Chicago is home to one of the largest Polish populations in the world outside of Poland.
That history was on display for decades in north suburban Niles, where the White Eagle Events and Convention Center served as a gathering place for Polish families after funerals, baptisms and other momentous occasions.
Walking the site of the former banquet hall for a Sun-Times story a few days ago felt a bit like a trip down memory lane for me.
While I only remember going to White Eagle once in 2008 for a reception after my maternal great-grandmother’s funeral, I've come to know the facility as a welcoming sanctuary where my Polish family, like so many others, found community and solace during its nearly 60-year run.
White Eagle was a place my grandma says she "always" went to after funerals.
When her mom, my great-grandmother, died, she was buried across the street at St. Adalbert Cemetery, a Catholic resting place where many Chicago-area residents of Polish descent bury their loved ones.
Glimpsing the spot where White Eagle once stood, filled with both cheer and sadness, I silently paid tribute to my maternal ancestors.
My family’s Chicago-based Polish roots run deep, particularly in Pilsen, where many Polish immigrants lived in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Our ties to Pilsen — not too far from Bridgeport — is the reason my mother’s side cheers for the White Sox.
My grandmother’s father moved from Poland to the United States when he was just 6. His parents — my great-great-grandparents — were born in Poland and worked in the U.S. for a year before the rest of the family was able to join them in Chicago.
My great-grandparents ended up buying a six-flat in Pilsen. The building's units were always abuzz, primarily filled with relatives. It's the site where my grandmother was born and raised. It remained home to my great-grandmother until she died.
My family members say I have an awful memory. I might. But that doesn't stop the flood of recollections I have of that cozy six-flat on 22nd Place.
My mind can't erase the wide steps leading up to the building, creating the perfect stoop where me, my siblings and cousins caused many commotions.
I also can't forget, years later, working up a sweat as some of us hauled boxes out of my great-grandmother’s attic and down the building's narrow stairs after she died.
I recently asked my grandmother why she thinks my great-grandmother and much of her family ended up in Pilsen. She wasn’t sure. I'm thinking they simply gravitated to where others shared their language and culture.
My maternal grandmother’s family, like many of overwhelming majority Chicago-area Catholic Poles, frequented St. Adalbert and St. Paul churches in Pilsen.
“St. Adalbert, in my area, was the biggest one,” my grandmother told me.
My great-grandmother and her siblings were all married at St. Adalbert Church. Many of them remain together today resting at St. Adalbert Cemetery, across from the former White Eagle, where my memories were recently triggered.
I grew up in Oswego and went to college in Ohio. My first job out of school was based in Cincinnati. But I returned. Moving to Chicago to work at the Sun-Times has given me even more appreciation for this city, its people and my family's history.
When I covered the landmarking of St. Adalbert Church last year, I chatted with my grandmother on the phone. She’d ask for the latest updates, and I’d ask more questions about our family’s ties to the church. Now, whenever I’m walking through Pilsen with friends and spot the church’s soaring towers, I have stories to tell.
Writing about the the housing project that is being built on the former White Eagle site sparked more curiosity in me — not just as a reporter but as a Chicagoan whose family is one of many tied to the property.
As the Sun-Times’ development reporter, I’m lucky to travel to all parts of the city to see new buildings go up, and, sometimes, old ones come down. But the best stories I write are the articles my grandmother reads.
After reading the print underneath my byline, she often gives me a call, and I get to learn something new.
Abby Miller is a reporter for the Sun-Times.
