Marshall Field's: The Store that Helped Build Chicago

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Introduction

WHY MARSHALL FIELD’S MATTERS

To do the right thing, at the right time, in the right way; to do some things better than they were ever done before; to eliminate errors; to know both sides of the question; to be courteous; to be an example; to work for the love of work; to anticipate requirements; to develop resources; to recognize no impediments; to master circumstances; to act from reason rather than rule; to be satisfied with nothing short of perfection.

In these days of harshly lit big box superstores, mindless one-click online purchasing and vast dreary landscapes of endless strip malls, it can be difficult to explain why a single store chain, a lone brand name brought to the public perception over 150 years ago by a long-deceased merchant, should have any significance in our busy twenty-first-century lifestyles. After all, brands come and go, stores open and close and even once-cherished commercial giants drift into obscurity as the next generation of retailing or manufacturing brings the newest and the trendiest of the contenders to the forefront. Few remember or mourn once notable, now defunct department stores such as Wieboldt’s, Jordan Marsh, McCrory, Britt’s, Bamberger’s or Carter Hawley Hale Stores. Why is Marshall Field’s any different?

To answer that question is to touch upon the very essence of Chicago, the city that embraced the store. When young Marshall Field came to Chicago, he found an equally young city struggling to rise from the prairie and find its identity. The growth of the city and the growth of the store were symbiotic, each drawing the best from the other. Field was a leader who led by example, a man who not only spoke but lived by his priciples and set the bar for other entrepreneurs and civic leaders of the day. His philanthropy helped form the backbone of the city’s culture, while his business acumen led commercial growth. What would Field do? became a mantra for other merchants who observed his methods and followed closely in line.

His generosity wasn’t limited to showy displays of corporate beneficience; he was just as quick to supply mittens and coats to the poor errand boys who worked behind the scenes in his store when he observed their meager dress one cold day. Although frugal—some might say cheap—he never hesitated to use his wealth for the benefit of others.

The greatest good [a man] can do is to cultivate himself in order that he may be of greater use to humanity.

When Field died in 1906, his philosophy lived on in the store and the empire that he had built. Marshall Field & Company continued to help build Chicago and its outlying areas and created a legacy of civic commitment and customer satisfaction that lasted throughout another century and various corporate owners. When the Marshall Field name was retired in 2006 after the stores were purchased by Macy’s, various protest groups coined phrases such as Field’s is Chicago and Field’s: as Chicago as it gets. This wasn’t just emotional hype.

Indeed, during the late 1990s and early 2000s, the flagship Marshall Field’s store at 111 North State Street in Chicago was the third most visited tourist destination in the city, according to the Chicago Tourism and Convention Bureau. Busloads of wide-eyed visitors from across the globe came to Chicago to admire its natural beauty, enjoy its fine culture and shop at the world-reknowned store. Flight attendants at O’Hare Airport (second busiest in the nation) were quite used to seeing passengers carrying those familiar green bags stuffed with treasures for the folks back home. And Christmastime lunch at the famed Walnut Room restaurant was de rigueur for generations of Chicagoans. In fact, when talk first surfaced that the store’s name might be changed by the new owners, few Chicagoans took it seriously, unable to believe that Field’s and Chicago would ever be torn asunder.

Now, however, we live in a new era when corporate branding can change rapidly, sometimes capriciously. Chicago’s own Sears Tower, once the world’s tallest building, was named for a merchant peer of Field’s. It is now the Willis Tower, named for a London-based insurance broker. Comiskey Park, the home of the Chicago White Sox baseball team since 1910, was moved and rebuilt in 1991 and, a few years later, renamed U.S. Cellular Field after the mobile communications company. The Rosemont Horizon, a huge sport and events arena in suburban Rosemont, became the Allstate Arena in 1999 when the insurance giant bought naming rights. Recent talk that the city’s beloved and iconic Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs, might have its naming rights sold caused a near-meltdown in the press and among loyal fans. Life goes on, but most Chicagoans still refer to the tall building as the Sears Tower, the ballpark as Comiskey and the sports facility as the Horizon. Chicagoans are a loyal and stubborn lot who take a great deal of pride in things that are uniquely theirs. The loss of Marshall Field’s was a painful lesson in brand loyalty that shook many residents from their complacency and created an awareness that civic identity shouldn’t simply be sold to the highest bidder.

This book is intended to celebrate the life and philosophy of Chicago’s greatest merchant and the continuing legacy he created. His generosity of both character and capital helped mold Chicago into the world-class city it is today and will live on in the institutions he helped to create. Throughout the text, you’ll find quotes that illustrate the Field ideology. Unless otherwise attributed, all quotes are represented to be from Marshall Field himself. Of course, when researching events and hearsay from past centuries, it’s sometimes difficult to pin down exact sources. In all cases, the author has attempted to use the most widely accepted or reliable source, but any discrepancies or errors are due to conflicting historical records and not from any lack of diligence or concern during the preparation of this manuscript. Mr. Field would demand no less.

Chapter 1

FROM THE FARM TO THE CITY

Making of a Merchant

Beware of a misfit occupation…I was always interested in the commercial side of life, and always thought I would be a merchant.

Chicago in 1856 was a city of contrasts. Obscene wealth mingled with desperate poverty. Gleaming white marble and limestone façades sprouted up from muddy, rutted streets. Plank highways roamed to the myriad frontier towns that were stubbornly setting down roots in the seemingly endless prairie, while the city itself appeared oddly restless and rootless. Towering grain elevators, dusty flour mills and bloody packinghouses sprang up to contain the massive wealth from the farms that dotted the prairie, while dirt-poor Irish and German immigrants struggled to provide a meager subsistence for their families. Nearly three thousand miles of iron rail spread like the spokes of a wheel from the city, connecting it to towns in the east and south, but traversing the narrow, swampy avenues from one end of the business district to the other created a challenge for residents. Each day, dozens of passenger trains from ten different trunk lines chugged into the upstart hamlet, disgorging a steady stream of eager pioneers ready to seek their fortune in the growing metropolis. Some came to get rich on their wits and intellect, others on their strength and brawn, toiling from dawn to dusk in soul-crushing labors.

Once a sleepy little fur-trading community on the shores of Lake Michigan, Chicago had much working in its favor to assist in its rapid growth. Situated at the mouth of the Chicago River on the southwestern edge of the third-largest Great Lake, it was an ideal port for ships from the east. Even during its earliest days, visionaries recognized the town’s remarkable potential as a transportation hub, and they began to dream about a great canal that would allow barges filled with goods to travel from the Great Lakes, down the Mississippi River, all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. Finally, in 1848, the visions became reality as construction was completed on the ninety-six-mile-long Illinois and Michigan Canal that connected the Chicago River to the Illinois River.

This engineering marvel of the time allowed vessels to travel from Chicago through the canal to the Illinois River, which emptied into the mighty Mississippi. Sturdy paths on either side of the sixty-foot-wide canal were designed for mules to pull the provision-laden barges through the shallow channel until they reached the rivers. Because the mules needed to rest from their labors, towns grew up along the paths at appropriate distances, allowing the animals and their handlers to obtain food and shelter. Now, goods could be shipped from the East Coast, through the Great Lakes, through the new Port of Chicago, all the way down to New Orleans. The scrappy frontier town of Chicago was gaining quite a bit of notoriety out east as a place to be reckoned with, a city growing from the prairie at a phenomenal rate, representing all the promise that the West had to offer. In 1833, the population of Chicago was approximately 300; by 1860, that number had grown to 110,000.

Of course, as the people came, the need for goods and services increased. Lake Street, which runs parallel and close to the Chicago River, became known as the street of merchants. Unfortunately, the slow-moving Chicago River was a repository for sewage and dead animals, and residents of the day often covered their faces with handkerchiefs to block the stench as they hurried through the swampy mud to visit one of the new emporiums. Slaughterhouses added their offal to the mix, and the vile smells of animal putrefaction mingled with the odor of human waste sometimes caused residents to gag and retch. These noxious odors, known as miasmas, were often blamed for disease, but in reality it was the lack of sanitation and understanding of germ theory that caused frequent outbreaks of cholera, scarlet fever and typhoid.

Wooden sidewalks helped the residents avoid some of the muck, but the smells, smog and dust from horses and wagons still permeated the air, especially during the broiling