As the van pulled up Football Drive and the giant orange “C” on the guard shack became visible, 17-year-old Tim Johnson kept thinking the same thing. “This can’t be real,” he said. Johnson, a senior at Morgan Park High School on the South Side of Chicago, saw the Bears outdoor practice fields covered in snow. He saw the arched roof of the Walter Payton Center. “This can’t be real,” he thought again. And when it came time to stand on the sideline at the Bears’ final practice of November, Johnson had one other thought as a pack of defenders jogged past. “Khalil. Mack,” he said with a wide grin. “Man. That is a big man. … My heart was just beating. I have never been that close to professional football players before.” At Halas Hall, this was another routine Friday with the Bears finishing preparations for that weekend’s game against the Giants. But for Johnson and 12 other Chicago teens who traveled to Lake Forest as part of a visit with “My Block, My Hood, My City,” this was beyond belief. “This is a blessing for me,” said 18-year-old Trevon Walker, a senior at Phillips High School. Maybe this was only a day trip from the inner city to the North Shore, a pop-in to see the NFC North’s first-place team. But there was far more behind it, a glimpse into a partnership designed to broaden kids’ horizons and instill hope. Earlier this fall, as part of an initiative to increase their social justice outreach, the Bears, selected five nonprofit organizations to partner with. With guidance from the University of Chicago Crime Lab, Bears players identified valuable programs in under-resourced communities, targeting organizations with a focus on educating and empowering youth. By the Hand Club for Kids; Kicks 4 the City; SAGA; YWCA Lake County. My Block, My Hood, My City was also on the list, an organization that aims to lift kids in underprivileged neighborhoods in Chicago past the poverty and isolation they often experience. For Jahmal Cole, the organization’s founder and CEO, that starts with exposing kids to new opportunities and environments. “You have to help them see what’s out there,” Cole said. That’s where the Bears come in. Last March, after NFL owners agreed teams would match player donations to social justice causes of up to $250,000, the Bears formed a nine-person social justice committee. The five players on that committee — Sam Acho, Trey Burton, Akiem Hicks, Mitch Trubisky and Chase Daniel — spearheaded a fundraising effort among teammates in the locker room. Front-office leaders, including general manager Ryan Pace, chipped in. So did the Bears coaches, including Matt Nagy. Combined with a contribution from the Bears organization and matching grants from the NFL and Bears Care, a total of $815,830 was donated to the five charities. Stacey Wescott/Chicago Tribune Bears Chairman George McCaskey, left, speaks with Jahmal Cole, founder of the My Block, My Hood, My City organization, on Nov. 30, 2018, at Halas Hall in Lake Forest. Bears Chairman George McCaskey, left, speaks with Jahmal Cole, founder of the My Block, My Hood, My City organization, on Nov. 30, 2018, at Halas Hall in Lake Forest. (Stacey Wescott/Chicago Tribune) Most importantly, connections were established. From the start, the Bears were focused on creating lasting relationships. “That was something that was very important to our players,” Bears Chairman George McCaskey said. “And it was something I was incredibly impressed with. They didn’t want to just write a check, pose for the photo and walk away. They wanted to target agencies and organizations where they could remain involved and be active in the programming.” Added Hicks: “We were never just looking at this as charity — hey, here’s a few dollars. It’s more so having an ability to affect the minds and the culture and looking out for people’s well-being.” **** Cole grew up in North Chicago, has been a Bears fan all his life and proudly used his introduction to McCaskey in November to offer his personal account of Devin Hester’s kickoff return touchdown to open Super Bowl XLI. “My voice is still hoarse,” Cole said. “Besides my daughter being born, that was probably the best moment in my life. I’m telling you.” Nowadays the 35-year-old Cole channels his energy into lifting teens over the massive obstacles in their environment. My Block, My Hood, My City has connected with 120 students from eight high schools on Chicago’s South and West sides. The Bears’ financial donation, Cole said, has been vital in keeping the program going, in helping fund opportunities that encourage kids to step outside their comfort zones, exploring new cultures, communities and cuisine. Tim Johnson, for example, speaks fondly of attending the play “Sammy,” a tribute to singer and musician Sammy Davis Jr. Even better, he was in attendance at McCormick Place in January 2017 when President Barack Obama delivered his farewell address. “It’s important to see things and parts of life that you’ve never seen before or never even thought about doing,” Johnson said. “This is a dream come true for a kid. It really is. This program has changed what I thought about Chicago. I used to think Chicago was a really bad place, that no one cared about us.” Cole recites a sobering statistic — that roughly 95 percent of the teens in his organization have personally known someone who has been killed while only about 40 percent have known someone who has gone to college. Ultimately, Cole wants to provide these kids access to healthier lifestyles. He wants them to feel confident aspiring for more. Cole, who grew up poor himself, knows how numb these kids can become to the brutal hardships in their West Side and South Side neighborhoods. “These kids order their food every day through bulletproof-glass windows,” Cole said. “Helicopters land on their homes at night. These communities are militarized. All you see is surveillance cameras. Blue lights flashing. German shepherds sniff you on the train when you get on at 79th Street in the morning. “Our kids think that’s regular. That’s not regular.” Bears linebacker Sam Acho has felt Cole’s positivity and believes in his leadership ability. Already, they have developed a deep connection. “He’s using his gifts for a bigger purpose,” Acho said. “Obviously, Jahmal is highly intelligent and energetic and has all these special traits. But instead of using that for his selfish gain, he’s using all that to better people. That’s the kind of thing that gets me excited.” **** “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.” Acho is sitting at a conference table on the second floor at Halas Hall and reciting one of his favorite Bible verses — Proverbs 31:8. Stacey Wescott/Chicago Tribune Bears linebacker Sam Acho shakes hands with greets members of the My Block, My Hood, My City organization on Nov. 30, 2018,at Halas Hall in Lake Forest. Bears linebacker Sam Acho shakes hands with greets members of the My Block, My Hood, My City organization on Nov. 30, 2018,at Halas Hall in Lake Forest. (Stacey Wescott/Chicago Tribune) This, the Bears veteran says, is one of his guiding forces, one of the reasons he is so passionate about the work the Bears’ social justice committee has started. Acho knows he and his teammates can spur change in some of Chicago’s roughest areas. “I care about people who are on the margins,” Acho said. “I care about people who are forgotten about.”

For years, Acho has been active in community outreach efforts. But this past spring, he said, after the Bears signed tight end Trey Burton, he finally found a kindred spirit in the locker room, a teammate to not only validate his benevolent ambitions but to join forces with, helping to turn visions into action. Over dinner one evening this spring at a barbecue joint, an Acho-Burton brainstorming session took off. Both players were discussing gun violence in Chicago and a multitude of other problems affecting the city. Both players expressed their desire to help. “We just started dreaming,” Acho said. “It was, ‘Man, what if we could really help change some of these negative storylines in Chicago? What if we could go do something in these communities?’ What if? What if? What if? “And that led us to this point of, ‘Dude, let’s do it. Honestly, let’s do it.’” Initially, that sent Acho, Burton and a handful of teammates into the city this spring on their own. They started with recurrent visits to By the Hand, an after-school program that strives to support at-risk kids in rough neighborhoods by assisting with academic issues and life skills. On those trips, players sat in “peace circles,” each composed of a small group of kids with at least one police officer. Only the person with the designated talking stick could speak. Conversations began. Scars were exposed. Acho can still hear one African-American girl’s voice, her confusion and despair too raw. For so long, she had been ridiculed for her intelligence, for her academic ambitions. Now she was spilling it all, telling everyone in the circle how peers had mocked her. “Thirteen years old. Really good in school,” Acho said. “And kids were saying, ‘You’re not black. You’re white!’ … That really hurt her. I remember her saying, ‘Why does being black have to be associated with being dumb? Why can’t I just be smart because I’m smart?’” Acho could feel a lump in his throat. He wanted this girl to understand her self-worth. He knew meetings like this, discussions like this had to become a starting point for larger efforts. **** Acho was the first to greet the My Block, My Hood, My City group at Halas Hall on that November Friday. As the teenagers settled into a viewing suite overlooking the team’s newest fields, Acho leaned over a high table and struck up conversation. Trevon Walker, loquacious and full of ambition, used the forum to express his dream of going to college. Walker and Rayshawn Washington also told Acho of the work they were doing in their Englewood community, organizing a program in which kids get together with police officers in an effort to create more positive relationships. “You hear the stories of these horrible neighborhoods,” Acho said. “But here you have kids who are actively trying to change the storyline. I get excited. Because when you stop and actually listen to someone’s story, you realize things aren’t as hopeless as they might seem. … Trevon isn’t stuck in feeling sorry for himself. Trevon is trying to maximize his opportunity.” For Bears players on the social justice committee, those encounters have been important reminders of how basic yet meaningful their support can be. Many of these kids simply want to be heard, to connect with those who will listen to their hopes while also recognizing their fears and obstacles. “At some point it’s not really that our guys are professional athletes,” McCaskey said. “I think that really helps in the beginning. But at some point and at the most basic level, these kids are finding out that somebody cares about them.” On that November afternoon at Halas Hall, Cole hoped the kids from My Block, My Hood, My City not only noticed Khalil Mack and Eddie Jackson and Tarik Cohen but the multitude of others who are part of the Bears’ daily operation. He hoped the connections that were made were just sparks to light a fire. Ultimately, he hopes Bears players can help teach students how to set goals for themselves. “Personal goals. Educational goals. Professional goals,” Cole said. “A lot of kids don’t know how to set goals. Daily goals. Weekly goals. “I also hope the kids can be exposed to so many of the other career opportunities that there are within the Bears organization. They need to know they can work in marketing. They can work in sports science. They can work in general operations. If you love this game, you can be a part of it without ever having to touch a football.” **** The roots of these efforts cannot be overlooked. In the weeks leading up to August’s Hall of Fame Game, Bears players, according to Acho, had numerous passionate discussions about how they might approach the national anthem. President Donald Trump had touched a nerve with his continual criticism of NFL players who had used peaceful pregame demonstrations as an attempt to spark conversation about social injustices across the country, including police brutality. At a September 2017 rally in Alabama, though, Trump blasted players such as Colin Kaepernick who had chosen to take a knee during the national anthem. The president called for the league to take drastic measures. “Wouldn’t you love to see one of these NFL owners, when somebody disrespects our flag, to say, ‘Get that son of a bitch off the field right now. Out! He’s fired. He’s fired!’” Trump said. That was the most notable in a series of flare-ups in which the president and others publicly chastised players for their demonstrations. As the van pulled up Football Drive and the giant orange “C” on the guard shack became visible, 17-year-old Tim Johnson kept thinking the same thing. “This can’t be real,” he said. Johnson, a senior at Morgan Park High School on the South Side of Chicago, saw the Bears outdoor practice fields covered... At the NFL owners meetings in May, the league adopted a policy that would fine teams and players who did not stand for the anthem. Less than two months later, the league rescinded that mandate. Still, each time the issue became inflamed and the rhetoric amplified, the more unsettled some Bears players became. Even those who didn’t have a deep attachment to one side or the other felt insulted in being told what they could and couldn’t stand for. At their angriest, Acho said, many Bears players talked openly about taking a knee themselves, backlash be darned. Ultimately, though, players reached an agreement. The form of the demonstration was never what this was supposed to be about. The focus had to remain where it was always intended to stay — raising awareness of minority oppression and finding ways to empower youth to create change in under-resourced communities. “We have an opportunity to impact and change people’s lives,” Acho said. “Who’s speaking up for the voiceless? Who’s speaking up for the kids in these neighborhoods who are getting shot? Who’s speaking up for the kids who are caught up in the opioid crisis?” For the Bears, a concerted effort was made to channel their energy toward meaningful causes. Thus, at that preseason opener in Canton, Ohio, the Bears locked arms for the national anthem. It was a straightforward show of unity. The team’s true path to making a difference would come away from the field, away from the cameras, away from all of the arguments.