Editor's note: This column originally was published in 2014. On Friday, the Lucas Foundation officially announced it was dropping its plan to open a museum in Chicago, blaming the Friends of the Parks group.
SOUTH LOOP — While the rest of the city debated whether Mayor Emanuel’s successful use of “The Force” to land a "Star Wars" museum on the lake was such a good idea, I got busy figuring out how to get my hands on my boyhood collection of Jedi artifacts.
So I called Mom.
“Where’s all my 'Star Wars' stuff?” I asked.
“Huh?” Mom said. “Why?”
I told her the back story: That the mayor’s pal Mellody Hobson, the uber-rich investment banker, is married to "Star Wars" creator George Lucas.
Lucas wanted to build a museum dedicated to himself and his life’s work in San Francisco, but couldn't get the spot he coveted.
So our mayor offered up a couple parking lots on a slice of priceless lakefront tailgating land to convince Lucas to build his "Star Wars" museum in Chicago.
And all this "Star Wars" museum hoopla made me a little nostalgic for my boyhood collection of Jedi action figures — and don’t you dare call them dolls!
I still can picture the Darth Vader-head carrying case I got for Christmas in second grade that was packed with a collection of action figures: Luke Skywalker with his lightsaber, Chewbacca, C-3PO and two R2D2s. I had an X-wing fighter, a land speeder that just flew on linoleum and a TIE Fighter with the detachable wings.
And so much more stuff, but probably not as much as a lot of guys my age who grew up with the science-fiction blockbuster films — and the stream of Kenner toys that followed close behind.
“You know, my 'Star Wars' stuff, Ma,” I said, almost whining. “Is it in the downstairs closet?”
“Nah, it’s not there,” Mom said, pausing before confessing her sin. “I’m pretty sure I sold all that stuff at a garage sale.”
I should have known, really.
Mom always told me that if I didn’t keep track of my toys she’d sell them at a garage sale to some kid who would.
I just never figured that meant she’d hawk my "Star Wars" stuff along with her old flower pots, picture frames and ugly sweaters.
When I told pals about my mom’s betrayal, a few of them laughed and bragged that they had more compassionate parents with the wisdom to preserve their collections — artifacts that could go for a small fortune on eBay.
There’s a multitude of those lucky middle-age men fortunate enough to have mini-''Star Wars'' museums of their own packed away in their parents’ attics and basements all over the Chicago area.
Guys like my boss, Shamus Toomey, an editor whose childhood notion of good and evil was shaped by "Star Wars" movies. Thanks to his parents, he still has all his action figures and toy spaceships, including a Millennium Falcon that hangs from his basement ceiling.
“I gave them all to my son, but I suspect I play with them more,” the 41-year-old father of two said without even a hint of shame.
Do not snicker at Shamus. A grown man brave enough to openly declare his love of "Star Wars" toys should not be mocked — unless, of course, he dresses up like a Wookiee while shopping at Target.
"Star Wars," whether it’s worthy of a lakefront museum or not, had a huge influence on a lot of folks around my age.
Most guys, myself included, grew out of their "Star Wars" obsession, while others refused.
Chicago-based shock jock Erich “Mancow” Muller infamously hired waiters dressed as Stormtroopers to serve the sushi at his over-the-top circus-themed wedding in 2003.
And before U.S. Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. got thrown in the clink for skimming campaign cash, he was the proud curator of "Star Wars" museum of sorts in the basement of his South Shore home — the only place his wife, former Ald. Sandi Jackson, would allow him to keep his toy collection.
“I wanted a room to work out and he wanted a room for his toy collection,” Sandi Jackson told me. “He loved that stuff.”
Jackson packed his “Star Wars Room” with Jedi memorabilia that included life-sized action figures of Yoda and Darth Vader and a sculpture of Dianoga, the horrifying underwater monster in the trash compactor in the first film.
Jackson would gush with pride when he’d show off his five replica lightsabers — which glowed and played sound effects when you swung them — he had mounted to the wall.
All Jackson’s awesome "Star Wars" keepsakes — not to be confused with Michael Jackson’s fedora and other collectibles he bought illegally with campaign money — got boxed up and put away after he went to prison.
And for that, Jackson’s a luckier guy than me.
When he gets out of prison — as early as December 2015 — his "Star Wars" toys will be waiting for him while I am left empty-handed and forced to wait for the mayor’s "Star Wars" museum by the lake — if it survives inevitable court challenges.
When I tried to make my Mom feel bad about selling off my "Star Wars" stuff, she wasn't sorry.
“Get over it,” Mom said as sweetly as she could. “And if you see George Lucas tell him thanks. I got good money for that junk.”
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