza know to most as, Charo the Cuchi-Cuchi Girl!
The president’s daughter, furious and resolute, was in the process of discarding all reminders of her estranged husband, including a large original painting by Francesc Coradel Cugat, Xavier’s brother.
As she prepared to destroy the artwork, my grandfather intervened. He pleaded with her not to ruin the piece, recognizing its value and beauty. His calm persuasion won her over, and he brought the painting home. For years, it graced the walls of my grandmother’s grand residence, a silent witness to our family’s history and heritage.
Now, this painting hangs in my home, a constant reminder of the stories and legacies passed down through generations. It represents resilience, the power of intervention, and the rich tapestry of our family’s journey. Each time I look at it, I am transported back to those days of grandeur and drama, and I feel connected to the lives and experiences that shaped who we are today.
The bar, though less storied than the painting, carries its own unique significance, steeped in intrigue and mystery. My grandmother’s best friend was married to a Chicago mobster, a man whose presence loomed large in our family’s lore. He had a side-door key to our home and a room in the basement for when he was “hot.” He used the alley entrance and garage to slip in unannounced, a shadowy figure moving through the night.
I was never told what exactly he did, only that he was a man of considerable influence and danger. His clandestine visits were marked by the presence of his own bar, a symbol of his need for both luxury and secrecy. This bar, stocked with top-end liquor, was his personal retreat. Among the rare bottles that filled its shelves was Victoria Vat, a high-end Dewar’s that spoke of sophistication and exclusivity.
When I found the bar, it was still stocked with this rare whiskey. Bringing it home felt like inheriting a piece of clandestine history. The Victoria Vat is long gone, enjoyed in moments of reflection and celebration, but the bar remains. It stands in my home, a testament to the colorful and enigmatic characters that pepper our family’s past.
This bar, with its polished wood and gleaming surfaces, is more than just a piece of furniture. It is a relic of a time when the lines between legality and illegality blurred, when friendships and loyalties were tested in the shadows. Each time I look at it, I am reminded of the stories whispered in secret, the alliances forged in the dim glow of its lights.
It serves as a gathering place, much like it did in my grandmother’s home, where family and friends come together to share stories and create new memories. It is a link to our past, a bridge between generations, and a reminder of the complexity and richness of our family’s history.
