Possession of the faith by which mountains are removed is, we are inclined to think, the fundamental characteristic of the American spirit. To the American all things are possible because the true American takes it for granted that to him nothing is impossible. The manifestation of this spirit has its unpleasant—oftentimes its ridiculous—side, of course; yet the possession of it has made possible the performance here in the New World of miracles as astonishing as any set forth in holy writ.
By popular consent the metropolis of our inland seas has long since come to be regarded as perhaps the most striking exponent, among cities, of the characteristic American spirit. Throughout her history the supreme confidence of her citizens in the city’s present greatness and future development, together with the will to transmute the prolific visions of her leaders into present realities, has constituted her most valuable civic asset. We have seen no better illustration of this characteristic Chicago (and American) spirit than the one contained in a story which William J. Onahan, a Chicago Irishman of sixty-four years’ standing relates. Meeting Mr. Armour on a street corner at a time when, because of political turmoil in Italy there was talk of the Pope’s seeking an asylum
outside the peninsula, the two stopped to talk for a moment, whereupon the captain of industry calmly proposed that the papacy be brought to Chicago. Onahan undertook to explain something of the magnitude of the Pope’s responsibilities, and the impossibility of the proposed removal from the Eternal to the Windy City, with the following result:
“Mr. Armour listened patiently to my harangue on the necessities of the Pope, and then proposed another conundrum to me: 'How much would it take to provide all these buildings?’
“I did not know; could not guess. Would it take ten millions—twenty millions?
“'Look here,’ he added, 'you undertake this affair. You know how to manage these things. You get the Pope to agree to come to Chicago. We can arrange and provide everything suitable for his needs.’
“'Why, how on earth could you do these things?’ I asked in bewilderment.
“'I’ll tell you my idea,’ he said. 'We will get a big tract of land outside Chicago, ten or twenty thousand acres. We will build necessary offices, a palace, a great Cathedral, whatever may be necessary. Half that land set apart and turned over to the Pope, don’t you see that we will make enough out of the other half to pay for the whole business?’
“I was dumfounded at the audacity of the idea, the ingenuity and method of carrying it out, and the characteristic Chicago aim—'there’s money in it.’ When, many years afterwards I saw the wonderful 'White City’—the World’s Fair—its marvelous architectural beauty, the vastness and symmetry of its buildings, the beauty of all the arrangements, I said to myself, Chicago could indeed, if put to it, build a new Eternal City.”
[134] Reprinted from the editorial column of the Madison Democrat, January 22, 1918.