TRAVEL WINDY CITY

CHICAGO HAS always taken good care of its visitors. Back in the 1820s, jolly Mark Beaubien, a fine fiddler and lusty balladeer, bought a tavern called the Eagle Exchange, added some rooms and rechris-tened his place the Sauganash Inn. Although some visitors complained that his liquor was inferior, that he was stingy with his blankets and that his rooms were infested with rats, his hotel prospered.



TO BE SURE, Chicago’s hotels have undergone some changes through the years, but it has always been a town capable of accommodating any guest’s desires.

And so, last month, when a well-dressed man walked into the Park Hyatt, he was not asked to show an American Express card, or any sort of credit card.

The Park Hyatt, which The Los Angeles Times recently called “the finest small hotel in the land,” is the sort of place that likes to pamper its guests. It is a place of elegance and intimacy -a place that, Kurt Stielhack, the hotel’s general manager, says, “does not intimidate our customers by asking for an American Express card.”

So the guest sat down at a writing table in the lobby -the Park Hyatt does not have a front desk – and let one of the assistant managers ask him his likes and dislikes. Then he was shown to his room. A chambermaid unpacked his bags. And for five days the man had a marvelous time.

He dined at the hotel’s restaurant, La Tour, one of the city’s fanciest and most expensive. He downed more than a few of the restaurant’s 100,000 bottles of wine. He ordered room service. He took friends to La Tour.

And on the fifth day, he split.

That’s right. He simply disappeared, owing the hotel $4,910.95.

A few days later, the police arrested a man named Salvatore Labruscio and charged him with the crime. He had, according to police, been arrested in Hawaii, California, Oregon, Florida, Michigan, Louisiana, New Jersey and Illinois (not Texas, you will note) on a variety of charges including negligent homicide, assault with intent to kill, robbery, burglary, theft, disorderly conduct and drunkenness.

“But he was a perfect gentleman,” Stiel-hack says. “We would love to have all our guests so well-behaved.”

How’s that for Chicago hospitality?



WHILE THE CITY itself is not always so wildly courteous, Chicago does have a habit of giving any visitor a fair shake. And in recent years that shake has gotten downright sophisticated.

Most of this sophistication clusters around the area known as the Magnificent Mile, the stretch of North Michigan Avenue (more than a mile, actually) that begins at the Chicago River and ends at Oak Street.

It’s an area of sleek shops, swanky saloons, classy hotels and refined restaurants. And in what is still a shock to the sensibilities of most Chicagoans, it is also an area that features horse-drawn carriages, which make their rounds nightly along gaudy Rush Street and its refined environs.

Still, the first encounter a visitor has with Chicago -if one remains oblivious to the turmoil of O’Hare and the bland $20 taxi ride into the city -is with one of its hotels. Until recently, travelers were forced to seek lodging at one of the hulking hotels in the musty Loop or one of the faceless inns that surround O’Hare airport. But in the late Seventies, Chicago . was gleefully transformed from the city of big shoulders to the city of small hotels.

There are seven fine ones:

The Park Hyatt, 600 N. Michigan (943-5600), is a gem. Many of its 255 rooms overlook that gingerbread-like Chicago landmark, the Water Tower, and all of them are filled with such amenities as eiderdown comforters, velour robes, imported soaps and bottled waters (Perrier and Evian). Its staff speaks more than a dozen languages.

The hotel’s penthouse suite boasts a pri-vate butler, a sunken marble tub, five televisions, 13 telephones and a bar fully stocked with free booze. At $2,000 a day, why not? But less-lavish accommodations can be had at the relatively reasonable rates of $85 for single and $ 100 for double. (The following hotels are in this general price range; a few dollars more, a few dollars less. Shop around.)

The Park Hyatt played host last year to Klinton Spillsbury, the lanky star of the disastrous The Legend of the Lone Ranger. Don’t remember him? Well, what about the Rolling Stones?

The Whitehall Hotel, 105 E. Delaware (944-6300), is where the Stones stay when they’re in Chicago. No one, with the possible exception of oil-rich sheiks, expects to be pampered more than rock ’n’ roll stars, and the Whitehall accomplishes that task admirably. Someone will unpack your luggage. A concierge will take care of your every wish. Even baby sitters are provided. Guests of the hotel are able to dine at the private Whitehall Club, a sumptuous restaurant, where even Mick Jagger wore a tie.

The Tremont, 102 E. Chestnut (751-1900), differs very little from the Whitehall. That’s not surprising when you realize that they are both owned by the same man, John Coleman, a pioneer in Chicago’s small-hotel trade.

Both have finely appointed rooms and suites, intimate lobbies, personalized service, wonderful restaurants (Cricket’s at the Tremont). And both hotels are loaded with a seemingly endless parade of “little extras,” right down to bedside boxes of Godiva chocolates.

The Knickerbocker, 163 E. Walton (751-8100), was once a monstrosity of a hotel run by Playboy. Its lobby was so dark that patrons had a hard time telling the bunnies from the bartenders. Now, the Knickerbocker bares no resemblance to its former self. A grandfather clock ticks away in a lobby filled with soft couches and chairs; a pianist plays off to one side of the lobby bar (the Lime House Pub) and the air is generally one of a London, rather than a Chicago, hotel.

The Knickerbocker’s rooms are tastefully done-“We’ve gotten rid of the leather sheets,” one employee quipped, in reference to the hotel’s randy Playboy days. The staff is perhaps the most courteous in town; and this hotel’s restaurant, The Prince of Wales, has received lavish praise from a recent diner, Ann Landers.

Anvan Hotel Corp., which is responsible for the glorious transformation of the Knickerbocker, has another small hotel in its Chicago stable. The recently renovated Barclay Hotel, 166 E. Superior (787-6000), is a former apartment building. Again the transformation has been stunningly successful.

The Mayfair Regent, 181 E. Lake Shore Drive (787-8500), offers a great view of Lake Michigan and one of the city’s most lavish lobbies -gold leaf, marble floors and Persian rugs, among other eye-catchers. The concierge is ready with ties and cuff links for the hasty packers and with jogging maps for the athletically inclined. The Ciel Blue restaurant, on the hotel’s 19th floor, has a spectacular view and equally pleasing food.

The Raphael, 201 E. Delaware (943-5000), in the substantial shadow of the John Hancock building, is the sister of that small hotel of the same name in San Francisco. Not quite as slick, it’s comfortable, unpretentious and cheery.

As usual, there are all of the small hotel amenities, including – here are a pair of extra nice touches -morning Perrier in your refrigerator, compliments of the house, and beds made up with three sheets instead of two.

And finally, while it’s technically not a small hotel since it has more than 400 rooms, the Ritz-Carlton, 160 E. Pearson (266-1000), is certainly worth mentioning. It is a class act throughout.

You’ve noticed that the dining offered at many of Chicago’s small hotels is more than a few steps removed from Howard Johnson’s. But fine eating is hardly confined to that joint just off the lobby. With Chicago’s new sophistication, a number of exceptional, fancy and often expensive restaurants have emerged.

Any list of such restaurants would prove virtually endless, or at least quite exhausting for writer and reader alike.

Some undeniable and almost foolproof favorites include Toulouse, a cozy and charming French restaurant at 49 W. Division, with a late-night piano bar; Bastille, a unique and relaxed French brasserie at 21 W. Superior; Morton’s, arguably Chicago’s best steakhouse at 1030 N. State, where one will also find the glitzy Arnie’s and the exquisitely expensive and delicious Club La Mer (if you’re wondering, all three are owned by Arnie Morton); Su Casa, 49 E. Ontario, a great Mexican restaurant. The Pump Room, which has recaptured the glory of its storied, celebrity-studded past, is always a delight at 1301 N. State in the Ambassador East. And Eli’s, another great steakhouse, is located at 215 E. Chicago.

That should be enough to get you started. But always, dinner at a Chicago restaurant should be paired with entertainment afterwards. Luckily, the Near North Side teems with nightlife.

A favorite late-night treat is the inimitable Buddy Charles, a piano-playing dynamo, who holds raucous court at Acorn on Oak, 116 E. Oak.

If jazz is to your liking, Rick’s Cafe American, 644 N. Lake Shore Drive, has some of the biggest names around; and the Backroom, 1007 N. Rush, has not only great singers, but also the smoky atmosphere most jazzophiles demand.

And there is always, always, the Second City, 1616 N. Wells, Chicago’s renowned improvisational theater, where Mike Nichols, Elaine May, David Steinberg, the late John Belushi and hundreds of other stars began their careers. The current show is, typically, laugh-filled.

Located in Old Town (once Chicago’s answer to Greenwich Village, but now rather subdued), Second City is a little off the beaten path. And there are some other spots worth a cab ride from your hotel.

The 2200 block of North Lincoln Avenue, for instance, has one great restaurant, The Bakery, and one great saloon, Wise Fool’s Pub, a bastion of blues.

Just west of the Loop is an area rich in Greek restaurants. You won’t go wrong at the Parthenon, 314 S. Halsted, or Diana’s, 212 S. Halsted. But hold out for Greek Islands, 765 W. Jackson. It’s the best.

And what of the Loop, once the city’s vibrant entertainment-filled center?

State Street, recently mailed, is no longer the great street of yore, and the Loop itself becomes a virtual wasteland after dark. But there remain a few durable pockets of fine dining.

It’s worth visiting Don Roth’s Black-hawk, 139 N. Wabash. (It’s worth visiting to pay the extravagant tab.) One would do well to try Binyon’s, 327 S. Plymouth Court, which has been in business for 130 years and is filled with lawyers and judges. Miller’s Pub, 23 E. Adams, offers great ribs and the occasional glimpse of sports stars. It’s also open until 4 a.m. for late-night drinkers.

The Berghoff, 17 W. Adams, is one Loop restaurant that should not be missed. Its venerable bar is a perfect place for lunch, and the large, wood-paneled restaurant does a booming business all day long. The waiters are Old-World gruff but pleasantly so. The food is hearty, filling and remarkably low-priced. The ambiance is legendary.

Inevitably, however, one will be drawn to, or simply stumble upon, Rush Street, once a bawdy boulevard of girlie shows and strip joints. It is within blocks, even steps, of the small hotels previously mentioned.

The street’s act is a good deal cleaner than in the past. There are only two topless joints left: The Candy Store and the Cabaret, which are both worth avoiding. And the one remaining adult bookstore peers so subtly from its subterranean location that you probably won’t even notice it.

You will, however, notice those spas of do-it-yourself entertainment called singles bars. Some of the liveliest are Harry’s Café and Sweetwater, across Rush Street from one another at Bellevue. Manhattan is a slick and sophisticated new Rush Street resident, as is the Snuggery on Division, right across the street from what is generally considered to be America’s first singles bar, Butch McGuire’s. Opened in 1961, it shows no signs of age.

The crowds at most of the Rush Street area saloons are young professionals. There will be an occasional celebrity and an occasional weirdo, but generally you’ll find Rush Street a friendly, frolic-filled strip.

Salvatore Labruscio did. The man ofPark Hyatt fame was drinking in one ofthe Rush Street saloons, mere blocks fromthe scene of his alleged con job, when hewas nabbed by the cops. Mr. Labrusciowas obviously a man of great taste, whowas simply enjoying a final fling with Chicago hospitality.