# Jimmy Kimmel Didn’t Build a Monument, He Built a Home

**A $175 million boarding school — the first of its kind — for orphans and homeless kids in Chicago.**
**When asked why, he said quietly: “This isn’t charity. It’s legacy. It’s hope.”**
**In a world full of noise and politics, he chose something pure — turning grief into purpose, power into love.**

**By National Affairs Desk**
*November 9, 2025*

The wind off Lake Michigan cut sharp on a gray October morning, but inside the ribbon-cutting ceremony at 63rd and Woodlawn, the air felt warm—like a kitchen after Sunday dinner. Eight hundred folding chairs faced a modest stage. No red carpet. No celebrity step-and-repeat. Just a banner in simple block letters: **THE KIMMEL HOME – A PLACE TO BELONG**.

Jimmy Kimmel stood at the podium in a navy peacoat, no tie, sleeves pushed up. Behind him rose the campus: five red-brick buildings, solar-paneled roofs, a greenhouse, a gym with a retractable floor, and—most importantly—a courtyard where 240 children, ages 6 to 18, waited in new coats, eyes wide, clutching paper cups of hot chocolate.

“Ten years ago,” he began, voice steady, “I lost my dad. And I thought: what do you do with that kind of hole? You fill it with noise—TV, applause, ratings. But noise fades. Kids don’t.”

The crowd—social workers, foster parents, Chicago aldermen, a few Hollywood friends who flew in coach—leaned in.

“In 2017, my son Billy was born with a heart defect. We had insurance, doctors, a support system. Most kids don’t. Then I met a girl named Aaliyah at Lurie Children’s Hospital. She was 9, in foster care, no family visiting. She asked me if I could be her dad for the day. I said yes. And I never forgot her face when the nurse told her it was time to go back.”

Kimmel paused. A tear tracked down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away.

“That’s when I knew: monuments are for egos. Homes are for healing.”

**The Vision**

The Kimmel Home isn’t a shelter. It’s a full-time, year-round boarding school for orphans, foster children, and kids experiencing homelessness—the first in the nation built from the ground up for that mission. $175 million, privately funded. No government grants. No naming rights sold.

– **240 residential students**, ages 6–18.
– **Full scholarships**, including therapy, tutoring, college prep.
– **On-site medical clinic**, dental suite, mental health wing.
– **Trade programs**: culinary arts, coding, urban farming, auto repair.
– **College transition dorms** for graduates until age 24.
– **Adoption resource center**—because family isn’t just blood.

The campus sits on 14 acres of reclaimed land in Woodlawn, once a vacant lot plagued by gun violence. Now: murals by local artists, a peace garden planted by the first cohort of kids, a library with 40,000 books—and a comedy room, soundproofed, where students write and perform stand-up every Friday night.

**The Money**

Kimmel didn’t ask billionaires for favors. He sold his.

– **$80 million** from liquidating his production company’s streaming catalog.
– **$45 million** from auctioning personal memorabilia—his Emmy, Oscars hosting wardrobe, the desk from his first *Jimmy Kimmel Live!* set.
– **$30 million** from a single donor: Oprah Winfrey, who wrote the check after Kimmel called her at 2 a.m. and said, “I can’t sleep until this exists.”
– **$20 million** in small donations—$5, $10, $25—from viewers who mailed in envelopes marked *“For the kids.”*

He kept none of it. Not a tax write-off. Not a wing named after him. The only plaque: a small bronze plate by the front door that reads: **“Built by love. Sustained by you.”**

**The First Day**

At 10:17 a.m., the ribbon fell. The kids didn’t cheer. They *ran*.

Aaliyah—now 17, top of her class, headed to Northwestern on full scholarship—led the charge. She grabbed Kimmel’s hand and pulled him through the front doors. Inside: a mural of Chicago’s skyline made of 10,000 recycled bottle caps. Beneath it, a quote in Kimmel’s handwriting: **“Your story doesn’t end where it started.”**

The dorms are warm—wood floors, bunk beds with privacy curtains, each room with a window overlooking the courtyard. Every child has a locker, a desk, and a photo frame waiting for a family picture—whether it’s biological, foster, or chosen.

In the dining hall, the first meal was served: chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, and salad—because, as Kimmel said, “Kids should get to be picky before they have to be tough.”

**The Why**

Later, in a quiet moment by the greenhouse, a reporter asked the question everyone wanted answered.

“Jimmy, you could’ve built a studio. A foundation. A legacy in lights. Why this?”

He looked out at a 12-year-old boy teaching a 7-year-old how to tie a tie.

“Because,” he said, “I spent twenty years making people laugh so they wouldn’t cry. Now I want to give kids a place where they don’t *have* to cry alone.”

He told the story of his father, Jim, a IBM executive who died of cancer in 2014. “He used to say, *‘Success isn’t what you take. It’s what you leave behind that can’t be taxed.’* This is that.”

**The Ripple**

By noon, the story broke wide. #KimmelHome trended globally. CNN ran aerial footage of the campus. Fox News—yes, *Fox*—called it “the most bipartisan thing to happen in Chicago since deep-dish.” The White House issued a rare joint statement from President Trump and former President Obama: *“Children are America’s future. This is leadership.”*

Donations poured in. A GoFundMe for “Kimmel Home Expansion” hit $50 million in 48 hours. LeBron James pledged to build a second campus in Akron. Taylor Swift announced a benefit concert. Even Elon Musk tweeted: *“Respect. Sending Starlink for every dorm.”*

But the loudest voice came from the kids.

Aaliyah, now a junior mentor, spoke at the press conference.

“Mr. Kimmel didn’t save us,” she said, clutching a mic that shook in her hands. “He gave us a home so *we* could save ourselves.”

As the sun set over the South Side, Kimmel walked the grounds alone. A little girl—maybe 8—tugged his sleeve.

“Are you the funny man?” she asked.

He knelt. “Sometimes.”

She hugged him. “Thank you for the home.”

He couldn’t speak. Just held her.

Later, he told a producer: “I thought I was building a school. Turns out, I was coming home.”

The Kimmel Home isn’t a monument.
It’s a heartbeat.
And in a city known for its winters, it just became the warmest place in America.