This is Chicago, a fine, wonderful city, focal point of many huge industries and birthplace of the skyscraper.
The producers and distributors of this film want to make it clear that we do not wish, nor do we intend to hurt any person or persons who by chance may appear in this documentary film.
There are hundreds of fine towns and cities throughout the United States, and most of them have their own dirty backyards, cancerous outgrowths known as skid rows.
It is not our desire to suggest that persons appearing in this film are following the abnormal way of life.
However, many persons in many, many cities and towns are unfortunately living a life that is not healthy and is not acceptable to the community at large.
If our film, Skid Row, can point the way to a more normal way of life, and if it will help a few back into the sunshine from the shadows, then we have accomplished our purpose.
I wish to thank all the officials of the county, the state, and the city who have helped make this film possible.
I wish to thank Commissioner Prendergast, Dr.
Harry Hoffman, Dr.
R .W.
McNeely, Dr.
Ivy, and Dr.
Carlson, Coroner Brody, Mr.
Malota, Mrs.
Dee Lee Colvin and her associates of the WCTU, and Mr.
Fred Squires of the American Businessmen's Research Foundation, and also of the WCTU.
Here then is our picture, a factual film nine weeks in the making, shooting on the spot without professional actors and without a pre -arranged script.
Chicago is a great city, a city of great boulevards and lovely parks, a colorful city filled with pomp and circumstance.
Along Michigan Boulevard, we see high officials of the Army, the Navy, the Marine Corps, and of civilian life reviewing a parade on Chicago's great Michigan Boulevard.
About 30 miles north of Chicago, we have our grand suburbs, Highland Park, Evanston, Winnetka, Wilmette, and others.
Here we have fine clubs, which perhaps suggest the right way of life, a fine way of life for a few, a few very fortunate people.
Unfortunately, Chicago has a dirty backyard, and that dirty backyard is known as Skid Row.
Skid Row represents a way of life that most certainly should be cleaned up, an appendage that acquires for swift amputation.
Industry would like to take the skids from under Skid Row and put to work all the West Madison Street characters who inhabit that colorful community on the near west side of Chicago.
It has been estimated that there are about 65 ,000 characters on West Madison Street who spend most of their time, most of their waking hours in the process of seeing how drunk they can get.
It has been estimated that five percent of these men cannot be rehabilitated, the rest can be, and over a period of 10 years, if these men could be rehabilitated and put to work, it would represent an earning power of one billion dollars or one hundred million dollars a year.
The shiny neon signs seem rather anemic when contrasted to the Salvation Army signs on West Madison Street.
The Army, like many other institutions, is trying hard to clean up West Madison Street.
Here inside the Army headquarters on West Madison Street, we see men taking the pledge.
How long will they keep this pledge? I don't know.
Maybe a day, maybe two days, maybe a year, in some cases for a lifetime.
Outside again, life goes on, if it can be called life on West Madison Street, day in and day out, noon and night, a wilderness of neon signs advertising wines and liquors for sale.
Here we see pictures taken in a tavern, yes, we managed to get a light in here to illuminate our subjects, but they weren't acting.
Perhaps they had so much wine in them that they were merely being exhibitionists, not knowing exactly what they were doing.
Certainly they are not living within the laws of man or of God, not in this particular spot anyway.
I believe it is illegal to serve alcohol to men who are already under the influence of too much alcohol.
The liquor industry spent 161 billion dollars advertising its wares last year.
The United States spent over 9 billion dollars last year buying alcoholic beverages.
In Massachusetts alone, 107 million dollars was spent for drunkenness, that is, for taking care of drunks.
Revenue derived from the sale of alcoholic beverages in the state of Massachusetts was only a bit over 13 million dollars, so you see there's no percentage there.
Oh, there are a lot of good men on the street, some bad, some unfortunate, a lot of men who should be off the street.
Noon time, the same old thing, waiting around on street corners, mooching a dime here, a penny there, anything for a drink.
Malnutrition, too much cheap wine, not enough sleep, and sometimes the use of too many sedatives points the way to the bride well, and if not the bride well, to the morgue.
Now here we have a man who has fallen down in an alcoholic stupor.
Too much to drink, too much cheap wine.
He's just right for Jack Rowling.
Jack Rowling is a process during which the shoes are removed from the victim.
Oh yes, shoes are the most prized possession of any man on West Madison Street.
That is, of most any man on West Madison Street.
Now we point our camera from our car as we travel along West Madison Street, moving west from the lake, to show how many taverns there are, how many bars there are.
It has been estimated that there are nearly 700 taverns between the West Madison Street Bridge and Ashland Boulevard, a distance of a bit less than two miles.
On a hot summer's day, these men seem to prefer to do their drinking on street corners.
They buy their wine for 23 cents a bottle or less than 50 cents a quart, and stand around in groups and talk and talk and drink until they fall down in the stupor.
Here we have the lost weekend in reality.
This is not a posed picture.
I took my camera in hand and followed this man to watch his progress.
He's hanging on for dear life.
He's trying to make it to the next tavern to get another drink to keep him going.
Maybe another drink will keep him going for a little while, but when it wears off, he's going to be ripe for the DTs, for the paddy wagon, for the county hospital or the bride well or perhaps the morgue, and after the morgue, Potter's Field.
Wines, liquors, anything you want to drink.
Now here we have a gambling joint photographed through a barred open window operating within four blocks of a precinct station.
Outside we have individuals figuring out the races on scratch sheets.
If they lose, well, they can always sit on the curb and wait for a better day.
If they win, well, they have the price for more liquor.
This is a bottle gang, a group of men who have purchased a bottle and who stand around the street corners and share it.
It's against the law to do this, I believe.
If a paddy wagon comes along, they'll be picked up and taken to jail, fined, perhaps put in a hospital, perhaps sent to the bride well.
Now here's a man who's had his last bottle.
He has no more money.
He's broke.
He sees another man across the alley.
Perhaps he can go over and bum a drink from him.
How about a drink, fella? Just a little snort to keep me going.
Now look at this clean cut, clean shaven gentleman in the middle.
We sincerely thank him for allowing us to take his picture.
What is he doing on Skid Row? Your guess is as good as mine.
It's no place for him and it's no place for the people with whom he's associating.
If he keeps on drinking this wine, I'm afraid he'll end up in the street with so many others on West Madison Street, a nice looking fellow.
Some end up like this man lying in the gutter, sleeping on a bottle, cuddling up to a bottle, blowing bubbles out of his mouth just like a little baby.
Absolutely dead to the world, anesthetized by alcohol.
Here's another wino.
That's what they're called, winos.
He's suffering from huge wine sores, sores that cheap wine cause.
In close -up you will see how these sores become festered.
Now a shot taken at night in a tavern on West Madison Street.
Oh, these fellows were fine fellows a little while ago.
At least they were fine fellows as far as the bartender was concerned because they had the price of a drink of whiskey.
When their money runs out, out they go.
Oh, there are women on the street too.
Not very many, but still there are women there.
They're treated more politely, but when they have no money, when they don't have the price of a drink, out they go into the street too.
All right sister, get a move on.
Get out of here.
Let's go.
West Madison Street during the bright sunshine, during a bright sunshiny day, the same old thing.
Clinton and Madison, men wandering around in the days, always looking for a drink, looking for a place to sit, looking for another unfortunate to talk to.
Need the price of a drink? Sell something.
Have you got an overcoat? You can always get five cents for a glass of beer.
Want a free lunch? Take your wife's dishes.
Sell them.
Want a place to sleep? Money to loan? Always money to loan.
A tenement house just in back of West Madison Street running parallel to West Madison Street.
Not a pretty place to live, but some people choose to live here.
Here we have a man coming home from the taverns loaded with liquor.
He can hardly navigate.
Hardly any sense of direction, of locomotion, of balance.
I hope he has a good excuse when he gets home if he has a family to give an excuse to.
Here is the same man going down a flight of stairs.
Notice his lack of coordination.
He is in what is called a wine stupor, just about ready for the gutter, and all the time outside the Salvation Army is trying to save a few souls.
Outdoor meetings, begging for food, begging for food, begging for food.
Begging men to come into their temple for a free meal, a bath, to help in any way they can.
Oh, a few curious people stand around and look and stare and listen.
Youngsters too.
Juvenile delinquency on the street, not only on this street, but on many streets in many towns.
Yes, a few will wander in, a few will listen, a few will accept a free meal, and many, many more will wander out into the street looking for that free drink again.
Now if you're smart, you won't spend all your money for that good beer advertised in thousands of places.
You'll save a little money for a nice flop in a flop house.
You can flop for 25 cents, 35 cents, or in a high class place such as this for 50 cents.
These pictures were taken through the window of my car on West Madison Street.
Actual pictures of picking up winos, of drunks being taken out of the bars and off the street and being thrown in the paddy wagon.
They'll end up in the bride well.
Hey, watch your pants there, Pop.
Paradise? Oh, paradise for an hour or two for a day.
It depends upon how long your money holds out.
Here comes the paddy wagon again.
This shot was not arranged.
We knew that if we waited long enough that it would be a long, that the police would be making their pickups.
The police have a tough job here.
They're working all day long, all night long with these winos, these drunkards.
Our officers deserve a great deal of credit, a great deal of praise.
Their lot is not an easy one.
Well, let's go officer, off to the precinct station.
And what caused it? Cheap wine, 23 cents a pint.
Sometimes this wine is fortified with barbiturates, that is goofballs, to make it stronger.
Now here we have the inside of a tavern.
Let's look outside of the tavern to the alley and back of the tavern.
Customers, at least they were customers, an hour ago, 15 minutes ago, they drank too much, so out they went into the alley, out the back door to sleep it off.
Ready to be picked up by the cops.
Men in all stages of drunken stupor.
Unfortunates, not lost men.
Some can be saved, some can be helped.
It's not too late.
If only something can be done about it.
This shot was taken around eight o 'clock one evening.
This man had had too much to drink and had fallen on his face and gashed it open.
I waited, knowing that the paddy wagon would come along and pick him up.
I wanted to record this scene to see what the procedure was.
I didn't have long to wait.
Along came the paddy wagon and along came the cops.
Well, here's another one boys.
Looks like we'll have to take him to Cook County.
He's bashed in his face.
Well, it's all in a day's work.
We pick up hundreds of them in a day.
Come on, Dad, you better go along with us.
We'll take you to the hospital and have you fixed up.
Let's go.
Easy does it.
That's right.
Let's get into the wagon.
No parking at any time.
Cook County Morgue.
Ah, that's no place to park.
If you park there, you might park there indefinitely.
That is, until identification can be made.
Now, I do not wish to suggest that all the cadavers in Cook County Morgue are there because of alcoholism, but most certainly a few are.
Let's take a look inside.
Here we have one of the busy attendants pouring over the ledgers, recording the arrival of the bodies, and above his desk we have a placard showing the crypt room sheet, the numbers of the boxes down below in the basement, the ice boxes where the bodies are kept, awaiting identification.
20 boxes, 100 boxes, 150 boxes, 200 boxes, all filled with the dead.
Men who were alive a day ago, a week ago, a month ago.
Some are kept here for four or five months, waiting to be identified.
If they're not identified, off they go to Potter's Field.
Oh, here's another one, Doc.
Let's put this one on the hydraulic lift, press a button, hoist them up to a box, and push them in feet first.
Not a pleasant picture, but certainly a true picture.
I don't know what he died of.
It might have been alcoholism, it might have been something else.
50 bodies a day.
That's the turnover in our morgue.
Of course, there are morgues in all cities, in all towns.
Close it up, Doc.
More to come.
Box number six, box number seven, box number 22, an endless number of boxes.
Shove it up, Doc.
Your night isn't over yet.
Nights and days at the morgue are never over.
It goes on endlessly.
Oh, here we have an empty box.
Let's hope that it's not waiting for anybody that we know.
But you can rest assured that before the night is over, that box will be filled.
If identification can't be made, well, there's always a small grave in Potter's Field in some cemetery.
Some deaths are caused by alcohol, but Skid Row still goes on.
Here we have some scenes taken along South State Street, another part of Skid Row, burlesque houses, shooting galleries, peep shows, taverns, neon signs, a little bit of everything.
And overhead, the elevated roars by, while below, in a tavern, men drink themselves into a stupor or to death.
Chicago at night is a wonderful town.
Your town can be a wonderful town, too.
Let's clean it up.
Let's make it a good town.
