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 16  That Little Feldman Girl THE WORLD’S FAIR OF 1893 REPRESENTED THE STELLAR TRIUMPH of commerce, industry, the arts and sciences, and humanity’s progress as it marched toward the dawn of a new century. For six glorious months that year, the magnificence of the white alabaster buildings in all their splendor revealed Chicago to the world as much more than a clogged metropolis of smokestacks, slaughterhouses, and odious politicians. And that was the hope of the exposition planners, the clubmen, and the grandes dames of Chicago society looking to reshape a city in the muck into a “White City,” one that would astound the world’s visitors and transcend the ages in their memory. Not even this delightful interlude, played out along this stretch of south lakefront in Jackson Park, could entirely erase thoughts of the omnipresent crime, political corruption, and filth of the city streets existing outside the dreamlike idyll of the fairgrounds. The horror of urban living and the malignant nature of gaslight-era Chicago politics brought these issues into sharper focus and would forever silence the pageantry, the brass bands, and the fireworks overhead, with the sharp crack of the assassin’s bullet echoing across the city on Saturday evening, October 28, 1893. Earlier that morning, Carter Harrison delivered the most memorable oration of his long career to several hundred U.S. mayors seated inside the Jackson Park Music Hall. Pacing the stage for added dramatic effect, he extolled the accomplishments of his city. Looking ahead prophetically, and tragically, to the future, he said, “Genius is audacity and the audacity of Chicago has chosen a star.” The mayor beamed, speaking the very words etched upon the base of his statue that would one day be erected in Union Park. “It has looked upward to it, and knows nothing that it fears to attempt, and thus far has found nothing that it can’t accomplish. I intend to live for half a 190 That Little Feldman Girl 191 century yet,” he added, undoubtedly a sly reference to his upcoming nuptials with Miss Annie Howard, a twenty-five-year-old heiress from New Orleans who was making final preparations to exchange vows with the mayor in less than thirty days. “I myself have taken a new lease on life. I shall live to see the day when even London shall be looking to its laurels.”1 Turning to Alderman John McGillen and other machine men, John Powers whispered, “The old man is at his best this morning!” Alderman Coughlin agreed. “See how straight the old man holds himself!” Then the mayor of Philadelphia arose from his chair and proposed, “Three cheers for Mayor Carter Harrison!” The assembled dignitaries arose from their chairs and gave him a thunderous ovation. Wearing a new red necktie and a gray suit, Harrison exited the stage, his face smiling broadly. It was Chicago Day, one of the important closing events of the fair. The mayor spent the entire afternoon enjoying the sites and sounds of the world’s fair, before returning to his Ashland Boulevard residence, exhausted but otherwise satisfied by the day’s events. After dinner, Harrison settled into his study, asking not to be disturbed unless the matter was of importance. Around 8:00 p.m. the mayor was summoned to the vestibule of the home to receive a visitor—a disheveled, ragged looking youth of twenty-five, named Patrick Eugene Prendergast, who said he had a “scheme to elevate the railroad tracks” of Chicago. It was one of the most bitterly contested issues of the day. Prendergast , who read law books despite the lack of a formal education and a menial job—he was employed as a newspaper distributor for the Inter-Ocean and Post by day—spoke endlessly about the subject to his immigrant mother in their dismal little hovel on Jane Street. Like Charles Guiteau, the delusional psychotic who assassinated President James A. Garfield in 1881 because he believed he was entitled to a position in the cabinet, Prendergast was convinced that Harrison had already guaranteed him an appointment as corporation counsel in order for him to see his “scheme” through. Prendergast circulated among the ward characters, office seekers, and politicians in city hall but was ridiculed and dismissed as a crank. Likely he had made contact with Harrison and badgered the mayor for a meeting to present his plan. At 2:00 that fateful afternoon, Prendergast purchased a .32 caliber HarringtonRichardson six-shooter from a shoemaker...

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