![]() ![]() While machining notches into little wood cylinders could pay the bills, all the fun of seeing the finished product-cabins, forts, villages, and all the rest-was left to the unseen customer. The men and women who worked at the Lawndale factory might not have had the most rewarding gig in the world. In fact, it looks like it’s nary changed a bit since the days when workers churned out tiny timber all day. It’s now called the Bloomingdale Trail, or-to the locals- “The 606.”Īs part of the rustalgic scenery visible from the The 606, you can still see the old Lincoln Logs plant, which-unlike most factories from its era-has neither been demolished nor turned into condominiums. As a bit of a happy ending to that portion of our story, however, the city spent ten years and $95 million reviving the old track into a unique 2.5 mile bike path and public space, which officially opened in 2015. The building was owned and operated by the Playskool MFG Co., which purchased Lincoln Logs in the early ‘40s and helped elevate it into one of the ubiquitous toys of post-war suburbia.īy the 1980s, of course, virtually all the manufacturing along this strip was gone, and the elevated track of the Bloomingdale Line was abandoned and grown over. This positioned it conveniently along the same Bloomingdale train line as many other industrial all-stars of the era, including the Ludwig Drum Co. Lawndale Avenue in Humboldt Park, a space previously occupied by the Harmony Instrument Company. John Lloyd Wright, after all, was the son of the guy who invented the very concept of “organic architecture.”įrom the 1940s through the 1960s, Lincoln Logs’ Chicago factory was located at 1750 N. But the lasting appeal of Lincoln Logs was already baked in-the perfect product with the perfect marketing campaign, all born from the mind of a man with a unique perspective on the delicate balance between 20th century urban progressivism and rural, frontier romanticism. There were many imitators that tried to steal Lincoln Logs’ niche over the years, including the “Frontier Logs” of crosstown rival Halsam Toys. There is even a sly reference to building “little houses” at a time when Laura Ingalls Wilder’s “Little House” book series was all the rage among the gentler set. Today we don’t have to do the things the pioneers did, but you boys and girls can build the same sort of little houses, barns, forts and villages that the pioneers did if you use LINCOLN LOGS.”īesides the appreciated Fort Dearborn shoutout, the key takeaway from the copy above is the phrase “boys and girls.” Gender based toy segregation usually dictated the selling of dollhouses to girls and train sets to boys, but Lincoln Logs were for everybody. They also built a big fort called Fort Dearborn and made it entirely out of logs. “How they cleared land, built log cabins, and fought the Indians. “You all know the stories people tell about the pioneers who settled our country,” read a 1934 Lincoln Logs advertisement. And yet, through a magical confluence of imagination, nostalgia, and patriotism, they somehow became “America’s National Toy.” Why worry about complex assembly lines and detailed craftsmanship when you can just sell a kid a box of raw materials and let them finish the job?! In an industry typically dominated by hip new technology and shiny objects that “do stuff,” Lincoln Logs were nothing more than what they purported to be-logs. One of the most successful toys of the 20th century was also one of the most ingenious from a manufacturing sense. Marshsall Field’s bought all I could make.” –John Lloyd Wright, from his memoir My Father, Frank Lloyd Wright, 1946 1958 Ad ![]() “When I completed the design for ‘Lincoln Logs’ toy construction blocks, their success encouraged me, and making wooden objects became my temporary source of income. Museum Artifact: Original Lincoln Logs Set 1C, c. ![]()
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