The Cultural Role of the Ballpark in the Renewing American City

Retro Accents and CarnivalPleasures: The Cultural Role of the Ballpark in the Renewing American City Daniel H Rosensweig Charlottesville, Virginia B.A. University of Texas at Austin, 1988 M.A. Georgetown University, 1990 A Dissertation presented to the Graduate Faculty of the University of Virginia in Candidacy forthe Degree of Doctor of Philosophy Department of English University of Virginia May 1999 © Copyright by Daniel H Rosensweig All Rights Reserved May 1999 ii Abstract This project examines the cultural and economic role of trendy retro ballparks in the contemporary American City. Since 1992, when the firstof these new old stadiums - Baltimore's Oriole Park at Camden Yards - opened its gates, they have come to be seen as necessary components of downtown redevelopment. By 1998, five retro parks, or parks at least outfittedwith accents of the past, were in operation. Additionally, a staggering eight more have been scheduled to open by 2003. As part of this project, I discuss the political economy of stadium construction as well as the recent economic history of the American downtown. By the beginning of the century's finaldecade, in places like Cleveland - where most of my research takes place - the transformation of the economic base from manufacturingto service and tourism, along with racist and classist neglect, had leftlocal municipalities desperate to findquick fixesto the problems associated with a decaying urban infrastructure. Decades of factoryclosings, race riots and suburban flighthad impoverished and segregated city centers to such an extent that many local governments literallywere going belly up. Out of the rubble, retro stadiums have emerged as anchors to urban renewal. In the process they have become central symbols in the transformation of the city fromlivable space iii , to one which has as its primary functionthe packaging of "urban" experiences to visitors eager for a dose of city energy. Throughout the early part of this project, I describe some of the enormous packages of corporate welfare given to owners of sports franchises aiding in this transformation. Yet my primary focus is cultural. Each of my chapters examines the cultural cachet of "retro authenticity" as well as the psycho-social problems associated with such large scale reenactments of the old. To a large degree, these reenactments involve the employment of a commemorative culture, requiring a replacement of urbanites of the past with mere symbols paying homage to them. For example, in Cleveland's "Gateway," the fauxhistorical name given to the area around the ballpark by its developers, blacks who for thirty years had lived, worked and shopped there, have been replaced by "blackness." In other words, as gentrification prices out the more economically marginal locals, a host of commemorative cultural forms - in Cleveland's case hip-hop mascots, rap music blasted over the loudspeakers and gift-shopitems like Jackie Robinson replica jerseys - emerge to compensate fortheir absence. In short, the primary thrust of this project involves an examination of how the movement of retro authenticity in ballpark construction mirrors larger, more troubling cultural trends helping negotiate many of the ironies and inconsistencies of gentrification. At the tum of the millennium, when a 'new urbanist' ethos has achieved a toe hold in American culture, when a generation of people who fledthe city beginning in the middle part of this century look back nostalgically to urban IV life as a way to reconstitute the 'real' or the 'authentic,' retro baseball stadiums have emerged to provide them comfortable access to the old city in simulated form. Contents Acknowledgments VI Introduction l l. Understanding the Big Picture 36 2. The "Beneficient" Revolution 87 3. Where the Outside is In 154 4. Consuming "Blackness" 184 5. Delillo' s City of the Instant 233 Bibliography 268 vi Acknowledgments I would like to take this time to thank all the people whose love, guidance, support and ideas made the realization of this project possible. John Kunat, who traveled with me to Cleveland, is a rare combination of radical politics and passion for sports who convinced me that the time was right to take on this endeavor. Bob Dibiasio, Cleveland Indians' Vice President forPublic Relations, inspirational in his loyalty and dedication to the organization and to Cleveland itself, gave generously of his time answering questions and making sure John and I had access to the entire ballpark. Roldo Bartimole, keeper of the flameof dissent in Cleveland who for thirty years has dedicated himself to making people aware of the perniciouspractices and profiteering of Cleveland's elite, spent hours bringing me up to speed on the complex history of his town's politics. Back in Charlottesville, G. Edward White provided me with timely and sharp critiques of my ideas during the early phases of my work. Eric Lott, my advisor, in addition to inspiring me with his groundbreaking discussions of "whiteness," always pointed me in fruitful directions for my own research. Franny Nudelman and Steve Arata also graciously reviewed my draftsand helped me think through my ideas. Kelly Cresap laughed and cried with me and, most VII important, never let me forget that by simply plugging away, I would one day complete the project. Kim Roberts encouraged me fromthe beginning, sharing readings and convincing me that my ideas mattered during some of the most profound momentsof self doubt. My mother, Marge Rosensweig, in dedicating herself to a life of political activism, impressed upon me at an early age a sense of the duty we all have to make a difference. My father, Charles Rosensweig, modeled the kind of patience and work ethic necessary to complete a long project. And finally, Julie Jones, a profoundlyblessed and lovely person, inspired me with her ability to care without judgment and with her strong sense of community. Julie not only helped me through the rough finalstages of the project but also taught me to look beyond it, to plan out a long-term strategy forturning words into action. Introduction As a child, I was a passionate Baltimore Orioles fan. Growing up in the Maryland suburbs I would punctuate long summer days of front yard baseball or soccer by flicking on the local station to catch the inevitable late-game heroics of my beloved "Birds." Back then, in the early and mid 1970s, baseball's blue-collar team. lead by craftymanager Earl Weaver and his flockof homespun overachievers, Boog Powell, Brooks Robinson and Mark Belanger et al, always seemed to be able to pull a fast one on their more highly-paid opponents. Their ·'Orioles' Way" entailed combining a deep farm system with organizational endurance and managerial moxie. This savior faireroutinely enabled the workaday "Birds," baseball's model small-market franchise,to finda way to best the free-spending, yet undisciplined Yankees and their other more glamorous American League East rivals. On a very profound level however, my connection with the underdog Orioles was stronger than simple fandom. As is the case with many children, identification with a sports team helped me shape my own identity. Even though I grew up in an upper middle class suburban Washington neighborhood, I believed myself to be spiritually linked to both the Orioles and the blue collar town they 2 represented. While around me, the Maryland suburbs were becoming more upscale - consumer paradises where suddenly one could buy brie cheese and Scandinavian furniture- my image of Baltimore as a final refuge of authenticity, and thus of myself as authentic and real, remained tied up with the images and sounds on the Television screen showing Orioles games. In those days, ex-Oriole great Brooks Robinson who had stayed with the organization as color commentator would punctuate the low-budget broadcasts by reading the corny pitches of local sponsors Ball Park Franks ("They plump when you cook 'em") and National Bohemian Beer ("Baltimore's finest: Natty Boh"). "Forget Heineken and fancy meals," I reasoned, "cheap beer and dogs were good enough for me." It was as if these consumer choices, like my love of baseball's hardest working team, could somehow endow me with a kind of reverse class status. My occasional trips to cavernous, concrete Memorial Stadium to see the team play live helped reinforce this status - in my own mind at least. Over time, because the stadium was tucked inside a densely populated neighborhood, with scanty parking and poorly-marked streets, I was able to develop an insider's knowledge helping me make the best of the experience. Even before I was old enough to drive, I gained great pleasure from guiding my father and other older chaperones through the many short cuts en route to the park. Then, once in the vicinity, my insider's knowledge allowed me to lead them to hidden parking spaces, find the cheapest scalped tickets and uncover the lowest prices on concessions and baseball paraphernaliafrom the many unauthorized and renegade local vendors and scalpers who set up shop just offthe beaten track. Once within the gate of the stadium, this sense of being on the inside only intensified. I led my gang to the sections with the most lax ushers allowing us to sneak into practically whichever seats we chose; I exchanged friendly banter with the other regulars; I showed offto my friendsby reliably predicting the seemingly eccentric moves of Manager Weaver. I was just like the Orioles, I told myself, just like the ball club which year after year assembled a collection of journeymenand budget-priced castoffs into a regular contender. Instead of undervalued players, however, I took objects that few coveted (below facevalue resold tickets, etc.) and used them to forma priceless experience. This brand of what John Fiske calls "productive pleasures," or the generation of meanings somehow in opposition to authorized prescriptions for one's experience, was clearly both a product of my hegemonic conceit as well an outgrowth of my personal psycho-drama (Fiske 49).

Load more