USA Today Cows on Parade Article 8-9-99

Chicago milks exhibit for the humor

By Kevin V. Johnson, USA TODAY

CHICAGO - In a city with a basketball team called the Bulls, an 1871 fire long blamed on a lantern-kicking heifer and a baseball announcer who used to exclaim about them with near-religious fervor, it perhaps should not be surprising that Chicago has gone ape over its cows.

Three hundred life-size fiberglass cows, to be exact. They have sprouted like a herd of colorful still lifes throughout the city's famous downtown in one of this summer's most innovative public art displays.

This is the Cows on Parade exhibit, a Swiss export making its North American debut here, drawing a stampede of visitors and a veritable cattle-log of udderly moo-ronic puns.

Sorry. Or, as Bart Simpson might say at a moment like this: "Don't have a cow, man!"

Decorated by Chicago artists, the cows are painted, decoupaged and sculpted, covered with mirrors, sequins, crystals, gumdrops and gold leaf. They're equipped with airplane wings, angel wings, track shoes, yellow rubber work boots, Carmen Miranda-style turbans, toy construction cranes, bags of fake popcorn, The Wall Street Journal, glasses and briefcases.

Naturally, there are cows that jump over the moon, kick over the lantern and sit in repose (the "Cowch Potato"). The "Holy Cow" cow - a tribute to late Chicago Cubs broadcaster Harry Caray - has holes. In front of the Goodman Theatre, a cow has been sliced up, with the parts arranged to suggest the cubist bovine in Picasso's painting Guernica.

There are cows on medians, on sidewalks and in parks. They're walking up the sides of buildings, standing in lobbies and perched on the parapet of the 130-year-old Water Tower. There even are strays, including one hanging from the O'Hare Airport ceiling. They seem to be everywhere, and everywhere unexpected.

"People are amazed at the different cows," says Ralph Bilkey, 54, a downtown Chicago soda jerk. "A lot of the people who come here are from farms, and they see cows every day. But they've never seen cows like this."

They are "such a surprise," says Lois Weisberg, the city's cultural affairs commissioner. "You smile. Then you want to talk to somebody about them. Then you want to touch them."

The exhibit, which opened June 15 and runs through Oct. 31, has attracted constant crowds.

Kids crawl all over them. Everyone takes pictures of them -- and complains about the absence of such delights in other cities.

"You'd never see anything like this in Dallas," says Abby Malowanczyk, 44, of Dallas. "In Dallas, they have no creativity."

"This is so Chicago," says Rabbi Kenneth Berger, 52, of Teaneck, N.J. "You could never have anything like this in New York. New York takes itself too seriously. (Mayor Rudy) Giuliani would never allow this." (Actually, New York could mount a similar exhibit next summer.)

Chicagoans seem to agree. Joann Lavin, 59, stood in front of the "Winter Wondercow" - blue and white, with snow-covered mountain peaks on its back and downhill skis on its feet - holding a list of all the cows and their locations. She marked X's next to the ones she has seen.

"I'm going to see all the cows on my lunch hours," she says, a project she estimates will take until the exhibit closes.

Ann Picciariello, 61, a Chicago executive secretary, invited five friends to see the cows with her next month - in a limousine. Now, a herd of friends wants to come along. "We're going to make a day of it. This is starting to mushroom," she says. "Everyone needs a little diversion."

No one is quite sure what the psychology is behind the bovines' attraction, but Michael Malowanczyk, 14, of Dallas has an elegantly simple theory. "People," he says, "have never seen a painted cow in the middle of a big city."

No Bulls

Cows on Parade could be the city's most successful public art exhibit.

Chicago officials say it is likely to draw an additional 1 million "tourist days" to the city and generate additional spending of $100 million to $200 million.

But it almost didn't happen.

Many people assume the idea was inspired by the Chicago Bulls or the 1871 Chicago fire, reportedly started when Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked over a lantern (the cow later was absolved), or the city's now-closed stockyards.

Actually, it was licensed from the Swiss government. A similar show last summer in Zurich, called Cow Parade, featured 800 cows.

City officials here, alerted to Cow Parade by a visitor, liked the idea and last winter asked the Swiss organizers for details. Then they heard that New York was considering a bid.

Says Michael Lash, director of the city's Public Art Program: "We felt that if we were going to do this, we were not going to be the second city."

A bid was faxed in. It was accepted. And the city rushed to prepare.

With barely six months, the city placed a first order for 100 of the cows - replicas of the Brown Swiss breed - from Zurich.

There was no money to pay for them, so the cows were shopped out to businesses in the city's Michigan Avenue retail district for a bargain-basement $2,000 unpainted or $3,000 painted.

As they caught on, prices rose. One cow sold for more than $11,000.

Design ideas were solicited via an open competition, with logos, trademarks, and commercial, religious and political messages prohibited. Artists whose designs were picked got a $1,000 stipend.

And the reception?

Chicago Tribune art critic Alan Artner scolded organizers in a June article, writing that the cows ultimately are "about buying, supporting and approving a top-o'-the-world, ain't-we-grand vision created by the city's bureau of tourism."

But if that's true, few people appear to mind.

The Tribune now has a cow Web site - www.chicagocows.com. And on June 16, the day after the opening, the paper ran four stories about Cows on Parade.

For its part, the Chicago Sun-Times runs a daily "Favorite Cow" feature, chosen from reader letters, and a weekly map suggesting different cow tours. It also publishes clues for a regular Thursday scavenger hunt: Readers who find the cow hinted at in the clue can win prizes.

Animal magnetism

Tour buses are filled with cow-seeking visitors. "It's the hit of Chicago this summer," says David Lemke, who runs weekly jaunts from Rockford, Ill.

The Hotel Inter-Continental has a Cows on Parade package with a disposable camera. Cow-related souvenirs - hats, ties, watches, teapots, plush toys, key chains, T-shirts - abound. Postcards are due soon.

Surprisingly, vandalism has been minor.

Several cows have been tipped over, despite the fact that each cow's concrete base weighs 580 pounds.

A horn was sawed off another cow.

And one cow was seriously damaged by being thrown onto a concrete walkway. Pieces have been pulled from other cows.

Cows that are damaged are temporarily replaced by one of two "Ow Cows," painted cows without a permanent location.

But, says Nathan Mason, official coordinator for the exhibit, "we've sustained more damage from people who just love the cows to death."

Everyone has a favorite. Katie Maloney, 18, a sophomore history major working a summer job at a day-care referral agency, loves the Pitbull Cow, which seems to burst out of a sidewalk futures pit with the energy of a commodities trader.

"I see it every morning when I get off the train, and every night I say good night to it," she says.

"I like the cow jumping over the moon," says Stephani Staples, 18, of San Antonio. "They should name this the City of Cows."

Francisco Navas, 5, visiting from Argentina, likes a cow with prosthetic legs and Rollerblades. "It's funny, that's why," he says.

But not everyone likes his or her cows leaping, sculpted, accessorized or otherwise adorned.

Standing near the Water Tower, trying to think of the most memorable cow he has seen, Nathan Larson, 21, a political science student from Knoxville, Tenn., strokes his chin and finally says: "There was one. It was like a plain old milking cow. That one really stood out. I liked it."