Was He Really That Bad?: Another Look at "Big Bill"

By Gary Krist

Republican Mayor
"Big Bill" Thompson
(Mario Gomes Collection)

If you read much Chicago history, you probably know all about Mayor William Hale Thompson.  “Big Bill the Builder,” as he liked to call himself, is considered just about the best joke in the annals of the Second City.  He was the brash, bellowing cowboy-mayor of the Roaring Twenties—the one who skimmed from every till, turned a blind eye to every crime, and all but bestowed the keys to the city upon Al Capone and his bootlegging friends.  Historians have had a lot of fun recounting the big man’s exploits. They cite his famous debate against two caged rats (representing his opponents in an election race), his ill-fated “scientific expedition” to find a South Seas tree-climbing fish (the boat didn’t get farther than New Orleans), and his well-publicized threats to punch the King of England in the snoot. Big Bill’s reputation as a venal and inept buffoon was virtually certified in 1993, when a panel of historians awarded him first place on their list of the worst mayors in American history (see also The American Mayor by Melvin G. Holli).

As always, however, history is a little more complex than the popular lore would have it. Let’s not forget, after all, that Thompson was reelected not just once, but twice; his 12 years in City Hall made him one of the two longest-serving mayors in the city’s history up to that point.  And these electoral wins happened in the Chicago of the 1910s and 20s, long before the rise of an omnipotent political machine that could, if necessary, get even one of those caged rats elected.  Thompson’s Republican organization was only one of several factions in each party at the time.  So while the usual back-room horse-trading definitely had a role in Thompson’s election success, it’s also undeniable that many Chicago voters saw something in him that was worth voting for.

And in fact—as I hope my book City of Scoundrels shows—Big Bill was not without his virtues.  Clearly, the man was no Fiorello La Guardia, but nor was he the “blubbering jungle hippopotamus” that his enemies liked to lampoon.  Particularly in his first two terms, he sometimes found it within himself to lead effectively, orchestrating the conflicting energies of a hugely divided city to accomplish some good.

Even some of his critics agree that he started out strong.  Faced with a streetcar strike shortly after his first election, Thompson solved the problem handily—by locking representatives of both sides into his City Hall office.  "I'm not going to let them leave," the Mayor told reporters, "until they make peace."  Negotiations went on through the night, interrupted only when Big Bill took everyone into his lavatory to race his prize model sailboat in the bathtub.  And when the doors opened at dawn, the strike was settled.

Later that summer, he had a chance to show another kind of leadership.  On a bright Saturday morning in July, the steamship Eastland capsized at its mooring on the Chicago River, drowning 811 people who were about to leave on a pleasure cruise.  Thompson was in California at the time, but he returned immediately by special train to coordinate the relief efforts.  He established a charitable fund for victims and led a funeral procession through the Little Village neighborhood, home of many who had died.  "I am here to emphasize the grief and indignation of this great city," the Mayor told mourners.  Chicago appreciated the gesture.  Thousands began wearing wide-brimmed Stetsons on the streets—"Big Bill hats" they called them.

Of course, Thompson’s well-known opposition to American involvement in the Great War turned out to be a clear misreading of popular sentiment, and it was this that ultimately led to much of the subsequent ridicule.  When Marshal Joffre, hero of the Marne, came to the U.S. on a nationwide tour, Thompson did not rush to invite him to the city.  "Chicago is the sixth largest German city in the world," he pointed out (quite accurately).  “Some of our people might not be so wildly enthusiastic about it."  Although the invitation was ultimately issued, Thompson continued to drag his feet on American involvement in the hostilities. "This war," he kept insisting, "is a needless sacrifice of the best blood of the nation on foreign battlefields."

But is this position so unreasonable, given that the country had just reelected its President on the slogan “He kept us out of war”?  There were also many venerable and respected public figures who shared the Mayor’s low opinion of the conflict, including Chicago’s own Jane Addams.  Nonetheless, Thompson was excoriated for his pacifism in newspaper columns, speeches, and sermons—not just in Chicago, but all around the nation.  The mayor was variously maligned as "a disgrace to the city," "a low-down double-crosser," and (the name that would stick far longer than any other) "Kaiser Bill." One clergyman in Baltimore even argued that the Mayor of Chicago was a traitor and ought to be shot.  Such is the reward of pacifism in a time of rampant war hysteria.

Poster applauding Thompson's
 laissez  faire administration.
(Mario Gomes Collection)

And what of his much-bruited building accomplishments? Admittedly, Thompson’s civic improvement projects were always deeply compromised by bribery, corruption, and high-handed patronage, but he did manage to muster the money and collective will to get them done, often in times of recession and despite an antiquated state constitution that severely limited the city’s ability to raise money through bonds and taxation.  As one journalist of the time admitted, “Thompsonism does build roads and bridges…even if they cost more than they should.”  The result was many of the civic monuments—Soldier Field, Navy Pier, the Michigan Avenue Bridge, the Magnificent Mile—that today make Chicago such an urban showplace.

But it was in his attention to the concerns of Chicago’s African Americans that Thompson best distinguished himself.  At a time when alleged progressives were falling pitifully short in their support of equal rights, Thompson’s championing of the city’s so-called Black Belt—growing explosively as a result of the Great Migration from the South—showed considerable political courage.  Granted, this courtship was in part self-serving (Thompson recognized before anyone else the importance of black votes to winning elections), and often his support amounted to little more than fine words.  But he did deliver on many of his campaign promises to the community.  Aside from helping to sweep into office the first African American alderman in the city's history (Oscar DePriest), he also appointed blacks to prominent posts in his administration.  By the end of his first term, Thompson had also doubled the number of blacks on the police force. 

While African Americans cheered these efforts, many whites rabidly disapproved.  Writers in the daily press began referring to City Hall as "Uncle Tom’s Cabin" and questioned the wisdom of some of Thompson's appointments.  But Big Bill stood firm on all but one of his choices.  "The persons appointed were qualified for their positions," he argued.  "In the name of humanity it is my duty to do what I can to elevate rather than degrade any class of American citizens."  This from the man whose enemies called him "a blubbering jungle hippopotamus."

It would be foolish, of course, to minimize the corruption and incompetence of the Thompson administrations.  His critics were right about many things, and in his third term, Thompson did all but implode, even suffering a nervous breakdown that left City Hall virtually rudderless for months.  Under his uncertain leadership, Chicago in the 1920s became the gangster city of legend, succumbing to criminal chaos while the mayor himself engaged in seemingly quixotic battles against “British propaganda” in the public schools.  But even here, it’s worth noting that William Dever, the impeccably honest mayor who served between Thompson’s second and third terms, made a complete hash of his time in office, enforcing Prohibition with such diligence that the city’s bootleggers were soon engaged in territorial battles that lifted the crime rate to new heights.  And while it’s easy to make fun of Big Bill’s bizarre tirades against the King of England and war profiteers, it’s important to remember that there was method to much of this madness.  When railing against King George or the “sinister interests,” Thompson was by proxy railing against bosses, railroad barons, and all other representatives of power and privilege—a message that was appreciated by everyone from the city’s Irish and African American working class to its disconsolate middle-class commuters.

Chicago American, April 5, 1927
"Big Bill's" second term as mayor.
(Mario Gomes Collection)

So maybe it’s time to give Big Bill a break.  Much of Thompson’s cartoon image today, after all, is a tendentious exaggeration perpetrated by his political enemies—the academics, newspaper publishers, and educated white reformers who ended up writing the history of the era.  They always saw Thompson as a threat to their concept of “good government,” which often seemed to align suspiciously with the interests of wealth and property.  So was Big Bill really the worst mayor in American history?  To some people, certainly.  But there were an awful lot of Chicago voters who thought that a corrupt buffoon who actually got things done was at least preferable to the available alternatives.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Before turning to narrative nonfiction with The White Cascade and City of Scoundrels, Gary Krist wrote three novels--Bad Chemistry, Chaos Theory, and Extravagance--and two short-story collections. He has been a regular book reviewer for The New York Times Book Review, Salon, and The Washington Post Book World. His satirical op-eds have appeared in The New York Times and Newsday, and his stories, articles, and travel pieces have been featured in National Geographic Traveler, The Wall Street Journal, GQ, Playboy, The New Republic, Esquire, and on National Public Radio's "Selected Shorts."

Recommended Reading:

"How Big Bill Thompson Won Control of Chicago" by George Schottenhamel

"Mrs. William Hale Thompson, Mayor's Wife, Robbed at Gunpoint" (The Chicago Crime Scenes Project)

William Hale Thompson (Chicago Public Library)

Photo Credit:

Mario Gomes Collection; My Al Capone Museum