Our Field of Dreams
As with many, I am tremendously saddened by the news of Tiger Stadium. For me, this is one of those events that I can say has marked my life. In a way, it has also signaled yet another door closing on my childhood. Instead of grieving silently and privately, I figure that I should share my thoughts with you.
As I drove by it every Thursday, I almost took it as a given that I’d see it’s butchered shell. It was fascinating and saddening that I saw its insides. I mean who ever sees what the cross-section of a stadium looks like? I did.
Despite being sad, I take consolation in my childhood memories. I remember George Kell, Al Kaline and Ernie Harwell calling the games. Who could forget Ernie’s cavernous voice? I remember Sparky Anderson leading the Tigers. I remember sitting in front of the TV as my dad shelled my peanuts because my young fingers were too small and weak. The common denominator? Tiger Stadium. It seemed like some sort of magical place where players seemed to almost be like superheroes. I wanted to be them and to play baseball at Tiger Stadium.
The closest that I ever came was going to the games. The few times that I remember my dad taking me were treasures. I can still remember every detail. I remember my dad parking in those privately owned lots that seemed to encircle Corktown. I remember at least once walking on the overhead walkway that snaked around and over I-75. I remember Michigan Avenue’s red bricks. I remember the hot bags of peanuts that the peddlers sold. Each of these things seemed like some sort of ritual that was impossible not to follow.
I always took my glove, in hopes that I would catch a ball. However, it was either because of bad seats or out of bad luck that I never came close. Nonetheless, it was still magic. However, the magic was ruined one fateful day. I borrowed my dad’s binoculars to better watch the game. Things went great until I lost one of the lens caps. I still talk about it with my dad and, when I do, he chuckles. Part of me sometimes thinks about going back to look for it or maybe to capture the magic before it’s gone.
As I drive by Trumbull and Michigan Avenue every Thursday morning, I am unsure what I will see. Tiger Stadium will be torn down and there will be nothing but an immense, empty lot. There is no denying this. With tears in my eyes, I hold the hope that the people in charge of Tiger Stadium’s demolition and hold this lot’s future in their hands remember that the land is sacred. I hope that they will do this land justice and build something with half the magic and promise that 2121 Trumbull Avenue once held. I look forward to again seeing Corktown as beautiful as I remember it. Do right by us and build us something beautiful.
Author: José A. Rodríguez
Photos: James B. Hawkins
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Tiger Stadium holds a special place in my soul, not just my heart. It represents the time in Detroit that was innocent and heroic in the sense that the 50′s and 60′s, at least, seem to be in our memories.
It was magic, as you say.
Al menos tenía un nombre memorable y que pertenecía al equipo, no como ahora que los estadios son propiedades de las marcas y no de los equipos y es por eso que tienen que emigrar. Ojalá no veamos luego a los tigres de Ohio en el Bank of America Stadium o algo por el estilo. Esa es parte de la inocencia y pureza que se ha perdido, como comentaba Rogelio. Saludos a todos y felicidades por la revista.
When I was birthed back in 1966, I know, ancient, my family lived one block south of Tiger Stadium off of Trumbull. Growing up, I always viewed Tiger Stadium as this big white castle. It was magical to me. The first time I ever went to Tiger Stadium was as a child in elementary school. It was safety boy day so they took us. It was like walking into Disney World to me. Whenever I rode or walked by the stadium during a game, the atmosphere was intoxicating. So many people, happy, from all walks of life going to the castle. I left detroit in 1994. I was saddened to hear and see pictures of Tiger Stadium demolished or in the process of being demolished. It was like a death in my family. As with anything else in life, things change. Room has to be made for new things. I will forever keep that beautiful white castle in my heart. It is a part of being a Detroiter..