Marshall Field's

Today, Marshall Field's stores officially became Macy's. No surprise at all: Federated, the company that owns Macy's, bought May, the company that owned Field's, and announced some time ago that the name of all Marshall Field's stores--including the flagship store on State Street, that long-ago "great street"--would be changing.

I wish I could feel the righteous anger that some shoppers do toward Federated over the name change--a large number of them have vowed never to shop at Macy's, no matter how nice they try to make with the locals, and there were vocal protests in the loop this morning. I would love to shake my fist at those insensitive out-of-towners. Don't they know that Chicago was the crucible in which the department store was forged? That Sears, Montgomery Ward, Carson Pirie Scott and Field's all originated here? How dare they take away our local traditions?

I understand what those shoppers are feeling. I sympathize. But I can't feel it with them. Because I didn't shop at Field's that much.

Our family was poor. Sure, we came downtown at the height of the holiday season to stare through the windows at the elaborate, animated displays that Field's put up every year. But then, we went back to our own neighborhood and bought our presents at Woolworth's or Goldblatt's or Zayre. That's what we could afford. Even just walking through Field's was a reminder of what we wanted, but couldn't have.

As an adult, I could better afford to shop downtown, but our habits in life are formed early--I still didn't do more than walk through Field's on my way to somewhere else. The last time I can remember actually shopping there was a decade or more ago, when I was looking to buy some Calvin Klein underwear because I'd been told that the woman I was then foolish-head-over-foolish-heals for wore men's Calvin Klein briefs because they were more comfortable than typical women's panties. (Is it just a bit weird that I wanted to wear the same undies as the woman I thought I loved? Yes, yes it was. And did wearing that underwear help me in the least? Did I get the girl? No, no I did not.)

The last time I went into the flagship store at all was a couple of years ago or so, when I met a few former co-workers for lunch--including the woman who liked to wear the Calvin's. I sat next to her the whole time, smelled the Lancome perfume that used to intoxicate me so...and felt not a thing for her. It was a pleasant lunch that gave me a small sense of closure. But did having it at Field's make it any more special? No. We could have had lunch at McDonald's, and it would have been the same.

Does this mean that I don't lament the loss of the name of Marshall Field from the local shopping scene? Of course I do, but not in the personal way that people who shopped the aisles there, bought special gifts there, met lovers under the famous clocks there do. For them, this is more than an attempt at corporate synergy, a unified national brand, something in common to sell to the masses. (Though, if they must sell it to us, especially via an expensive commercial campaign engineered by a Chicago ad agency, why'd they have to change the lyrics to "Dancing in the Streets"--not the most daring song choice to begin with--to excise the name of Chicago and replace it with Saint Louis, a town not exactly embraced in this cradle of Cubdom? Nice way to woo the locals, boys.)

Mine is a more general sadness at yet another layer of Chicago's personality being exfoliated. We're just a little more like every other city now. And should it wound our civic pride that the name subplanting Field's is Macy's, a brand so closely identified with hated New York? Probably not, but it does nonetheless.

Add it to the lengthening list of names vanishing from downtown Chicago, along with the Berghoff--the sign remains, but the restaurant closed months ago--and Carson Pirie Scott, another retail giant of old whose new owners are closing its flagship store at State and Madison early next year.

The buildings that once held Field's and Carson's, just one block's walk from one another, will of course remain--both are city landmarks, and thus safe from the wrecker's ball. (Relatively safe, anyway--I'm sure that a few well-placed, sizable contributions into the appropriate campaign warchests would change a few minds and cause a few ordinances to be tactfully ignored. It's happened before. It'll happen again. It's Chicago.) But they won't be the same with new tenants. Their personalities will change, just as the city's personality continues to change.

We're not really unique anymore, Chicago. But if Chicago is just like everywhere else--which it is more and more with each passing day--what's the point of living here?