Wolves at the Door
The construction is done for today, but it will start up again tomorrow, and it’s projected to continue for at least another three years. His neighborhood on the near south side has become newly desirable–even Mayor Daley lives there–and a housing explosion is saturating the blocks nearby with high-end condos and town houses. Magnus, who owns a 117-year-old relic of Chicago’s Gilded Age, can’t help feeling besieged by the new forces in the neighborhood, where he used to be nearly all alone.
“Oh, OK, ’cause we work security for McCormick Place and we’re always driving by this place–mind if we take a look inside?” asks one of the guards, who will identify himself only as Elvis.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
“We love old architecture–we’re real history buffs,” Elvis says. “My partner here just got back from Gettysburg.”
If Magnus charged a few dollars to every unannounced caller he’s led through his mansion, he might have the money to make it habitable. But probably not the $2 million needed to restore it to its original condition.
Rezmar took Magnus to court in May 1999, alleging the mansion’s condition violated several city building codes–it had holes in the roof, rotted window frames, and missing gutters, among other things–and requesting custody of the building through receivership. “Rezmar is substantially adversely affected by the property and its condition,” says the filing.
Little more than a decade ago, vacant lots and abandoned buildings made up most of the available real estate on the near south side. But Magnus had an uncle, Alexander, a developer who saw potential in the beleaguered Prairie Avenue District. Magnus saw it too, after Alexander brought him in to supervise conversion of the Atwell Building at Cullerton and Prairie into commercial loft space. Magnus was drawn to the forlorn-looking relic up the street, particularly when he learned his grandfather had been a doctor at the Marshall Field Jr. mansion in its days as a sanitarium in the 1920s.
