THIS IS BASICALLY A BOOK ABOUT PEOPLE, places, and the relationship between the two. Stadiums and their people have always fascinated me. Many of my earliest memories are set in and around Owen Field at the University of Oklahoma. I can recall the rich smell of soup wafting from the thermos of the couple that sat next to us year after year. I can see the sheen of the wet artificial turf at night games, illuminated by the temporary light towers brought in for a nationally televised Big Eight matchup (usually with Nebraska, of course). I can mimic the gait and pace of the brisk walk from where my father parked by the railroad tracks down Jenkins Avenue to the stadium. How odd, then, that this book would start to take shape in Austin, less than a hundred yards from Darrell K. Royal Memorial Stadium at the University of Texas (though Royal himself was, after all, from Oklahoma). It was at the Center for American History that I found Inside the Astrodome, the remarkable souvenir magazine that accompanied the opening of Houston’s iconic stadium. It would be the seed from which this book grew.
I was lucky to spend many years among great scholars and people at the University of Texas at Austin. Jeff Meikle, Steve Hoelscher, and Janet Davis modeled scholarship and teaching, showing me how to think about architecture, design, space, culture, and the past. Jan Todd introduced me to a community of sports historians; I thank her and Michael Kackman for their feedback on this project in its earlier stages. Those early versions of this book were forged in the cafés of Austin, often alongside Tracy Wuster, who was always willing to read and comment. Jason Mellard and Amy Ware also helped me work through the project’s younger iterations. My thanks go to Ella Schwartz and Cynthia Frese for guiding me through the bureaucratic waters of the university. And thanks to Matt Hedstrom, Andrew Busch, and many others for counsel and companionship.
I say this book was born in Texas, but it also has roots in my years living in Boston. For someone accustomed to the western grid, the unruly paths of that old city were a revelation. And so too was Fenway Park, where baseball wasn’t pastoral and leisurely but urban, electric, and quite serious business. The football fan within me felt at home. It was in Boston, and at Fenway, that I began thinking about how the stadium might be worth studying. I owe a debt to Alan Howard, at the University of Virginia, for selling me on the prospects of American studies as a way to explore the stadium, the city, and their cultures. And after a decade at Virginia and Texas, I have found myself back in the orbit of Fenway, in the land of the Red Sox. I arrived at Maine’s Colby College with a manuscript; it has now been reshaped into a proper book, thanks in large part to my wonderful colleagues and comrades here. Laura Saltz, Lisa Arellano, and Cyrus Shahan have been great mentors and confidants. Lisa is no expert on stadiums but is much smarter than I am and helped me sharpen multiple chapters. I am especially indebted to Margaret McFadden, whose intellect, example, generosity, and friendship have not only improved this book but also made me a better person. Sherry Berard makes my life at the college easier in countless ways. I also owe thanks to research assistants Michael Perrault and Julia Butler, as well as Gordon Lessersohn (and family).
Many others have read versions of this text closely and provided crucial feedback: they include Bob Trumpbour, David Nye, Miles Orvell, and Klaus Benesch. Profound thanks to Bob Lockhart at the University of Pennsylvania Press, whose advice has always been excellent; I cringe to think what this would have been without his guidance and patience. The book has benefited greatly from the expertise of many others at the press, including Erica Ginsburg, Amanda Ruffner, Jennifer Backer, Elizabeth Glover, Will Boehm, John Hubbard, Susan Staggs, Tracy Kellmer, Gigi Lamm, Peter Valelly, Gavi Fried, and Laura Waldron.
I am grateful to the many others who have supported this project in different ways. Librarians and archivists have steered me through collections and dug up old photos at the Center for American History and the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, the A. Bartlett Giamatti Research Center at the National Baseball Hall of Fame, George Washington University special collections, the New York Public Library Manuscripts and Archives Division, the Minnesota History Center, the Brooklyn Public Library, the Houston Public Library, the DC Public Library, the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library, the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art at the University of Oregon, the Boston Public Library, the Wisconsin Historical Society, the New York City Municipal Archives, the San Francisco History Center at the San Francisco Public Library, New York City Parks, the Missouri History Museum, the State Historical Society of Missouri Research Center at St. Louis, the St. Louis Mercantile Library at the University of Missouri–St. Louis, the Detre Library & Archives at the Heinz History Center, the Archives Service Center at the University of Pittsburgh, and the Special Collections Research Center at Temple University. Bill Hancock generously provided me with a treasure trove of old Houston programs and scorecards. Many others have sent me newspaper articles on stadiums and ballparks. Thanks to Meredith Kelley Lesher, Mike Foley, Jenn Jefferson, and Tracy Wuster for their hospitality, housing me during research trips and conferences. Linda and Grif Lesher generously allowed me the run of their Rockport writer’s retreat atop Barnswallow Books, where I grappled with the final chapter in the midst of a February blizzard. And thanks to the stadium anthropologists whose work I have relied on—incredibly insightful thinkers and writers like Roger Angell, Robert Lipsyte, Michael Oriard, and Larry McMurtry. Without voices like theirs, this would be a much thinner account of the stadium and what it has meant in American life.
Since I was a young boy, sport has shaped my relationships with those closest to me. I have shared stadiums countless times with family and friends: Okies, Texans, Minnesotans, Virginians, Mainers, Carolinians, and Coloradans. You know who you are. I thank you for those experiences, memorable and mundane, which have certainly worked their way into this text. My family has always supported me, whatever I have done, and for that I am immensely and continually grateful. I am not the easiest being to live with, and neither is my cat. Erin Murphy knows this. She has not only endured my dark moods and fits of anxiety but also dragged me through them. Whenever I have needed perspective and advice, she has listened and read; she tells me what doesn’t work and what does. How lucky I am. In the end, this book is for her.