Chicagoans Flock to Marshall Field’s for Memories

Oblivious to frigid temperatures and harried shoppers, Sandi Preston patiently pointed her digital camera at the Marshall Field’s State Street store.

She wasn’t shooting the holiday window displays or even the legendary clock. She was zooming in on the nameplate.

“It’s iconic,” said Preston, who wasn’t satisfied until she documented the signage from all four street corners. “It’s my childhood. It’s Chicago. It’s Christmas.”

It’s hard to imagine any other retailer commanding such fierce loyalty that customers are compelled to photograph the corporate logo, but Marshall Field’s has never been just another store -- especially during the Christmas shopping season.

Ever since the fall announcement that all Marshall Field’s stores would become Macy’s, everyone knew a farewell was coming. But as the minutes ticked down on Christmas 2005, visitors from across town and across the country felt a new sense of urgency to make a pilgrimage to the flagship store.

The name change won’t happen until fall 2006, and the plaque carrying the 150-year-old name will stay at State Street, but no matter. During this final December at Marshall Field’s, many visitors have felt a need not just to savor nostalgia but to steep in it.

Corporate officials say the Walnut Room -- complete with towering Great Tree, chicken pot pie and Frango mint desserts -- will be there next year. Yet many Chicagoans feel it won’t be quite the same, if for no other reason than that they were introduced to those beloved traditions by people who are no longer around.

“I used to come here every Christmas with my grandma. I get emotional just thinking about it,” said Sue Senicka, 56, of Westmont, Ill., her eyes welling up.

Senicka was making her third trip this month to the Walnut Room, along with friend Jill Rahn, 55, also of Westmont. They have the routine down cold: Take the 8:05 a.m. train to be there when the doors open. Make a beeline to the seventh floor and pick up a pager. Then, a couple of hours later, obey the summons and sip an eggnog brandy Alexander served in a special commemorative glass mug.

“It all makes me so sentimental,” Rahn said.

With many Field’s collectibles sold out, it seemed as if everything was a potential souvenir, including the green shopping bags and paper napkins. Bob Carter, 57, a former Chicagoan now living in Los Angeles, was hanging on to his coat check number.

“First Garfield Goose. Then Bozo. Now Field’s,” Carter said. “They’re erasing my past, piece by piece.”

For Mary Michalik, 45, of Homewood, Ill., the impending change in ownership demanded that she take her three children, weaned on suburban malls, to create some memories before it was too late.

The dress coats, velvet jumpers and patent leather shoes of an earlier era have been replaced by parkas, blue jeans and Nikes, but the youngsters were going to get in on this experience whether they wanted to or not.

“It was such a big deal to me,” Michalik said of the annual Field’s excursion with her six siblings. “We didn’t really buy anything -- maybe a cookie at the bakery -- but my mom made us feel that we were so lucky.... We were going to the ritziest store in the world.”

A glance at her three children -- ages 15, 13 and 11 -- revealed far less enthusiasm. Not only were they rousted from their beds during school vacation, but their parents had no plans to actually purchase anything.

“We’re here to soak up the experience,” Michalik announced. Besides, she already had bought some “kitschy” store mugs to send to ex-Chicagoans.

“They’re really queer, but with everyone moving around so much, it’s sort of my way to say, ‘Hey, remember when we did this together?’ ”

That is precisely why what seems like a mere business transaction has struck such a nerve, said Robert Ledermann, who has written two books about Christmas on State Street. He said he had been flooded with letters from people wanting to share their memories.

They stretch back to the middle of the 19th century, when a Yankee storekeeper came to Chicago and forever changed the retail business. Cronies of Marshall Field often referred to him as the “merchant prince” of Chicago, and his store was considered the crown jewel of the Loop, the first to offer everything from made-to-order merchandise to a “no questions asked” return policy.

The innovations would reach a crescendo at the holiday season, when the store staged lavish store displays and, in 1907, put up what was billed as the world’s largest indoor tree. Today’s version, trimmed with 15,000 lights and 1,000 ornaments, will be up through Jan. 8.

“It’s about cherished customs,” Ledermann said from his home in Portage Park, Ill. “There aren’t any other trees like this tree. There aren’t other windows.... Just walk down the street and what do you see? Mannequins,” he said, spitting out the word.

This primal connection to a retailer left many of 2005’s youngsters scratching their heads.

Perhaps the civility of the Walnut Room, which opened in 1907, is wasted on those accustomed to food courts. Maybe the animated Cinderella windows pale in comparison to the latest “Star Wars” or “Harry Potter” blockbuster.

To their parents, however, the magic hadn’t dimmed a bit.

“When we didn’t have anything, we still had Christmas at Field’s,” said one retiree, the daughter of a Polish immigrant.

Friedereke Thibault, a 26-year employee, said she was a bit exasperated with all the sad strolls down memory lane. In today’s cutthroat retail environment, any move that helps boost the bottom line is a good move, she said.

“Not one person lost their job,” Thibault said of the consolidation, which had the Cincinnati-based Federated Department Stores swallowing up the Chicago institution in an $11-billion deal this spring. Federated last year also acquired St. Louis-based May Department Stores Co., a deal that is leading to the closure of 14 Robinson’s-May stores in Southern California.

“Everything -- the Walnut Room, the tree, Frangos -- will be back,” said Thibault, who works at the Estee Lauder counter. “And if I paid all that money, you’d bet I’d want to put my name on the building.”

Moreover, the Chicago City Council bestowed landmark status on the State Street building last month, ensuring that the store’s great clocks and nameplates will stay, regardless of their owner.

Still, that was little consolation to Preston, 22, a senior at the University of Illinois. She was one of those rabid fans who went online to sign a petition pleading with executives not to morph a Chicago tradition into that store from New York.

As Preston clicked away at the corner of Wabash and Randolph, there wasn’t much left to do but record the end.

“I’m doing this because I love Chicago ... and because I’m heartbroken,” she said.