Chicago bears head coach Ben Johnson donated his entire $4.2 million bonus and sponsorship deal to charities and homeless relief
In the often hard-edged world of professional football—where success is measured in wins, contracts, and championships—rarely does a coach make headlines for an act of generosity that transcends the game. But in the early spring of 2025, Ben Johnson, the newly minted head coach of the Chicago Bears, did just that.
Upon receiving his $4.2 million bonus and sponsorship earnings from a whirlwind offseason, Johnson made a quiet but profound decision: he donated every cent to a collection of charities focused on housing, food security, mental health services, and homeless relief across Chicago and Detroit. He declined to issue a press release or participate in a photo op. “It’s not about me,” he said in a brief statement to local media. “It’s about doing what’s right.”
The move sent shockwaves through the sports world. Not because NFL coaches aren’t charitable—many are. But the scale of Johnson’s donation, and the personal nature of the causes he selected, reflected something deeper than duty. It reflected character.
Johnson’s path to NFL stardom wasn’t the traditional one. A former quarterback at North Carolina and an engineering student with a head for strategy, Johnson made his name in coaching through raw intellect and relentless preparation. His innovative offensive mind turned the Detroit Lions into a top-5 scoring unit in back-to-back seasons, earning the admiration of players, executives, and fans.
But it wasn’t until January 2025 that Johnson made his biggest leap—accepting the job as head coach of the Bears, a franchise longing for direction. Amid a dramatic rebuild centered around rookie quarterback Caleb Williams, Johnson became the face of hope for one of the NFL’s most storied, yet starved, teams.
What the public didn’t know then was how Johnson viewed his new role not just as a football coach, but as a steward of community. He’d spent the last few years watching the widening gap between wealth and poverty in cities like Detroit and Chicago. During his time with the Lions, he quietly volunteered at shelters and funded vocational training programs. He rarely spoke about it.
“He wasn’t doing it for praise,” said Alondra Smith, director of Hope House Detroit, one of the nonprofits that benefited from his earlier giving. “He’d come in on off days, sit with the teens, talk about discipline, goals—things beyond football. He listened more than he spoke.”
Johnson’s arrival in Chicago coincided with the city facing one of its worst housing crises in decades. The number of unhoused individuals had risen sharply post-pandemic. Tent encampments under viaducts, in parks, and near downtown high-rises had become part of the daily urban landscape.
“He saw it every day coming into Halas Hall,” said a Bears staffer, who requested anonymity. “It hit him hard. You could see it weighing on him.”
After signing a five-year, $65 million deal, Johnson could have indulged in the perks that often accompany NFL head coaching: luxury real estate, cars, security details, and private travel. Instead, he sat down with his financial advisor, reviewed his bonus structure and sponsorship income, and redirected it all to a select group of organizations fighting homelessness in Illinois and Michigan.
Among the recipients were:
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Chicago Coalition for the Homeless
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Thresholds (a mental health and housing support nonprofit)
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LIFT-Chicago, which provides early childhood support to families in crisis
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Humble Design, which furnishes homes for people transitioning from shelters
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Covenant House Illinois, which supports homeless youth
The funds were dispersed quietly over the course of six weeks. Only after multiple groups noticed the same anonymous benefactor did the story begin to surface.
“I couldn’t believe it when we traced the donation back to Coach Johnson,” said Linda Reynolds of LIFT-Chicago. “You expect generosity from athletes sometimes, but not like this. Not this selfless, and not this personal.”
When asked why he gave away the full $4.2 million, Johnson didn’t mince words.
“Football changed my life. But I also know that luck and opportunity play a huge role. Not everyone gets a shot, even if they work hard. I’ve always believed that once you have enough, your next job is to help others get to ‘enough.’”
Johnson’s modest upbringing in Asheville, North Carolina, left a lasting impression on him. Raised by a single mother who worked two jobs to keep their apartment and put food on the table, Johnson understands the grinding uncertainty of living on the edge.
“There were nights we ate cereal for dinner,” he recalled in a past interview. “Nights when we didn’t know if the power would stay on. That stuff never leaves you.”
Friends say that while Johnson enjoys the rewards of his work—he’s not shy about his love for fast cars and high-end film cameras—he remains grounded. “Ben’s always been about impact over image,” said former Lions head coach Dan Campbell. “That’s what makes him special.”
The ripple effects of Johnson’s donation are already being felt across Chicago. Covenant House has added 30 new transitional beds for youth experiencing homelessness. Thresholds launched a mobile crisis response team funded directly by Johnson’s gift. And Humble Design, which furnishes empty apartments for families moving out of shelters, saw a 40% increase in capacity.
“He didn’t just write a check,” said Trevor Ellis, CEO of Humble Design. “He visited. He sat with a family as we furnished their new home. He helped carry the crib upstairs.”
Back at Halas Hall, Johnson has also brought a quiet sense of purpose to the Bears organization. Players speak of his leadership not just in terms of game plans, but life philosophy.
“He’s always talking about legacy, not just stats,” said Bears linebacker Tremaine Edmunds. “He tells us, ‘What you give will outlast what you win.’ That hits different coming from a guy living it.”
Still, not everyone has applauded Johnson’s decision. Some financial analysts questioned whether giving away such a sum at the start of a high-pressure tenure was sustainable or wise.
“Charity is admirable, but coaches have limited windows of financial security,” said one NFL insider. “If he gets fired in three years, that money’s gone.”
To Johnson, that logic misses the point.
“If I needed to maximize every dollar, I wouldn’t be coaching,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not in this to hoard wealth. I’m in this to win games and better lives. I sleep fine.”
His example has started conversations around the league. Several coaches and players reportedly reached out to ask how they could quietly support similar initiatives in their own communities. While Johnson has no interest in founding a nonprofit or becoming the face of a movement, his act may prove catalytic.
As the 2025 season approaches, Johnson’s Bears are surrounded by cautious optimism. Caleb Williams looks poised to shine. The defense has stabilized. And the coaching staff, drawn largely from Johnson’s time in Detroit, has brought a clear identity to a team long adrift.
But even if the Bears stumble this season—as young teams often do—Johnson has already won where it counts.
“He gave people hope,” said Tamika Jones, who now lives in a furnished apartment thanks to Humble Design. “Not just by giving money. By caring. That’s what we remember.”
For a city as tough and complex as Chicago, hope doesn’t come easy. But in one of the NFL’s brightest young minds, it may have found an unexpected home.
