Fenway
03-03-2004, 04:15 PM
The thread on ballparks made me remember a series that Bob Ryan wrote in the Boston Globe in 1985. I went to the library and retrieved them
Boston Globe
August 5, 1985
DOUBLE PLAY IN CHICAGO IT'S TWICE THE BALLPARK FUN, BUT FOR HOW MUCH LONGER?
Author: Bob Ryan, Globe Staff
Article Text:
CHICAGO - In the eyes of some, Chicago is an extremely lucky municipality.
"Chicago," asserts Bill Veeck, "is very fortunate. This city has half the ballparks in the world."
Veeck's bias toward the Cubs' Wrigley Field and the White Sox' Comiskey Park is as forgiveable as it is comprehensible. He was the individual who planted the fabled ivy on the brick walls of Wrigley Field back in 1938. Moreover, he twice owned and operated the White Sox. As for his larger point, that aside from Wrigley Field and Comiskey Park the only other "real" ballparks extant are Tiger Stadium and Fenway Park, well, Veeck is not some voice crying in the desert. Many traditionalists agree with him.
But while Detroit and Boston fans are blessed to have their old ballparks, only Chicago baseball followers have two. A dedicated patron of the art virtually could spend 162 Chicago afternoons and/or evenings annually watching baseball in the proper setting. That is to say, baseball in real ballparks in real urban environments, baseball with grass and dirt and bleachers and imaginative concessions and assorted nuances absent from - ugh - domes and "multi-purpose stadiums." Talk about a touch of class - you can even get a shoeshine in either ballpark.
Most of all, a Chicago fan walks into history every day of his baseball life, whether on the South Side (Comiskey Park was opened for business in 1910) or the North Side (Wrigley Field was built in 1914).
Comiskey Park has never been accorded the same civic-landmark status as its younger counterpart several miles to the north, but be assured this is a proud, stately edifice that continues to make its own contribution to baseball lore. It doesn't have Wrigley's brick-and-ivy interior beauty, but it is striking in its own way. Veeck painted the stadium exterior white a decade ago, and inside the park is a soothing green-on-green decor (the way Tiger Stadium was, pre-renovation) from the grass to t he paint on the fences to the paint on the seats.
A recurring rap on Comiskey Park over the years has been location, and the feeling that attending games at Comiskey Park was dangerous reached its peak in the late '60s and early '70s. When the White Sox attendance plummeted to 495,355 in 1970, half the reason was attributable to the ball club (sixth place, 42 games out) and half to the supposed deterioration of the neighborhood surrounding Comiskey Park.
When Veeck assumed control of the White Sox for the second time, one of his first official acts (right after tearing out the artificial turf then covering the park's infield) was to apply white paint to the park exterior. "We were told Comiskey Park was in a bad neighborhood," Veeck explains, "but we found that it was in a good neighborhood. We wanted the park to look clean and bright to typify what the South Side really was, rather than what rumor would have it from people who had never even b een there."
Agrees Holtzman, "I've lived in Chicago all my life, and I can tell you that the neighborhood around Comiskey Park is better now than it was 30 or 40 years ago."
Those who patronize Comiskey discover a splendid baseball park. Built by the legendary Charles Comiskey, it was billed as "The Greatest Base Ball Park in the World," when it opened on July 1, 1910. Comiskey invested the then- astonishing sum of $500,000 on his dream ballpark (Wrigley was built for half the price four years later), which was constructed in four months, including a five-week strike. From the beginning it was a pitcher's park, with hefty measurements of 363-420-363. Surely the Old Roman would be surprised to learn that last year his park, which now measures 341-401-341, yielded more home runs than any stadium in the majors, including a record number of shots to the roof in left.
The combination of the enticing green background, the physical proximity of the stands and the natural surface combine to make Comiskey an especially attractive place to play.
"This is a ballpark," says Carlton Fisk. "You feel like playing here. You go into some of those other places, especially the indoor ones, and you say, 'What am I doing here?' "
Comiskey Park is one place where a fan has no worries about finding something to eat. Veeck and his long-time, right-hand man Rudy Schaefer went far beyond the hot dog/hamburger mentality, catering to Chicago's wide range of ethnic groups with their concessions. The current regime has therefore inherited the tradition, serving quality Mexican food (not just those awful pseudo-nachos so in vogue everywhere else), hot sausages, excellent corned beef and roast beef sandwiches, pizza and, of cours e, the standard hot dogs and hamburgers.
Veeck's other legacy to White Sox fans are rest rooms. In no other stadium in America is there such a proliferation of rest rooms, and that includes representative space for ladies rooms, which were often a forgotten item when older stadiums were constructed.
But Comiskey Park is 75 years old. Too many of the seats are behind poles, and it doesn't have the wherewithal to generate the kind of income Reinsdorf and Einhorn say they need to survive in these treacherous economic times. The White Sox have neither superstation revenue nor the type of seating arrangement to take full advantage of the park's 44,058-seat capacity. All older parks are expensive to maintain, and in the last five years the Reinsdorf-Einhorn duo has spent upwards of $15 million i n the sort of improvements and repairs a fan never notices.
They've got to. Like the Cubs, they have nowhere else to go - yet. But they are making goo-goo eyes at some property in suburban DuPage County (not that Reinsdorf and Einhorn would put up the money themselves), and they could certainly be tempted to play in a proposed domed stadium the city keeps talking about. Keep in mind, also, that Reinsdorf is the chief executive officer of the Balcor Company, a real estate investment firm. In Comiskey Park he happens to control a nice piece of real estate property, described by Veeck as "the largest contiguous piece of land with proximity to The Loop in all of Greater Chicago."
"Comiskey Park is not getting ready to fall down," says Reinsdorf. "But I would be very surprised if Comiskey Park, as we know it today, will exist in 25 years. We'll either need a new park or a Yankee Stadium-style renovation."
"We've done what we can," agrees Einhorn, "but we can't do it forever. This place is a dinosaur. We can't afford old ballparks. We can't afford cheap bleacher seats. We can't afford double-headers. You need artificial turf so you can get games in. In between the white lines, baseball hasn't changed very much. The big change is outside the lines, and people must understand and this place has no role in the game as it is today. We've done all kinds of things to hang on, but there are no mirrors left."
Change is imminent. The Tribune's battle to secure lights for its baseball team is one it does not intend to lose, and one most knowledgeable observers believe will win. Veeck, who understands the Chicago mores as well as anyone, believes that the lights will go up.
"All those threats of moving are just that - threats," says Veeck. "They're the instincts of a bully. The Tribune is not used to being thwarted, particularly by a neighborhood group and a few second-rate pols. They're not going to move. They hope to get their lights and they eventually will, because they're tenacious. But the White Sox are a different matter. Balcor is going to use that property as a key to a development. They're just trying to figure out who's going to put up the money. But when exactly will they move? That I can't tell you."
Reinsdorf certainly appears resigned to a move. "I love old ballparks," he insists. "But at what price do you keep them? Not long ago I had a 50th anniversary party for my parents. There were friends and relatives from all over the country. I realized how much older some of them looked than I had remembered, and I was struck by the sad thought that I would never be seeing some of them again. That's life. So I ask you: if people die, why can't buildings?"
Meanwhile, baseball life in Chicago does go on as it has for over 70 years. The Cubs play in sunshine and the White Sox play in the "Greatest Base Ball Park in the World." The el disgorges eager patrons at both locales, and neighborhood bars accommodate the thirst of baseball lovers whose fathers, uncles and grandfathers once cheered for the likes of Big Ed Walsh, Frank Chance, Ted Lyons, Hack Wilson, Luke Appling, Phil Cavaretta, Nellie Fox and Ernie Banks. And when they enter Wrigley and Comiskey with their own offspring they can point out the spot where Gabby Hartnett hit the "Homer in the Gloaming," or where Ted Kluszewski parked two in the first game of the '59 series.
Says Veeck, "If these parks go it will be a triumph for materialism. Never mind the product if you can make a buck."
Perhaps Chicago will get lucky and receive new baseball parks instead of oval anti-stadiums, a la Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Montreal, Philadelphia, etc. Perhaps. But in no way could even the nicest new home - say, a Dodger Stadium - restore to Chicago baseball connoisseurs the special feel of Wrigley Field and Comiskey Park, any more than a clean, efficient chain store can replace the charm of the neighborhood ice cream parlor that flourished when William Howard Taft was president.
So enjoy it all while you can, Chicago. The hourglass has already been turned over.
Boston Globe
August 5, 1985
DOUBLE PLAY IN CHICAGO IT'S TWICE THE BALLPARK FUN, BUT FOR HOW MUCH LONGER?
Author: Bob Ryan, Globe Staff
Article Text:
CHICAGO - In the eyes of some, Chicago is an extremely lucky municipality.
"Chicago," asserts Bill Veeck, "is very fortunate. This city has half the ballparks in the world."
Veeck's bias toward the Cubs' Wrigley Field and the White Sox' Comiskey Park is as forgiveable as it is comprehensible. He was the individual who planted the fabled ivy on the brick walls of Wrigley Field back in 1938. Moreover, he twice owned and operated the White Sox. As for his larger point, that aside from Wrigley Field and Comiskey Park the only other "real" ballparks extant are Tiger Stadium and Fenway Park, well, Veeck is not some voice crying in the desert. Many traditionalists agree with him.
But while Detroit and Boston fans are blessed to have their old ballparks, only Chicago baseball followers have two. A dedicated patron of the art virtually could spend 162 Chicago afternoons and/or evenings annually watching baseball in the proper setting. That is to say, baseball in real ballparks in real urban environments, baseball with grass and dirt and bleachers and imaginative concessions and assorted nuances absent from - ugh - domes and "multi-purpose stadiums." Talk about a touch of class - you can even get a shoeshine in either ballpark.
Most of all, a Chicago fan walks into history every day of his baseball life, whether on the South Side (Comiskey Park was opened for business in 1910) or the North Side (Wrigley Field was built in 1914).
Comiskey Park has never been accorded the same civic-landmark status as its younger counterpart several miles to the north, but be assured this is a proud, stately edifice that continues to make its own contribution to baseball lore. It doesn't have Wrigley's brick-and-ivy interior beauty, but it is striking in its own way. Veeck painted the stadium exterior white a decade ago, and inside the park is a soothing green-on-green decor (the way Tiger Stadium was, pre-renovation) from the grass to t he paint on the fences to the paint on the seats.
A recurring rap on Comiskey Park over the years has been location, and the feeling that attending games at Comiskey Park was dangerous reached its peak in the late '60s and early '70s. When the White Sox attendance plummeted to 495,355 in 1970, half the reason was attributable to the ball club (sixth place, 42 games out) and half to the supposed deterioration of the neighborhood surrounding Comiskey Park.
When Veeck assumed control of the White Sox for the second time, one of his first official acts (right after tearing out the artificial turf then covering the park's infield) was to apply white paint to the park exterior. "We were told Comiskey Park was in a bad neighborhood," Veeck explains, "but we found that it was in a good neighborhood. We wanted the park to look clean and bright to typify what the South Side really was, rather than what rumor would have it from people who had never even b een there."
Agrees Holtzman, "I've lived in Chicago all my life, and I can tell you that the neighborhood around Comiskey Park is better now than it was 30 or 40 years ago."
Those who patronize Comiskey discover a splendid baseball park. Built by the legendary Charles Comiskey, it was billed as "The Greatest Base Ball Park in the World," when it opened on July 1, 1910. Comiskey invested the then- astonishing sum of $500,000 on his dream ballpark (Wrigley was built for half the price four years later), which was constructed in four months, including a five-week strike. From the beginning it was a pitcher's park, with hefty measurements of 363-420-363. Surely the Old Roman would be surprised to learn that last year his park, which now measures 341-401-341, yielded more home runs than any stadium in the majors, including a record number of shots to the roof in left.
The combination of the enticing green background, the physical proximity of the stands and the natural surface combine to make Comiskey an especially attractive place to play.
"This is a ballpark," says Carlton Fisk. "You feel like playing here. You go into some of those other places, especially the indoor ones, and you say, 'What am I doing here?' "
Comiskey Park is one place where a fan has no worries about finding something to eat. Veeck and his long-time, right-hand man Rudy Schaefer went far beyond the hot dog/hamburger mentality, catering to Chicago's wide range of ethnic groups with their concessions. The current regime has therefore inherited the tradition, serving quality Mexican food (not just those awful pseudo-nachos so in vogue everywhere else), hot sausages, excellent corned beef and roast beef sandwiches, pizza and, of cours e, the standard hot dogs and hamburgers.
Veeck's other legacy to White Sox fans are rest rooms. In no other stadium in America is there such a proliferation of rest rooms, and that includes representative space for ladies rooms, which were often a forgotten item when older stadiums were constructed.
But Comiskey Park is 75 years old. Too many of the seats are behind poles, and it doesn't have the wherewithal to generate the kind of income Reinsdorf and Einhorn say they need to survive in these treacherous economic times. The White Sox have neither superstation revenue nor the type of seating arrangement to take full advantage of the park's 44,058-seat capacity. All older parks are expensive to maintain, and in the last five years the Reinsdorf-Einhorn duo has spent upwards of $15 million i n the sort of improvements and repairs a fan never notices.
They've got to. Like the Cubs, they have nowhere else to go - yet. But they are making goo-goo eyes at some property in suburban DuPage County (not that Reinsdorf and Einhorn would put up the money themselves), and they could certainly be tempted to play in a proposed domed stadium the city keeps talking about. Keep in mind, also, that Reinsdorf is the chief executive officer of the Balcor Company, a real estate investment firm. In Comiskey Park he happens to control a nice piece of real estate property, described by Veeck as "the largest contiguous piece of land with proximity to The Loop in all of Greater Chicago."
"Comiskey Park is not getting ready to fall down," says Reinsdorf. "But I would be very surprised if Comiskey Park, as we know it today, will exist in 25 years. We'll either need a new park or a Yankee Stadium-style renovation."
"We've done what we can," agrees Einhorn, "but we can't do it forever. This place is a dinosaur. We can't afford old ballparks. We can't afford cheap bleacher seats. We can't afford double-headers. You need artificial turf so you can get games in. In between the white lines, baseball hasn't changed very much. The big change is outside the lines, and people must understand and this place has no role in the game as it is today. We've done all kinds of things to hang on, but there are no mirrors left."
Change is imminent. The Tribune's battle to secure lights for its baseball team is one it does not intend to lose, and one most knowledgeable observers believe will win. Veeck, who understands the Chicago mores as well as anyone, believes that the lights will go up.
"All those threats of moving are just that - threats," says Veeck. "They're the instincts of a bully. The Tribune is not used to being thwarted, particularly by a neighborhood group and a few second-rate pols. They're not going to move. They hope to get their lights and they eventually will, because they're tenacious. But the White Sox are a different matter. Balcor is going to use that property as a key to a development. They're just trying to figure out who's going to put up the money. But when exactly will they move? That I can't tell you."
Reinsdorf certainly appears resigned to a move. "I love old ballparks," he insists. "But at what price do you keep them? Not long ago I had a 50th anniversary party for my parents. There were friends and relatives from all over the country. I realized how much older some of them looked than I had remembered, and I was struck by the sad thought that I would never be seeing some of them again. That's life. So I ask you: if people die, why can't buildings?"
Meanwhile, baseball life in Chicago does go on as it has for over 70 years. The Cubs play in sunshine and the White Sox play in the "Greatest Base Ball Park in the World." The el disgorges eager patrons at both locales, and neighborhood bars accommodate the thirst of baseball lovers whose fathers, uncles and grandfathers once cheered for the likes of Big Ed Walsh, Frank Chance, Ted Lyons, Hack Wilson, Luke Appling, Phil Cavaretta, Nellie Fox and Ernie Banks. And when they enter Wrigley and Comiskey with their own offspring they can point out the spot where Gabby Hartnett hit the "Homer in the Gloaming," or where Ted Kluszewski parked two in the first game of the '59 series.
Says Veeck, "If these parks go it will be a triumph for materialism. Never mind the product if you can make a buck."
Perhaps Chicago will get lucky and receive new baseball parks instead of oval anti-stadiums, a la Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Montreal, Philadelphia, etc. Perhaps. But in no way could even the nicest new home - say, a Dodger Stadium - restore to Chicago baseball connoisseurs the special feel of Wrigley Field and Comiskey Park, any more than a clean, efficient chain store can replace the charm of the neighborhood ice cream parlor that flourished when William Howard Taft was president.
So enjoy it all while you can, Chicago. The hourglass has already been turned over.