The Spark and the Flame: How Charlie and Erika Ignited a Legacy That Will Never Die

When the crowd erupted inside Wrigley Field on a brisk autumn evening, no one could have predicted that history was quietly shifting. The stands were a mosaic of blue and white, voices hoarse from decades of cheering, hoping, and sometimes grieving. And yet, amid that thunder of devotion, a single sentence from Cubs chairman Thomas S. Ricketts sliced through the noise, cutting straight to the heart of every fan present.

“Charlie was the spark, Erika was the flame — this legacy will never die,” Ricketts declared, his voice catching on the word never. Then he paused, eyes scanning the stadium like a general before battle. “This fire is not just mine — it belongs to everyone who stands up…”

The crowd stood. Instantly.

It wasn’t just applause. It was an eruption. A collective, defiant roar that seemed to shake the ivy off the outfield walls. For a moment, it wasn’t a game. It was something far bigger — a declaration of belonging, of endurance, of love that refused to burn out.

And at the center of it all were two names: Charlie and Erika.

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A Legacy Born from Quiet Beginnings

Charlie Whitmore never sought the spotlight. In the early 1990s, he was just another young man who showed up at Wrigley with a crumpled ticket and an old Cubs cap that had seen better days. But what he brought with him was something far rarer: unwavering hope. Even during the lean years, when defeat seemed stitched into the team’s DNA, Charlie would sit in the bleachers with a sign that read, “Next year is ours.”

He became a quiet fixture — the kind of fan who didn’t scream the loudest but whose presence said everything. Season after season, he showed up. And slowly, people started noticing.

Among those who noticed was Erika Lopez, a passionate photographer from the South Side who had been capturing Chicago’s heartbeat through her lens since she was a teenager. Erika had grown up in a family split down the middle — half White Sox fans, half Cubs fans — and her love of the game transcended rivalry. When she first photographed Charlie in 1998, sitting alone in section 309 holding his “Next year is ours” sign after a crushing late-season loss, she captured not defeat but resilience.

“I didn’t see sadness in him,” Erika would later recall. “I saw fire.”

That photo ended up on the front page of the Chicago Tribune. And everything changed.

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The Spark Meets the Flame

Charlie and Erika’s paths intertwined soon after. She began following his journey, documenting the quiet poetry of his fandom. Over the years, the two became unlikely collaborators. Erika’s photos turned Charlie into an emblem of hope; Charlie’s unshakable spirit gave Erika’s art its soul.

When the Cubs finally broke their 108-year drought and won the World Series in 2016, the iconic image wasn’t the dogpile on the mound or the fireworks above the scoreboard. It was Erika’s photograph of Charlie, tears streaming down his face, clutching that same old sign — now faded and fraying, but still declaring, “Next year is ours.”

Except this time, “next year” had finally arrived.

That image went viral worldwide. Charlie became a symbol, but he never let it change him. He kept coming to games, kept sitting in his favorite bleacher seat, kept reminding everyone around him that hope isn’t about guarantees — it’s about showing up even when the outcome is uncertain. Erika’s photos followed him through every season, building a visual chronicle of what loyalty looks like when it’s written in flesh and blood, not just ink and contracts.

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The Loss That Lit a Movement

Then came the day everything shifted.

Charlie passed away suddenly in 2022, leaving behind nothing but a box of ticket stubs, a threadbare Cubs cap, and that weathered sign. The stadium felt quieter without him, as if a crucial note had gone missing from the team’s anthem. Fans left flowers on his seat. The Cubs dedicated a game to him. And Erika… Erika stopped photographing games altogether.

For months she disappeared from the public eye. When she finally resurfaced, it was not with a camera in hand but standing on the pitcher’s mound on Opening Day 2023, holding Charlie’s sign. The entire stadium rose to its feet.

“I promised him this,” she said softly into the microphone, voice shaking. “The fire doesn’t go out.”

It was that moment that caught Ricketts’ attention. He invited Erika to collaborate with the Cubs organization on a project that would preserve Charlie’s legacy: The Spark and Flame Foundation, an initiative aimed at uplifting underprivileged youth in Chicago through mentorship, sports, and storytelling. Kids would be given cameras, tickets, and opportunities to tell their own stories — to find their own “spark.”

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Ricketts’ Speech: The Night the Stadium Shook

Fast forward to this year’s emotional tribute night at Wrigley. Fans knew Ricketts would speak. They didn’t expect what came out of his mouth.

“Charlie was the spark, Erika was the flame — this legacy will never die,” he began. The crowd held its breath. “This fire is not just mine — it belongs to everyone who stands up. Everyone who refuses to give up when the scoreboard says you should. Everyone who believes that showing up matters, even when no one notices. That’s what Charlie taught us. That’s what Erika reminds us.”

It wasn’t a speech. It was a call to arms.

The Cubs went on to win that night in a come-from-behind thriller. But ask anyone who was there, and they’ll tell you: the real victory happened long before the final out. It happened when thousands of fans stood shoulder to shoulder, holding up homemade signs that read “We Are the Fire.”

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Beyond the Game

Today, the Spark and Flame Foundation has grown faster than anyone imagined. Hundreds of kids from across Chicago have joined, learning not just about baseball but about resilience, storytelling, and community. Erika is back behind the camera, this time focusing on the kids rather than the field. She says Charlie would have loved that.

“Charlie always believed in the power of the long game,” she said in a recent interview. “Not just in baseball — in life. He believed if you keep showing up, keep choosing hope, something beautiful will happen. Even if it takes a hundred years.”

Ricketts has promised to keep funding the foundation indefinitely. But he’s quick to deflect praise.

“This isn’t about me,” he said. “This is about all of us — about remembering that hope is contagious, and once it catches, it can light up an entire city.”

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A Fire That Refuses to Burn Out

Walking past Wrigley today, you can see murals of Charlie’s sign, painted on brick walls in bold blue and white. You can see kids wearing caps two sizes too big, carrying cameras on loan from the foundation. You can see Erika kneeling to snap their photos as they smile shyly into her lens.

The spark has become a flame. The flame has become a blaze.

And somehow, everyone who steps into that ballpark walks out carrying a little bit of it.

Because this was never just Charlie’s fire. Or Erika’s.

It belongs to everyone who stands up.