The search for Pigasus: What happened to Chicago’s presidential pig?

The search for Pigasus: What happened to Chicago’s presidential pig?


The annals of American political history have seen many unusual presidential candidates, like comedian Gracie Hull in the 1940s or Chicago rapper Kanye West’s ill-fated runs. But perhaps none are quite as unusual as Pigasus — a literal pig who briefly ran for high office in 1968.

Pigasus became a Democratic candidate during the tumult of the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. She was nominated by the Youth International Party, better known as the Yippies, who were major players in the anti-war protests that descended on Chicago in August 1968. Led by provocateurs Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, the Yippies specialized in what Abe Peck, a former Yippie and writer for The Chicago Seed magazine, calls “the politics of spectacle.”

“It was…the politics of theater, and the idea was that there was a different way to live and a different way to work, and a different way to play — and then, of course, sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll,” Peck explained.

The Yippies were fed up with what they saw as corruption in American politics and wanted the Democrats to take a stance against the ongoing Vietnam War. With Vice President Hubert Humphrey — a candidate they despised — as the Democratic frontrunner, Hoffman and Rubin decided they needed their own nominee.

“There was enough greed that it was the ‘pigs at the trough.’ Some of what was being endorsed was piggish, so why not run a real pig?” Peck said. “It was a spectacle because you knew the press was gonna show up for that.”

As it turns out, the press were not the only ones who showed up. Not long after Pigasus appeared at a protest in Daley Plaza, the Chicago police detained her and arrested several protesters.

Curious City listener Andre Smith, a lawyer with a nose for research, wanted to know what happened to Pigasus after her arrest. His own Freedom of Information Act request to the Chicago Police Department came up empty. Smith wanted to know if a certain rumor was true: that Pigasus had been barbecued by the Chicago police at a department cookout.

So, did Pigasus end up in the smoker or did she escape to greener pastures?

From farm to seat at the table

Finding a pig worthy of nomination does come with logistical challenges. Hoffman and Rubin couldn’t agree on what type of pig would best represent their movement. One wanted a cute, Porky Pig-style candidate, while the other preferred a fierce wild boar. The two never did agree, and in archival photos from the protests, one can spot several swine walking around.

But for the Yippies, the true presidential candidate was a black pig with white spots.

Before her political career, Pigasus lived a typical farmyard life in what is today suburban Libertyville. When several scruffy Yippies showed up in a jeep looking to purchase a hog, the bemused farmer wasn’t sure what to make of these long-haired activists. Nonetheless, he agreed to sell them a pig for $20.

Days later, Pigasus found herself in Daley Plaza, surrounded by an exuberant crowd holding signs and cheering her arrival. An impromptu press conference was abruptly cut short: Chicago police, having no patience for porcine politics, quickly arrested six human protesters and detained the candidate.

But did they really put her on a spit afterwards?

After digging into the scuttlebutt, we believe the rumors appear to be false. Newspaper reports from the time reveal that Pigasus was quickly turned over to the Anti-Cruelty Society by the police. Quotes from former ACS director J.J. Shaffer confirmed that the pig was in their care.

Peck attempted to bail out Pigasus from the ACS with Steve Mrvos, a friend “who looked just like a Life Magazine version of a hippie: stove pipe hat, beard.” Mrvos approached the Anti-Cruelty Society counter claiming he’d “lost his dog,” one that was “black and white and [had] a curly tail.” The ruse didn’t work.

The Anti-Cruelty Society said they don’t currently possess any records of Pigasus being in their care. However, some articles from their archives specified that she had been rehomed to a farm in Grayslake, Ill., just a stone’s throw from Libertyville.

The trail goes cold

About an hour’s drive north of Chicago, Grayslake is a quaint village suburb. Subdivisions dot the town; its main street is filled with local shops and boasts a sizable farmers market. There’s also ample outdoor recreation at the surrounding forest preserves and, as its name suggests, several nearby lakes.

It’s changed quite a lot since the 1960s, said Katie Brethorst-Stockwell, deputy director of the Grayslake Heritage Center and Museum. The community was once heavily agricultural, with farms dating back to the 1840s focused on dairy production, supported by a gelatin factory and animal feed wholesaler.

Grayslake underwent dramatic changes around 1980: “All of the farmers, right around the same time, decided to put their properties up, and then they sold them and they subdivided,” Brethorst-Stockwell said. “So, our big population boom happened in the ‘80s — I think it was around 4,000 to 20,000 over like a 10-year span.”

It seemed that if Pigasus had been on a farm in Grayslake, it may now be a subdivision.

Just when all hope for finding Pigasus’ final resting place seemed lost, longtime Grayslake resident Darlene Dorfler provided one last clue: Lambs Farm in nearby Libertyville. This organization, dedicated to helping people with developmental disabilities, operates a farmyard with rescue animals. Founded in 1961 and moved to a 70-acre farm in 1965, it would have been perfectly positioned to take in a famous political pig: a sanctuary-like operation in the right area at the right time.

Unfortunately, they too did not have records dating that far back that would indicate Pigasus’ residence. But ACS and Lambs Farm have worked together before. While no records show that Pigasus ended up at Lambs Farm, it does provide at least a plausible answer.

A legend lives on

Perhaps we’ll never know exactly where Chicago’s presidential pig spent her final days. But we can say she probably didn’t end up on a dinner plate.

What we do know is that in her brief moment in the spotlight, Pigasus captured something essential about the absurdity and creativity of 1960s protest movements. In a time when Americans felt their political system had become corrupted by greed and warmongering, a group of young activists looked around and asked: If our leaders are going to act like pigs, why not elect a real one?

Nearly 60 years later, Pigasus remains a symbol of irreverent political theater — proof that sometimes, the most serious statements have wet snouts and curly tails. And somewhere in the Illinois countryside, her spirit lives on.

Andrew Meriwether is a reporter and producer based in Chicago. Keep up with his work at andrewmeriwether.com.



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