Deb Lew
She asked me the fatal question—the one that makes my eyes narrow and my blood pressure spike. Standing in downtown Chicago, the tourist naively called to me, unaware that she was inciting the wrath of this native Chicagoan.
“Would you tell me how to get to the Willis Tower?”
Not a chance. But I did offer to give her directions to the Sears Tower. She nodded hesitantly while I assured her that Chicago doesn’t have a Willis Tower, and then I proceeded to direct her to the famous landmark.
Other tourists have repeated her mistake, and each time, I refuse to acknowledge the usurping Willis name. Such antagonizing of tourists may seem juvenile, but these measures are necessary.
Like me, many Chicagoans have become guerillas, resorting to ruthless tactics to counter the London-based insurance group’s offensive. Willis Group Holdings, Ltd., launched their invasion last summer, when the company leased three floors of the Sears Tower. With those three measly floors came the building’s naming rights, and Willis proudly slapped their alien name on the guardian of Chicago’s signature skyline.
But just because Willis engraved their name on a sign doesn’t mean they can engrain it in our hearts and minds, and many Chicagoans enjoy defying the imposters. Willis brought this resistance upon themselves. They provoked us. They defaced one of our most beloved landmarks. They didn’t think we’d really let them get away with it, did they?
Oh, but they did. In fact, Willis CEO Joe Plumeri mentioned that Chicagoans could call the building “The Big Willie.” The Big Willie? A cutesy nickname that locals can fondly throw around? Dream on. Willis seems to have forgotten that, unlike naming rights, some things can’t be bought—like Chicagoan loyalty to our cherished landmarks.
Plumeri continued to say that “everybody in America knew who Willis was” because of the name change. That’s probably true, but not in the optimistic sense that Plumeri envisioned. Many enraged Chicagoans have responded with fury, and even Time magazine listed the name change among the top ten worst corporate name changes.
But did Willis have more than American publicity on their minds? Willis executives chose a strategic time to supplant the Chicago icon’s name—a time when the Second City appeared to be the first choice for the 2016 Olympics. The exposure would have been nice for Willis—having their building in countless camera shots during two weeks of international competition. I’m sure the thought crossed their minds once or twice. But if the plan was to have Chicagoans submissively repeating the Willis name for the 2016 Olympics, they failed. Epically.
Chicagoans have a strong sense of tradition, and many residents are still embittered against Macy’s for renaming the venerated Marshall Field’s. But this is different. This is personal.
Of course, the smiling Plumeri doesn’t mean to make it personal. He just wants the Chicagoans to be happy. He even told the Chicago Tribune that Chicagoans “can call it whatever they want.” That’s thoughtful of him, really, and I fully intend to take him up on that offer. I want to call it the Sears Tower, its rightful name, and so I will.
And I’m not alone. Many other Chicagoans resent the Willis invasion, and we will continue fighting back by verbally chipping away at the foundation of Willis’s trophy building. Willis holds the naming rights for only fifteen years—not long enough to change the city’s vocabulary, especially when Willis’s treachery is rehearsed to the next generation of loyal Chicagoans.
So go ahead. Ask for the Willis Tower. We'll stare blankly at you and shrug. We don't know what you're talking about, since we don't have a building with that name. Unless, of course, you mean some two-story building in the suburbs. But if you want that Chicago icon, the one with 110 stories and a sky deck, then you'll have to ask nicely. And you'll have to use its name, its real name—the Sears Tower.
