In October 1910, architect and city planner Daniel Burham spoke to colleagues at a conference in London. This was a year after he published 1909’s Plan of Chicago—a manifesto that would shape the city for the next century and come to be known as the Burnham Plan. But that plan hadn’t been enacted yet. Only proposed. Burnham was still selling his grand ambitions for a city reduced to smoldering ash 39 years earlier in the Great Fire, providing what became the default defense for extravagant projects to follow.
“Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized,” Burnham said, according to the Chicago Record-Herald. “Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistency.”
Uttered some 4,000 miles and an ocean away, Burnham’s words became an unofficial mantra in Chicago, trotted out every time some politician unveiled their newest agenda. It was pure and simple advertising. Better than anything Madison Avenue could come up with and almost insulting by nature: The only ones who could disagree were those who couldn’t dream big enough.
These days, the spirit of Burnham’s words is no longer used to promote civic pride or enhance Chicago for its residents, but to rob them of the very ideals that formed the framework of his plan. The latest proposed renovation of Soldier Field to placate the Chicago Bears is the greatest example yet. It’s revolting. It should infuriate anyone who calls the city home. And whatever power Burnham’s “no little plans” speech still holds over Chicagoans should be met with Monorail-jingle skepticism.
An ambitious plan to re-think Soldier Field feels big and noble, but it is, we now know, folly. Especially when the perfect use for the lakeside arena already exists, one Burnham himself envisioned and generations of activists have fought to defend. But the Bears must leave to enact it and Chicagoans should welcome their departure.
The city has done more than enough to spur the private franchise’s wealth with little return (certainly not many championships). The more Chicago offers to change Soldier Field, the more they insult those who will inevitably pay for it.
To understand why striving to keep the Bears in a home they no longer want makes no sense at all, we need to dive deep into the history of the place and the team that would unexpectedly become synonymous with it.