CHICAGO �� After the crowd at Saturday's Women's March on Chicago grew to an estimated 250,000, organizers said they had no choice but to cancel the planned march to Federal Plaza _ but that did little stop the exuberant crowd.
What was supposed to be a 10 a.m. pre-march rally near Grant Park, with a lineup of about 30 speakers, was to be turned into the main event.
"Michigan Avenue is flooded with marchers," march co-chairwoman Liz Radford told the crowd a little before 11 a.m. "Wabash is flooded with marchers. State Street is flooded with marchers. People are still waiting for trains in Oak Park. We called, and you came."
By 11:30 a.m, city officials announced that there would no longer be a "pedestrian component" to the march, and that Grant Park had reached capacity.
"There is no safe way to march," co-chairwoman Ann Scholhmer said. "We are just going to sing and dance and make our voices heard here."
But white-haired grandmothers and bearded and burly fathers, mothers with infants held close to their chests and teenagers in pink knitted hats, marched anyway. They shut down parts of the Loop, splintering off in every direction. They raised their signs above their shoulders and chanted, "This is what democracy looks like," and "No Trump. No KKK. No fascist USA."
Lee Hart, who took the train in from Evanston with her wife and twin boys, was among many who said she had not heard the announcement calling off the marching, but when informed by a reporter, she continued to make her way down Jackson.
"You can't say you're stopping the march," she said. "It's too powerful."
Chicago's march was one of hundreds that took place around the world in solidarity with the Women's March on Washington. Planned for the day after President Donald Trump's inauguration, the demonstrations aimed to draw attention to women's rights and many other issues, including civil rights, immigration and racial justice.
Organizers initially estimated that the Chicago march would draw 22,000, but by week's end it the estimate was to 50,000.
While some people who remained at Chicago's rally said they were disappointed at the change of plans, Corey Escuesaid she was unfazed because it meant more people could witness history and have their voices heard.
Nancy Bishop of Glenview, who used a walker, said she never planned to march. For her, it was about being counted.
"Marching for me is really an oxymoron now," she said. "When you gather like this, it makes you more likely to actively participate in our democracy."
Marikah Davin serendipitously ran into demonstrators marching through the Loop upon getting off the Blue Line at Jackson with her friends. They joined the crowd without ever making it to the rally, and marched with them through the Loop.
"We voted, but we still feel a lot of anger and worry," Davin said as she held up her sign, which read 'Love trumps Trump.' "I didn't realize how warm and loving (this march) would be," she said.
Throughout the day, demonstrators stopped to read and admire the hundreds of signs that floated above the crowds. They were diverse and abundant, with messages that read, "I will not go quietly into the 1950s" and "Proud my daughter fights like a girl." Some demonstrators carried tasseled banners, while others held cardboard diagrams of vaginas.
Nine-year-old Josie Schenk enlisted help from her brother and sister when she colored a sign that read, "Your generation will build a wall. (Ours) will knock it down!" Her mother, Kate Schenk, said she was initially disappointed that she couldn't make it Washington for the march, but that feeling vanished after she marched alongside her family and the crowd in Chicago.
The unseasonably warm weather seemed to fuel excitement. The sequins sewn into some women's pink "pussy hats," which have become a symbol of the movement, glistened in the sun. Husband and wife Robin Harris and Mark Michaels, who are both retired and live in Arlington Heights, held hands as they walked. Harris remarked at how many times she heard "thank you" and "excuse me" throughout the day.
"Everyone is so positive," she said.
City officials, who would not comment on the crowd estimates, said in a statement that the rally and "spontaneous march" were largely "peaceful," with only limited disruption.
Before the rally began old Mary Hurtt began leading the thousands of women behind her in a chant.
"Women of Chicago!" she cried, asking the crowd to repeat her words. "Fired up! Ready to go!"
The rally began with light-hearted music but quickly moved into difficult discussions on racism, homophobia, xenophobia and gun violence. Samantha Marie Ware, a Chicago cast member of "Hamilton," became emotional on stage recalling how she, as a black woman, once felt as though she couldn't accomplish her goals because of her race. She encouraged the women before her to stand up.
"We must equip ourselves with the wisdom of MLK, that the time is always right to do right," she said. "We must stand up for fear and speak up when we hear prejudices against our brothers or sisters. We must and will hold those in power accountable."
Also addressing the crowd was Cleo Pendleton, the mother of Hadiya, whose shooting death nearly four years ago made her a national symbol for the city's struggle with violence. Pendleton talked to the crowd about how women's rights _ and mothers' rights _ speaks to the core of Chicago's gun violence problem.
"We are here because we are women. Because we have rights. And we do not _ do not _ agree with this administration's perspective on guns. Yes, are you entitled to the second amendment? Absolutely," she said. "But (what about) my basic human right to build my family and for my family to survive?"
As the speakers took turns on stage, thousands of demonstrators fanned out, spilling on to the sidestreets, where they kept marching. A man played the "Star Spangled Banner" on his saxophone.
By early afternoon, throngs of marchers had descended on Federal Plaza; some continued to cluster around the downtown into the evening.
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(William Lee and Grace Wong contributed to this report.)
