IN AUGUST 1968, JUST PRIOR to the Democratic National Convention, thousands of demonstrators arrived in Chicago to “dramatically impress upon . . . the public their belief that dissent in this country is real, that it cannot be repressed or ignored.”1 Several months earlier, police in the city had already been “conditioned . . . to expect that violence against demonstrators . . . would be condoned by city officials.”2 This understanding was largely traced to a widely publicized press conference at which then Mayor Richard J. Daley “seemed to criticize the Police Department for precisely that restraint”3 which they had exercised in handling riots after the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Daley angrily asserted “that the police should shoot to kill arsonists and shoot to maim looters.”4 In the chaotic convention rioting that ensued, Daley “became the symbol of the uncomprehending old guard that are being pitied or despised by the rebels within the system and without.”5
On December 27, 1976, shortly after Richard J. Daley died, County Board President George W. Dunne was elected Chairman of the Cook County Board to replace Daley. He immediately moved to rename the Chicago Civic Center the Richard J. Daley Center and the Chicago Civic Center Plaza the Richard J. Daley Center Plaza.6 In the midst of a curious political climate, in which memorials proposed by other politicians and citizens included cheerleading competitions’ and suggestions to rename the entire city after Daley,8 Dunne moved next that a committee be created to develop an “appropriate” memorial art piece to be built on or near the long granite-slab wall in the East Lobby of the Daley Center.9 City seals, government flags, and building plaques that had already been installed there could be “removed as required to accommodate the memorial work,”10 and the site would be particularly suitable as “a place where tours of school children could be taken to see what the late Mayor did for the City.”11 Discussion pivoted on relocating Picasso’s monumental sculpture of a woman’s head from the outdoor plaza. in order that it would not “take attention away from the Mayor’s memorial.”12 Plans were also considered for a freely accessible Daley archive near the memorial site, with documents and photographs relating to the mayor’s unprecedented six-term administration.13
Ultimately, in January 1978, it was announced that a 53-member “citizens’ committee” of business. governmental, and cultural leaders—“primarily . . . business associates and friends of the late Mayor”14— would, under the chairmanship of A. Robert Abboud, President of the First National Bank, organize a fund drive for up to $500,000 in private contributions to be accepted by a new nonprofit corporation, with tax exempt status, under the auspices of Raymond F. Simon, former City Assistant Corporation Counsel.15 An artist would “be asked to accept a ‘minimal fee’ of up to $50,000, while a much larger expenditure will be required to create the work and install it.”16 While many of the city’s finest large-scale, outdoor sculptures—the Calder Flamingo, the Chagall Four Seasons, the Picasso Head of a Woman, the Noguchi Celebration, the Oldenburg Batcolumn—were acquired and installed via personal negotiations with current Memorial Committee members while Daley was still alive, indications of the kind of memorial art this committee now was seeking are limited to Abboud’s statement that “members hope for a significant work by a renowned artist that will become a tourist attraction.”17
Two weeks later, three architect members of the committee—Jerome Butler, Chicago City Architect: Carter Manny, President of the Graham Foundation for the Fine Arts, and William Hartmann, senior partner in the architectural firm of Skidmore, Owings, and Merrill—travelled to Paris and Rome to interview the European artists Jean Dubuffet and Giacomo Manzu and get each man’s ideas for the proposed memorial. “Dozens of photos of Daley in varied settings . . . [were used ] to convey the essence of Daley’s personality and record of public service,”18 while simultaneously, in Chicago, controversy arose over that “French abstractionist who once put together a huge collection of art works by jail inmates, fortune tellers, and insane persons,”19 and over “the un-Daley-like whiff of Communism in Mr. Manzu’s background.”20 Artists in Chicago wrote letters to the Europeans noting that “the commissioning of a foreign sculptor for a Chicago monument circumvents not only Chicago artists, but also Chicago workmen, Chicago materials, and Chicago taxes,”21 and asked that they decline to work on the project. The controversy focused upon the need to choose an artist “with knowledge and love of Chicago and with real knowledge of the late Mayor.”22 Ironically enough, this whole issue of commemorating the man who in 1968 gave the “shoot to kill” order, and who for 20 years presided over the kind of system that Walter Lippmann called “the most primitive . . . [form of] political loyalty,”23 came simply to be framed as “Chicago artists versus a better known artist from another area.”24
In 1968, after the Democratic National Convention debacle, rather than eulogize Daley as a man “who made us great,”25 numerous American artists took a moral stance against the “overlapping areas of Daley’s authority” that facilitated his control over the city.26 That there had been “no public condemnation of these violators of sound police procedures and common decency . . . nor . . . almost three months after the Convention . . . any disciplinary action . . . taken”27 reflected a situation in Chicago described in 1971 as a matter of “about 25,000 people owing their government jobs to political activity or influence: . . . the size of the patronage army is impossible to measure . . . [because] it extends beyond the twenty to twenty five thousand jobs . . . [to] racetracks, public utilities, private industry, and the Chicago Transit Authority.”28 When in early September 1968 Claes Oldenburg cancelled his scheduled solo exhibition at Chicago’s Feigen Gallery, having been, during the convention, “tossed to the ground by six swearing troopers who kicked me and choked me and called me a Communist,”29 when Dan Flavin telegraphed Mayor Daley that “as an artist and a citizen” he would not “offer art in Chicago nor appear there publicly until the people of that city decided to remove Mayor Richard J. Daley from office or he himself departs from official responsibility,”30 and when on September 4, 1968, 50 East- and West-Coast artists signed a boycott against showing art in Chicago for two years (“The mature artist . . . cannot tolerate a vacuum in which there are no political alternatives nor a forum for dissent”31), it was assumed that two years would be the “balance of Daley’s term in office.”32 But given “the untenable fact that, historically, the Chicago Democrats have gone into every election since the victory of Anton J. Cermak in 1931 with a built-in advantage of no less than 103,000 votes,”33 Daley was in fact returned in 1971 and 1975, and during that time many of the “protesting” artists did indeed continue to show art here and did accept substantial commissions, the whole affair becoming a matter of scattered individual intentions against a well-structured political machine. Reversing their boycott on grounds that such a stand was only “symbolic” and “wouldn’t hurt the people it was aimed at (the forces identified with Daley) but would hurt the art enthusiasts it wasn’t meant to hurt,”34 most of these artists, including Oldenburg, appeared in a 51-person Feigen Gallery protest show in October (scheduled to replace the original solo exhibition that Oldenburg had cancelled), and 27 of them also appeared in a previously scheduled October Museum of Contemporary Art exhibition, Options.35 Artists who did respond to violence were criticized in the city for being “less outraged by violence . . . pleased to be given the chance to engage in it themselves, if only vicariously.”36 The Feigen artist manifesto, which identified a “new class struggle” in which Chicago’s “black first congressional district” could now suddenly unite with its upper-middle-class “gold coast” in “widening the new chinks in Mayor Daley’s armor,”37 seems naive in the context of history.
However, these responses did initiate a strong tradition of anti-Daley art: for example, Chuck Thomas’ smiling Daley dartboard, Ben Mahamoud’s Mace and Fracture, Richard Lindner’s flaming queen banner, James Rosenquist’s sliced portrait of Daley, Claes Oldenburg’s Daley Head on a Platter, Christo’s brown-paper-bag-wrapped dynamite sticks, Lowell Nesbitt’s clenched fist above a skeletal pelvis, George Cohen’s bullet-punctured people progressively falling down, Robert Morris’ telegram “REDO. CHICAGO FIRE OF 1871,” Jean Tingueley’s chaotic pig-potato-fist drawing/collage, Hans Breder’s violently ripped-apart plexiglass and aluminum cubes, Larry Rivers shish-kabob-waving Daley with food inside his brain. Henry Hanson’s collage of inside-the-Convention Daley photos and press equipment (helmets, Daley welcome speech texts, computerized entry badges, etc.), Seymour Rosofsky’s police- and prostitute-flanked Daley on a political bandwagon rolling over the bodies of citizens, and. of course, Barnett Newman’s Lace Curtain for Mayor Daley.
About this Newman piece, Thomas B. Hess explained: “Newman . . . had watched Mayor Daley heckle Abraham Ribicoff with anti-Semitic remarks when the Connecticut Senator was deploring the actions of the police . . . His first piece was a steel frame, 5 by 4 feet, strung with barbed wire, like a mattress spring, with blood-red paint staining the center of the wires . . .; also to be executed in steel, Mayor Daley’s Outhouse . . . was never executed.”38 In Chicago, Newman’s Lace Curtain was described as “a barbed wire construction wrought from an extraordinarily cheap and barren concept”39 and, contrastingly, in New York, as a work which “delivers the message.”40
In November ten other galleries mounted a one-day exhibition, including work from more than 100 artists, entitled “Response To Violence in Our Society,” with proceeds benefiting the American Civil Liberties Union fund for an investigation of the convention violence. Among the strong pieces were straight photographs by Charles Reynolds and works by Jerome Aronson, whose juxtaposition of everyday city streets with emblems of violence and war—“sharp, clear documents which needed no titles or comment”41—resembled some Surrealists’ “impossible” juxtapositions.
In comparison with this visible rebellion by artists in 1968—which, it must be emphasized, was socially sanctioned and media-reinforced—the art in Chicago inspired by Richard J. Daley, ten years after the convention, was, to say the least, anomalous—unless it conformed to a new prevailing norm of cute entertainment or completely sotto voce commentary. Imagining Daley to be “the last of his kind”42 in December of 1977, Jerry Saltz, a member of N.A.M.E. Gallery, a Chicago cooperative, mounted a show entitled “Daley’s Tomb,” to mark the first anniversary of Daley’s death. More than 50 artists responded to Saltz’s request for proposals for tombs, epitaphs. and other reliquary items, noting his “desire to avoid buoyant, vigilante wit.”43
In what remained of the anti-Daley tradition, strong work included John Pittman’s Mayor Daley in a coffin guarded by a dog that was larger than the mayor, Thomas Kovachevich’s bandage on the wall just happening to fail to stop the last drop of deadly blood, Krystin Grenon’s comparison between the erection of Claes Oldenburg’s Chicago Batcolumn and the wielding of police nightsticks at the 1968 convention, and Kay Rosen’s A Song and Dance—photographs of feet dancing up a stairway captioned with progressively more nonsensical variations on a platitude from one of Daley’s public addresses. But the most direct and honest work in the exhibition was ignored by every Chicago daily newspaper: The City That Works, a women’s diaristic and participatory performance piece by Margo Rush. In a mock Catholic confessional booth, her work provided a chair in which one could sit like a confessor and hear Rush’s shy, agitated, confused, whispering confession on a tape loop inside the booth. The message went:
Forgive me Father . . . I have sinned . . . working for the City of Chicago as a community worker . . . visit at my home from my local Alderman who asked me to sell $400 of Policeman’s Ball tickets . . . wanted the money immediately. I refused. A couple of weeks later I was notified that for no apparent reason I was being transferred to a South Side office . . . I was the only woman, the only white, and the only staff person under 30 . . . another call to come to the downtown off ice . . . A well known politician took me out to lunch . . . He told me he could get me . . . a $2000 raise . . . would have to live in his district . . . told me the men I’d have to grant sexual favors to . . . I refused . . . He laughed at me and told me I was young and naive, that that’s how the City works, that that’s how one gets ahead.
Aside from suggesting that, between 1968 and 1978, Chicago politics had turned to more quiet hypocrisy, Rush’s confession indicated just the sort of ordinary accepted corruption that ultimately paves the way for bigger things. Significantly, the other ironic overtones of Rush’s piece included its title The City That Works, its religious setting, and especially its confiding/confessional, father/daughter, advice/soliciting aspect—which resembled Daley’s local image as a father-figure who deeply sympathized with the problems of the ordinary Chicago citizen.44 There were some signs that Rush was uncomfortable with her work’s realism: at first she exhibited it anonymously, “artily” sandwiching the tape loop between strains of a hokey, over-obviously religious sort of organ music, and she appeared herself occasionally in the booth as some sort of a theatrically draped and veiled penitent; however, the work’s value clearly was in its relation to life rather than in any trappings of theatrical dream or “fantastic” art.
Most of this show’s work, by far, however, hid or rendered ambiguous any criticism that it attempted to initiate: for example, Bob Peters’ plans to obliterate Daley’s neighborhood amidst the gigantic pages of a heavy, hard-to-handle, “architectural” plan book, or Stanley Tigerman’s, cross-topped Chicago buildings—which suggest either that this city hides corruption behind piety, that it still mourns the late Mayor, or that after Daley Chicago is a cemetery. The rule here seems to be to veil any implication which could possibly be construed as critical, whereas in 1968, the more “immediate” the art the more communicative it was thought to be. In other instances. work done by artists too cynical, too indifferent or too remote from everyday events presented Daley as some sort of pudgy humorous media figure to poke fun at—consider John Essen’s Double Daley Shooting Range, whose target was a round yellow “Hizzoner.” There were also satin-bejangled pillows and Irish jig-playing, mobile sarcophagi obliterating anger, dismay, or protest, the overall exhibition being aptly described as “not at all disrespectful,”45 “all good fun,”46 and “just yelping into the wind.”47
Significantly, the “Daley’s Tomb” show occurred at a time when the political system inside the city was a daily bureaucratic routine, rather than the source of any isolated, widely publicized violence, and when the city administration had recently extended sizable amounts of financial support to the visual arts.48 Whereas in 1968, machine-style tactics in relation to the anti-Daley art shows would have been fanned across the national press, in 1978 “N.A.M.E. purposely downplayed the anti-Daley sentiment,” perhaps in anticipation of “police lieutenants at the station down the street . . . [who] visited the Tomb show the day of the opening . . . on the lookout for hard-core, anti-Daley material, works flagrantly disrespectful or politically sacrilegious.”49 Furthermore, the blunted or humorous “criticism” now involved artists active in the Chicago Council on Fine Arts Artist-in-Residence Program,50 and therefore potentially in the position of biting the hand that feeds. What really would have happened had the majority of artwork been esthetically powerful, politically knowledgeable, “morally courageous?”51 So the whole thing became good publicity for a city whose image officials have been trying to clean up ever since the convention,52 the show itself providing a kick-off from which artists would then move to get the real Richard J. Daley Memorial Commission.
While many individual artists in private circles did express dissatisfaction with the idea of commemorating Daley, they had no determining influence on events or on the public dialogue, and most strong critics of the commission only reinforced the political system. For example, the Sculptors Group, Inc., claimed that “Daley’s power came from the people and we are his constituents; . . . as artists, we have a right to participate in something to honor him.”53 Having identified themselves somewhat earlier in a newspaper interview as purveyors of “a ‘black market’ situation with respect to the national sculpture scene . . . [we] find it very easy to do guerilla warfare . . . we move in from time to time, take a part of the pie and run. . . . Somebody gets in our way, we go around them and do it another way,”54 several of these sculptors tried to promote a “City of the Big Shoulders” image of themselves. Dismissing issues such as the social function of art or the reference of art to things outside itself, the group’s prime mover, John Henry, asserted an art-for-art’s sake position according to which “the effect of what a sculpture does and where it is placed is more important than the actual meaning of a piece.”55 Composed of makers of a kind of heavy, large-scale, monumental, David Smith-oriented steel sculpture, which in other areas peaked around 1965, this group emphasized its authority “as a professional group . . . of artists who own property, pay taxes, purchase materials, and operate studios in the city with a combined annual budget in excess of one-half million dollars.”56 And Henry’s statement that “when you suddenly realize you are building pieces of a magnitude to turn cranes over, then there are certain dynamics that start working in your mind which enter your work and influence it”57 did invoke associations with a vast, unchallengeable, relentless machine.
Also, claiming that “any memorial dedicated to the late Mayor Daley should be commissioned by a local artist,”58 the Chicago Artists Coalition, formed in March 1975, called itself a pressure group “to emphasize the clout of the people.”59 Its regular business routine consisted of creating a “better environment for visual artists”60—i.e. handling “day to day problems that artists face and the need for artists to come together to deal with those problems”61 by assembling slide files, mobilizing pro-arts legislation support, sponsoring lectures on artist assertiveness, publishing tax guides, employment opportunity bulletins, tips on how to renovate an alternate space, etc.62 Just as practically, the Coalition viewed the commission as another instance of “a typical . . . attitude . . . that has caused much fine talent to leave our city.”63 Representing a new corporate artist acting as “one mass voice” and taking its impact from solidly organized communications,64 the Coalition did, in fact, eventually pressure the Memorial Committee toward developing “a consensus . . . for an ‘open competition’.”65
Other protests about the Daley Memorial Commission also revealed a failure to learn from history. Chicago critic Derek Guthrie’s affirmation of artists who “in protesting the choice of Dubuffet and Manzu . . . paid the highest compliment to their city”66 paradoxically contrasted with his February 1975 criticism (with Jane Allen) of the Chicago artists responsible “for the renewed confidence in local talent” who, nonetheless, “even when it was announced that ‘Made in Chicago’ would go to fascist Chile” (to the 1975 São Paolo Bienal, which had twice been boycotted by other American artists “who withdrew their work in a general protest against political repression by the Brazilian government”) failed to “raise objections and none withdrew their work.”67 In 1975 Guthrie had perceptively noted that protest in Chicago art was “only an ambiguous undercurrent, . . . [the] time-honored tactics of people who find themselves in an alien situation or who wish to defend themselves against an alien audience. . . . Perhaps the truth is that artists who matured in Chicago during the 1960s have an ingrained sense of the uselessness of public, political, or cultural protest.”68 Then, in 1978, Guthrie applauded artist protest in form while seeming to ignore its content. Praising artists’ efforts to reject Dubuffet and Manzu as cultural “manna from on high,” he noted a new “growth in self-confidence among artists in Chicago, . . . successful in obtaining a large number of commissions, . . . reaching a level of financial stability and experienced craftsmanship,” and he now saw the direction of the newly “vital . . . cultural life of the city” changed toward wanting to memorialize Mayor Daley as a product of self-confidence69—apparently recognizing no relationship between glorifying a repressive Brazilian government and glorifying a repressive Chicago mayor.
Finally, in March 1978, the Daley Memorial Committee did in fact issue a brochure inviting any “artists wishing to be considered for this project” to submit a proposal and further stating that “all submittals . . . become the sole property of the Public Building Commission of Chicago, will not be returned to the submitting party . . . the Commission shall have all rights to publish . . . or otherwise utilize the material . . . free of any copyright or other reproductive restrictions . . . neither the Commission nor the Committee is under any obligation to select an artist for this project from among the persons who present submissions.”70 The Chicago Artists Coalition did “not fully appreciate that these submittals be ‘free of any copyright or other reproductive restrictions,’ ” but stated that they would “counsel artists to send their submittals . . . in hopes . . . [that] the competition is in good faith.”71 Sculptors Group, Inc., suggested commissioning numerous memorial sculptures “to be installed in parks around the city to be paid for out of a self-perpetuating Richard J. Daley Memorial Sculpture Trust.”72 Even more publicity accrued to artists wishing to “compliment” Daley “in perhaps the most important act and the last act in his honor”73—artists, that is, who would provide additional opportunity for Daley’s system to praise itself.
C. L. Morrison’s novel, Defilement, will be published by Seven Oaks Press in Winter, 1978.
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NOTES
1. Daniel Walker, Rights in Conflict: A Report Submitted by Daniel Walker, Director of the Chicago Study Team, to the National Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence, New York, 1968, p. 80.
2. Walker, p 2.
3. Walker, p. 2.
4. Max Frankel, “Introduction” to Walker, Rights (Note 1), p. viii; also, Len O’Connor, Clout Mayor Daley and His City, New York, 1976, pp. 204 ff.
5. Frankel, “Introduction.”
6. William Juneau, “Civic Center, Plaza Renamed for Daley,” Chicago Tribune, December 28, 1976.
7. “Mayor Daley Memorial Cheerleading Competition,” Calumet Index, January 19, 1977.
8. “Letters,” Chicago Magazine, June 1978.
9. Juneau, “Civic Center.”
10. Chicago Public Building Commission, Richard J. Daley Memorial Committee, Richard J. Daley Memorial Guidelines (brochure), n. d.
11. Derek Guthrie, “Chicago Sculptors Ask Manzu, Dubufet to Reject Daley Commission,” New Art Examiner, March 1978.
12.“Replace Picasso with Daley Bust?” Chicago Sun Times, May 5, 1977.
13. William Juneau, “Daley Memorial, All Talk, Little Action,” Chicago Tribune, June 23, 1977.
14. Alan Artner, “Mayoral Memorial Hunt Gets Of to A Second Start,” Chicago Tribune, March 12, 1978.
15. Harry J Golden, Jr., “Committee to Seek $500.000 for Daley Memorial . . .,” Chicago Sun-Times, March 16, 1978.
16. Ibid.
17. Ibid.
18. Paul Gapp, “The Mission: Explain Daley,” Chicago Tribune, January 16, 1978.
19. Paul Gapp, “Daley Statue Fight Pits Simple, Far Out,” Chicago Tribune, December 25, 1977.
20. “The Daley Memorial,” Chicago Tribune, January 9, 1978.
21. Letter from Sculptors Group. Inc., in New Art Examiner, March 1978.
22. Abbott Pattison, “Letter to 1he Editor,” Chicago Sun Times, April 9, 1978.
23. Walter Lippmann, A Preface to Morals, “Government in the Great Society; the Evolution of Loyalty,” New York, 1964, p. 246.
24. “Franz, Schulze Among Speakers on Daley Memorial,” CAC Newsletter, May 1978.
25. Charles Leroux. “Chicago Artists See Daley Memorial as Monumental Insult,” Chicago Tribune, February 1, 1978.
26. O’Connor, Clout, p. 12.
27. Walker, Rights, p. 11.
28. Mike Royko, Boss: Richard J. Daley of Chicago, New York, 1971, pp. 66, 70.
29. “Editorial,” Art Scene Magazine, October 1968, p. 4.
30. “Artists and Mr. Daley,” Art News, November 1968.
31. “The Artists’ Manifesto,” Arts in Society: The Arts of Activism, Vl/3 (1969), p. 341.
32. “Artists and Mr. Daley” (Note 30).
33. O’Connor, Clout, p. 106.
34. Franz Schulze, “Is It Art or Is It Politics?,” Chicago Daily News, October 26, 1968.
35. “Artists and Mr. Daley” (Note 30).
36. Franz Schulze, “Violence Comes to the Museum,” Chicago Daily News, November 9, 1968.
37. “The Artists’ Manifesto” (Note 31).
38. Thomas B. Hess, Barnett Newman (The Museum of Modern Art), New York, 1971, p. 123.
39. Franz Schulze, “Is It Art?” (Note 34).
40. Harold Rosenberg, “Part II Chicago, August, 1968,” Arts in Society (Note 31).
41. Whitney Halstead, “Chicago,” Artforum, January 1969, pp. 64–65.
42. Jack Burnham, “Daley Entombed at N.A.M.E.,” New Art Examiner, April 1978.
43. Artner, “Mayoral Memorial” (Note 14).
44. O’Connor, Clout (Note 4), p. x.
45. Henry Hanson, “How to Honor Hizzoner?”, Chicago Magazine, May 1978, pp. 108–10.
46. Franz Schulze, “Artist for Daley Memorial? Only the Best,” Chicago Sun Times, March 24, 1978.
47. Artner, “Mayoral Memorial” (Note 14).
48. “Arts Yield $470 Million in Chicago, Survey Shows,” Chicago Arts, I/4 (Spring 1978).
49. Burnham, “Daley Entombed” (Note 42).
50. Contemporary Chicago Artists: State of the Arts, exhibition of Chicago Council on Fine Arts Artists-in-Residence and C.E.T.A. Funded Artists at the Chicago Public Library Cultural Center, Spring 1978.
51. Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Commencement Address at Harvard University, June 1978, excerpted in The Wall Street Journal as “The West’s Decline in Courage,” June 13,1978, p. 20.
52. Pamela Warrick, “Just the Facts? City Exhibit Isn’t Really for Reform,” Chicago Sun Times, June 16, 1978.
53. Leroux, “Chicago Artists” (Note 25).
54. Jane Allen and Derek Guthrie, “Interview with Three Chicago Sculptors,” New Art Examiner, November 1976.
55. Ibid.
56. Letter from Sculptors (Note 21).
57. Allen and Guthrie, “Interview” (Note 54).
58. Pattison, “Letter” (Note 22).
59. C. L Morrison. “Notes on the Formation of CAC,” unpublished. March 18, 1975. See also C.L. Morrison, “On The Formation of the Chicago Artists Coalition: Some Realities and Ideals,” Midwest Art, May 1975.
60. Arlene Rakoncay, “Letter to the Editor,” December 1977.
61. “Careers in Art Day,” CAC Newsletter, January 1978.
62. Various articles, CAC Newsletter, December 1977-June 1978.
63. Rakoncay, “Letter” (Note 60).
64. Form letter to C. L. Morrison from Chicago Artists Coalition, April 24, 1976.
65. Correspondence from A. Robert Abboud to Alderman Dick Simpson of the 44th Ward, February 27, 1978.
66. Guthrie, “Chicago Sculptors” (Note 11).
67. Allen and Guthrie, “The Tradition,” New Art Examiner, February 1975.
68. Ibid.
69. Guthrie, “Chicago Sculptor” (Note 11).
70. Richard J. Daley Memorial Guidelines (Note 10).
71. Correspondence from Arlene Rakoncay to the Richard J. Daley Memorial Committee, May 12, 1978
72. Letter from Sculptors (Note 21).
73. Leroux, “Chicago Artists” (Note 25).
