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If They Built It? Stadium Dreams and Rustbelt Realities in Cleveland Philip Suchma

Online Publication Date: 01 September 2008

To cite this Article Suchma, Philip(2008)'If They Built It? Stadium Dreams and Rustbelt Realities in Cleveland',International Journal of the History of Sport,25:11,1547 — 1564

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If They Built It? Stadium Dreams and Rustbelt Realities in Cleveland Philip Suchma

In 1968 sporting and political leaders in Cleveland, Ohio hired an architectural firm to

study the feasibility of building a multipurpose, domed stadium in the city’s downtown. The sporting media and team officials desired a modern facility to replace the ageing and

outdated Municipal Stadium and offer greater financial reward. Civic leaders hoped a new facility would fit into downtown renewal by bringing people and entertainment

dollars back to the central city as well as polish a tarnished civic image. This pattern had been used earlier and would be used again by America’s traditional industrial cities

looking to escape the thralls of post-war urban decline. In 1970 the final study deemed a new stadium impossible. The project had been unable to overcome the tumultuous natures and recent histories of Cleveland’s political, social and economic institutions.

In the late 1960s civic leaders in Cleveland, Ohio, turned their attention to sporting

space to achieve renewal. Amid rising unemployment, political fighting, increased crime, under-funded educational systems, racial tensions and an increasingly

abandoned downtown, they argued that new sports facilities would entice people back and help revive the city’s economy and image. It was not to be, however. The Luckman Plan’s feasibility study (1969–70), which proposed several domed stadium

designs for Cleveland, concluded that the city could not afford to either build anew or renovate the existing stadium. That news came directly from the prestigious

architectural group of Charles Luckman & Associates, the firm that had most recently won acclaim for the design of New York City’s new version of Madison Square

Garden. [1] Luckman & Associates’ conclusion was a harsh reality check for a city fascinated by big dreams but haunted by bigger problems.

The challenges Cleveland faced in the late 1960s and early 1970s were neither new nor unexpected. Local and national commissions as early as the 1940s predicted

decreasing populations and a widespread loss of industry had become common to the

Philip Suchma, Lehman College, City University of New York. Correspondence to: [email protected]

The International Journal of the History of Sport Vol. 25, No. 11, September 2008, 1547–1564

ISSN 0952-3367 (print)/ISSN 1743-9035 (online) � 2008 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/09523360802299294

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struggling cities of the upper Midwest, a region that by the 1970s had become commonly known as the ‘Rustbelt’. [2] With a decline in the nation’s reliance on

heavy industry coinciding with business and population moving to either of the traditional central city’s main competitors – the suburbs and the American ‘Sunbelt’

[3] – Cleveland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Gary, Detroit and other traditional urban centres faced questions of short- and long-term economic and cultural survival. By

the end of the 1960s, the industrial city, especially its downtown, was no longer the ‘heart of American civilization’, according to urban historian Jon Teaford. It had

instead transformed into a shelter for society’s underprivileged and undesirables. The task for urban planners and civic leaders was to identify and implement a magical cure-all to breathe new life into the cities that once embodied the strength, character

and wealth of a burgeoning America. Charismatic mayors and downtown renovation projects most prominently signified the urban renewal process, but a new

multipurpose stadium emerged as a ‘necessary’ component for many cities. [4] The story of Cleveland and its efforts to build a lavish domed stadium within the

context of downtown renewal is a distinctive example within the larger story of sport- city relationships in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Cleveland provides an archetypal

example of how Rustbelt culture gravitated to stadium-building schemes in a desperate quest to bandage the symptoms of decline. In fact, the stadium struggle in

Cleveland illuminates larger themes pertinent to understanding the crucial role of sport in urban decline and revitalization attempts throughout the Rustbelt. Stadium construction as an aspect of renewal and economic impetus must be balanced against

the broader political, economic and social conditions troubling a city. The history of Cleveland’s efforts to build a new stadium furthers the understanding of the

economic and civic meaning attached to sporting edifices. Given the broader economic and cultural shifts, the extent to which a new stadium or arena would

positively have impacted a Rustbelt city’s economy or population migration patterns was questionable. The notion of sport as an institution of great civic uplift was also a

point of civic contention. Still, a new stadium was framed as a prominent panacea for Cleveland’s ailments. The fact that the proposed stadium project failed, effectively killing any hope of a new downtown sports palace for nearly a quarter of a century,

marked the troubling extent to which urban decline had extended. Initially, the industrial metropolises of the American Midwest enjoyed a new era of

growth and importance in the aftermath of the Second World War. From the middle of the nineteenth century to the middle of the twentieth century this region,

stretching from the Ohio River to the Great Lakes and from the Ohio-Pennsylvania border to the Mississippi River, held itself to be the essence of American culture and

values – a sentiment to which must of the rest of the nation assented. During the first three decades of the post-war epoch, a reality settled over the area that the region, as

historian Teaford claimed, was actually ‘a distinguishable fragment of the national whole’. These cities were products of the populations who lived there and created their own distinctive cultural patterns. Beginning in the 1960s, the purported belief

that the industrial Midwest was, in fact, the ‘American Heartland’ quickly gave way to

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the actuality of urban decline and the image of the Rustbelt. This was especially poignant when looking at the growth patterns that redefined the ‘Sunbelt’, the

booming post-war cities of the US West and South, at this same time. While still relatively healthy, Detroit, Chicago, St Louis and Cleveland, as early as the 1950s,

showed the first signs of coming problems as the Sunbelt region took on ‘boomtown’ status. Midwestern cities that had long sought to upstage the likes of New York and

Chicago now faced new competition in the South and West as these regions increasingly drew population and industry away from the heartland. [5]

By the 1960s and 1970s the heartland had entered old age, having gone from being the nation’s pride to becoming a national problem. The Rustbelt still hoped to find prosperity amidst the signs of urban decay, and revitalization plans brought forth a

variety of cures. Cleveland’s problems mirrored those haunting other traditional markets in the industrial Midwest and Northeast. In 1950 its population was just

under 915,000, making it the seventh largest city in the United States. By 1970 Cleveland’s population had fallen to 750,903, making it the 17th largest nationally.

[6] Cuyahoga County took in many of the émigrés, while those who could not afford to move – a population markedly consisting of blacks, Puerto Ricans and white

Appalachians – made up an increasingly impoverished majority in the central city. Heartland urban peers Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and St Louis found themselves subject

to similar population declines in the face of rapid suburban growth. Drop-offs in downtown and citywide retail sales accompanied population shifts in each of these cities from the late 1950s to the early 1960s as shopping alternatives emerged

throughout metropolitan areas. [7] The problems of urban decline were magnified by a trend of ineffectual leadership

from many of the region’s mayors of the late 1950s and early 1960s. Dull and unimaginative individuals who looked to ride the steady and safe course during their

mayoral tenures were often guilty of looking past burgeoning problems while avoiding challenging projects that had tremendous long-term potential. Cleveland

Plain Dealer columnist George Condon called Cleveland’s mayors from 1935 to 1967 ‘real good guys that were deadly’. [8] Collectively they lacked innovation, despite their integrity. Cleveland needed something big, but these were not men who would

stick out their necks to accomplish such a feat. [9] A mayoral impetus for urban renewal was nowhere to be found, but by the late

1960s conditions had changed and ushered in a new breed of mayor in many American cities. Stagnant urban conditions demanded by conservative populations

and the decades of neglect by politicians savagely turned on these ‘caretaker’ mayors. Business leaders, the newspapers and citizens looked for a new champion of their

traditional ways of life. ‘Campaigning as foes of the stale past’, asserted historian Teaford, ‘these newcomers promised a new era not only of physical rebuilding but of

social justice’. [10] New York’s John Lindsay and Cleveland’s Carl Stokes brought new youthful energies to a dowdy political landscape. The ‘new glamour-boy breed of big-city mayors’ contrasted their predecessors by viewing urban renewal as more

than clearing away blighted areas and replacing them with glistening modern towers.

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Their renewal efforts incorporated a seemingly heartfelt concern for the social conditions that plagued the very foundations of their communities. [11]

New policies, youthful leadership and expanded building projects were at the forefront of renewal. Construction projects, such as Erieview in downtown Cleveland,

appeared bold in planning but lacked real-world connection with their community. Development focused on downtown and business rather than the neighbourhoods.

Projects tended to blend together, leaving cities without a distinctive appearance, and sometimes took on haughty impressions of outsiders rather than the attitudes and

identity of the community itself. More often than not these efforts could not keep the wealthier portions of the population from their exodus to the suburbs or the Sunbelt. [12]

Perhaps no component of development and renewal at that time better represented both the reliance on outside designers and the subsequent loss of identity than the

construction of numerous downtown stadiums. An age of unprecedented expansion and relocation led cities with major league professional football and baseball teams to

explore the inclusion of multipurpose stadiums in their own plans for downtown urban renewal. Rustbelt markets St Louis, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia all

followed suit from 1966 to 1971. Newer sporting markets west of the Mississippi River also brought new challenges with new sporting complexes and stadiums. The

architectural design has often been accused of lacking creativity, as seen in the terms ‘concrete doughnuts’ and ‘cookie cutters’. Still, they were markers of a distinctive period in American urban history and sporting development. In their historical

moment they were ‘products of a time when the American city was being built – or rebuilt – in a fashion which championed technology and progress’. [13]

Contemporary criticism aside, the multipurpose stadium, complete with movable seating, artificial turf and possibly a dome, met the demands of sporting institutions

and spectators during an era of unprecedented national expansion and relocation. According to sport historian Robert Trumpbour, ‘Older ‘‘rust-belt’’ cities enjoyed

[the] association with modernity’; they wanted to show that they were capable of change. [14] More importantly, new stadiums were purported harbingers of urban revival. By the late 1960s Cleveland desperately wanted to embark on this process.

Cleveland Municipal Stadium, an 80,000-seat colossus sitting on the city’s lakefront, turned 37 years old in 1968. It had been conceived four decades earlier as a

means of completing Cleveland’s Group Plan of 1903, an effort to beautify Cleveland’s downtown with a specific focus on municipal buildings. Although not

part of the original plan, the idea of a public stadium gained support in the late 1920s. With the backing of the city’s sports press and the influence of the Cleveland

Indians baseball club, a publicly-funded stadium plan was conceived and subsequently approved by voters in 1928. Municipal Stadium was expected to serve

as a monument to Cleveland, but after completion in 1931 was a white elephant for much of its early existence. The stadium did not find full-time tenants until the mid- 1940s when baseball’s Indians and football’s Browns made the lakefront stadium their

homes. [15]

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Harsh lakefront conditions and weathering emerged as serious concerns by the mid-1950s. A letter between the Auditorium and Stadium Commission and

Department of Public Safety in October 1954 explained the worsening conditions of bricks, walls and steel windows at the stadium following a severe rainstorm. [16]

Additionally, the Indians and Browns complained that the facility was not friendly to television and lacked other features desired by the post-war sporting culture. The

Indians wanted locker-room renovations and Browns owner and namesake Paul Brown demanded a new press box to better cover his football team. The Auditorium

and Stadium Commission looked into improvement, but expressed concern over whether the stadium’s upper deck could handle the weight of such an addition and questioned where funding for a project would come from. It was believed that

Cleveland would not be able to compete regionally for new exhibitions and conventions or maintain existing opportunities without new facilities or serious

attention being given to Municipal Stadium. [17] Conditions at the stadium took on added importance when the possibility of

franchise relocation surfaced. In 1960 the Browns signed a new ten-year lease, but the Indians remained a question mark. Nate Dolin, Indians vice-president, expressed

disappointment in ‘the way the City has let the Stadium deteriorate’. In 1958 Cleveland heard the first rumblings that the Indians were considering relocating, to

Minneapolis in this case. Throughout the 1960s, even with a new lease in-hand, rumours persisted that the Indians were earmarked for Dallas, Houston, Oakland or Seattle. The sporting press argued that the best way to keep a successful baseball team

in Cleveland was to build a new stadium. [18] The post-war era in Cleveland was ushered in with a spirit of ‘coasting’ by political

leaders. The war effort helped the city’s manufacturing institutions stabilize themselves after the Great Depression, but Mayor Frank Lausche encouraged an

understanding of the pitfalls that lied ahead. Keeping Cleveland’s industries and attracting new ones in the coming decades was a priority, with strong competition

coming from both the growing suburbs and Sunbelt. A most recognized concern was residential slums. With aid from the Federal Housing Act of 1949, Cleveland embarked on replacing dilapidated slums with public housing, first with apartment

complexes and later by constructing individual houses. The process continued through the 1950s until a lack of interest in private development became apparent.

Although 6,000 acres had been cleared for development – the largest amount in the country –many lots stood vacant. Cleveland’s urban renewal projects in the 1960s had

the unflattering distinction of having more land designated as slums and blighted areas than any other American city, a social commentary of the worst sort. [19]

The one project that captured the imagination of civic leaders and the dollars of investors was Erieview. Conceived in 1960 and designed by I.M. Pei & Associates,

Erieview reclaimed a large portion of inadequate downtown land and planned on replacing it with hotels, apartments and offices in hopes of reviving interest in downtown and encouraging private investments. The project was not the success for

which civic leaders had hoped. Its implementation and development dragged on for

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years and stole the concentration of urban planners and politicians away from confronting further deteriorating neighbourhoods, largely inhabited by poor blacks.

Completion of Erieview’s early stages changed Cleveland’s physical appearance but not its image. Additionally, it raised new concerns over the city’s direction. Leasing of

retail and residential space was a hit-or-miss proposition. The city’s Fine Arts Committee viewed the buildings as ‘blocks of nothing’ and ‘pieces of tin’, [20] while a

more condescending view saw them as being symbolic of the East Coast’s image of an indistinctive Cleveland and other heartland cities. [21]

The 1960s were not kind to Cleveland. The problems of urban renewal and public housing only illustrated part of the larger problem. In a 1970 Cleveland Plain Dealer study of the city’s decentralization over the previous ten years, the broader impact of

suburban growth at the expense of the central city revealed a series of disturbing trends. Manufacturing jobs and retail sales fled to the more populous and safer

confines of the suburbs. The civic government struggled to find ways to fund public services, eventually having to increase taxes by 75 per cent to offset various losses.

Residents battled rising unemployment and crime, and welfare costs increased by 130 per cent during the latter half of the decade. Scholars and city planners responded to

Cleveland’s plight by labelling it a culmination of substandard government and suburban flight. Left behind was a largely impoverished and aged population,

unwilling and unable to approve the tax increases needed for the city to maintain vital city services. [22]

The mass exodus to the suburbs changed neighbourhoods that had once been

peppered with the sights, sounds and smells of different central and eastern European communities into the domains of lower-income groups, especially poor blacks. In

1950, African-Americans made up 16 per cent of Cleveland’s population and more than doubled to 37 per cent by 1965. By 1960, 98 per cent of blacks living in the

Cleveland metropolitan area lived in the central city. During its industrial peak earlier in the century, the city had been known as a racially progressive destination; still,

there was no absence of racism. Cleveland found itself divided in two, a white west side and a black east side. In the summer of 1966, the east side Hough neighbourhood underwent four days of rioting that required the National Guard

to restore order. City officials had chosen to focus on downtown instead of neighbourhoods such as Hough either the year before or earlier in 1966. A climate of

fear surfaced among white Clevelanders and widened the rift between east and west, black and white. Even the most prominent athlete in Cleveland, the stellar African-

American running back Jim Brown of the National Football League’s Cleveland Browns, felt the wrath of racial discrimination when he was kept from renting an

apartment in a white neighbourhood. [23] The 1967 mayoral elections were steeped in a rhetoric of urban renewal, community development and racial unity. The

memory of Hough and the subsequent fears it evoked lingered in the minds of voters. State Representative Carl Stokes, an African-American, emerged from the field of candidates as a youthful and charismatic candidate who presented change and hope

for Cleveland. Some of Cleveland’s business and civic leaders courted Stokes as a

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candidate who, while qualified, would ideally keep the city’s black population satisfied. Stokes’s campaign knew the city was divided along racial lines and promoted their

candidate differently in east and west sides. While other candidates – white candidates – initially danced around the issue, Stokes’s campaign put out unofficial slogans: ‘Vote

for Carl Stokes because he is a Negro’ on the east side and ‘Don’t vote for the Negro; vote for the man’ on the west side. Stokes won the Democratic primary with 52 per cent

of votes (over two opponents) and triumphed in the general election, albeit by fewer than 2,000 votes. Only 50 per cent of registered Democrats from the city’s west side

voted. Cleveland scholar Estelle Zannes believed this indicated ‘that many white voters simply chose not to choose’. [24] The nation’s eyes focused on the first black mayor of a major American city and many Clevelanders celebrated the election as ‘doing America

proud’; but a racial schism remained. [25] In the aftermath of his historic victory, Stokes took the reins of a city that desired

change without a change in the status quo. In an attempt to inspire direction and hope, his administration launched the CLEVELAND: NOW! programme. Beginning

immediately after the April 1969 assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr, CLEVELAND: NOW! was designed, according to Stokes, to help people rise ‘to a

level where they wanted to respond to problems that human beings have in our society, while putting aside their prejudices and hostilities’. [26] Over 18 months the

programme raised money for everything from housing development to job training. It was looked upon favourably by the majority in Congress and President Lyndon B. Johnson’s administration, fellow Democrats who were fond of Stokes. After cutting

off Cleveland’s funding in the light of failures that unfolded during the previous Locher administration, Johnson’s aides worked on improving relations with Stokes

while clearing paths for federal funding. Cleveland Plain Dealer Washington correspondent John Leacacos surmised that ‘the feeling here was that Stokes meant

more than just another mayor getting a backward city off the dime. . . . Stokes . . . represents a huge investment, far beyond party politics, for the welfare of America

itself.’ [27] By May 1968 downtown development was moving forward once again. CLEVE-

LAND: NOW! received $31 million in federal funds, and had another $122 million

reportedly on its way ($143 million in total). Those funds were earmarked for public housing and urban renewal projects. The spirit of hope that had helped to usher

Stokes into office seemed destined to initiate a new appearance and image of downtown. [28]

CLEVELAND: NOW!’s successes to that point and, as Stokes put it, ‘much of what we wanted to do’, [29] all came to a halt during the summer of 1968. On the night of

23 July, Glenville, a predominantly black neighbourhood on the city’s east side, broke out in gunfire. Seven people, including three police officers, were killed. Over the

following five days local businesses were victimized by looting and arson. The violence and destruction were crippling for achieving unity and further tarnished Cleveland’s national image. Most damaging, however, was the connection between

Ahmed Evans and city hall. Evans was leader of the Black Nationalists of New Libya, a

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group that had been under investigation by local police and the FBI. He and his followers had stockpiled weapons and ammunition, reportedly for a large-scale

outbreak of violence on 24 July which, if carried out, would include the assassination of Stokes and four other prominent black leaders. Particularly damaging were Evans’s

claims that he financed his operations and purchase guns and ammunition through $6,000 received from CLEVELAND: NOW! The Glenville Riots fragmented the city

and led to the slow demise of CLEVELAND:NOW! Fear replaced faith in the renewal process Stokes had pushed forward. Aware of this, Stokes implored contributors not

‘to let the vendetta of a ‘‘handful of misguided men’’ poison the city and destroy all the good that had begun’. [30] The repercussions of Glenville were devastating. Businesses gradually pulled back support and the incident cast a huge shadow of

doubt on the Stokes administration. [31] Stokes pushed on with his renewal plans despite these setbacks, and downtown

remained a focal point, but not from the standpoint of tearing down old buildings and replacing them with modern structures. Instead, he worked to improve social and

economic interaction. Unfortunately, as Stokes moved forward with his plans and looked at his re-election campaign, he had to confront the worsening news that

Cleveland crime increased in six of seven areas since the previous year. The numbers for homicide, auto theft, robbery, assault, larceny and breaking and entering had all

risen. A female clerk told the Cleveland Plain Dealer: ‘If I didn’t have to come here to work, I would never come downtown, not with all the purse snatching and roughhousing going on.’ [32] The rise in crime coupled with the violence in Glenville

and ever-present pollution dampened Stokes’s original energies. Cleveland sunk even further on 23 June 1969 when an oil slick on the Cuyahoga River caught fire, making

national news and prompting national ridicule. Some Clevelanders still rallied around renewal and hope. [33] One letter to the editor argued that a greater sense of pride in

being a Clevelander was needed. ‘If our leaders today could help us all to recapture this dedicated spirit,’ it contended, ‘there would only be building, not burning; voluntary

involvement, not withdrawal; commendation, not condemnation’. [34] With their river in flames, their city the butt of national ridicule, and their spirits

flagging, many residents turned to the vision of a new stadium as a panacea for

Cleveland’s ills. Sports economist Mark Rosentraub argued that ‘Sports play on the psyche of taxpayers and community leaders through their image as a romanticized

ideal, their integral role in everyday life, their importance to the media, their political symbolism, and their imagery for economic development’. Many of Rosentraub’s

case studies focus on the 1980s and 1990s, but the basic message remained the same regarding the link of sports facilities to perceived economic development: though

economic growth might not occur with new stadium construction, civic leaders tended to believe such growth would occur. [35]

As with many of its Rustbelt counterparts, Cleveland was concerned about the fate of its downtown. As suburbanization increasingly affected the city’s social structure, many wondered if downtown could survive. Central Cleveland had become a nine-to-five

city; it emitted the high-energy hustle and bustle of a major city during work hours but

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turned into a ghost town once workers headed back to the suburbs. Downtown retailers faced growing competition for retail and entertainment dollars from new

shopping malls that were closer and safer for suburbanites. Civic leaders wanted and needed attractions to bring people back to Cleveland. The once thriving Theatre

District fell victim to these trends. Eight downtown movie theatres closed from 1950 to 1969. One Cleveland Plain Dealer reader asserted: ‘The Greater Cleveland suburbanites,

some of whom boast that they haven’t been downtown in years, and who patronize the theatres in their nearby shopping centres at the expense of downtown theatres,

shortsightedly do not realize that, if the central city dies, its suburbs also die.’ Another reader stated: ‘The empty Loew’s State [theatre] affirms that the downtown of Cleveland is dying fast.’ [36] Metropolitan residents found that the central city was a

less desirable destination. Yet downtown had sole possession of professional sport, and keeping teams there was of significant interest to politicians and businessmen alike.

Upon returning from the 1967 Major League Baseball All-Star Game in Anaheim, California, Hal Lebovitz, Cleveland Plain Dealer sports editor, informed the

contingent of mayoral candidates that Cleveland needed to clean up the lake, clean up the air, rebuild the inner city and build a new stadium. Having praised the

Anaheim stadium and the $15 million sports complex that opened the day after the game, Lebovitz remarked: ‘And then I came home to Cleveland, to this great, bustling

city in the midst of the thriving, Great Lakes region. Brothers and sisters, in comparison, we ain’t got nothin’.’ [37] The sporting community’s concerns over the outdated and insufficient nature of Cleveland’s sports infrastructure were further

magnified when Cleveland was passed over for an NBA expansion franchise in 1968 due to the lack of a sufficient arena. Lebovitz reminded Stokes himself that the new

mayor had written to the Cleveland Plain Dealer saying he would spearhead efforts for a new arena if deemed feasible. Lebovitz claimed: ‘This metropolis deserves major

league stature in all sports. We can get it only through a Civic Sports Center. Lesser cities, being more progressive, have passed us up.’ [38] The loss of confidence

Cleveland faced was apparent. The dilapidated stadium, the inability to obtain expansion teams in basketball and hockey and the collapse of the Indians franchise painted a grim picture for a community that once proclaimed itself ‘The City of

Champions’. Perhaps this idea and image were more succinctly captured by major league baseball pitcher and pundit Jim Bouton, who opined: ‘I thought about life in

this great American city and decided that if you were going to crash on a Cleveland flight it would be better if it was an inbound flight.’ [39]

The competition Cleveland and its sister heartland cities shared with their respective suburbs and the Sunbelt manifest itself in the need for new sporting

facilities, and several traditional sports markets moved forward. From 1960 onward, expansive new multipurpose stadiums linked to renewal were built in the Rustbelt

markets of St Louis, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and Philadelphia. St Louis’s Busch Stadium, which opened in 1966, was built for the city by the Civic Center Redevelopment Corporation, ‘a coalition of businessmen committed to the

restoration of downtown St Louis’. [40] Cleveland’s stadium proponents looked at

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Busch Stadium as an existing and desirable model to follow. In Ohio, the Cincinnati Reds and the local government had been in discussions over the location of a modern

facility for baseball that would also attract an expansion football team. Supporters of a downtown location ‘believed that a new stadium would help regenerate the

downtown area by attracting other businesses’. [41] Publicly funded Riverfront Stadium opened in 1970 at a cost of $45 million. Pittsburgh (Three Rivers Stadium)

and Philadelphia (Veterans Stadium) hoped similar multipurpose facilities would revive their respective downtowns. [42]

The construction and planning of these facilities set the example for Cleveland, but Houston’s Astrodome, which opened in 1965, offered the specific structure they most desired. The larger sport-entertainment complex of Astroland – completed with a

hotel, amusement park and other lavish luxuries – was enticing but not necessary. A dome to protect the city’s sporting spectators, specifically baseball fans, from the

inclement spring weather and artificial turf to enable the numerous types of sporting and civic activities was desired. Led by Indians president Vernon Stouffer, Cleveland’s

sporting bigwigs and politicians entered into the exploratory stages of bringing a domed stadium to downtown. [43]

Stouffer wrote to Stokes on 11 June 1968, inviting the mayor to attend a confidential meeting to see the unveiling of a model stadium and arena almost a week

later. Charles Luckman & Associates had been asked to make the model with the possibility of moving forward on a feasibility study if all went satisfactorily. In a postscript, the mayor was told that the study was ‘simply exploratory and no

publicity is to be given’. [44] Despite the sports executive’s assurance, a Cleveland Plain Dealer headline on 16 June, the day before Luckman’s presentation, read:

‘Domed Stadium Step Closer’. [45] The meeting, its time and its date were public knowledge. Lebovitz noted that several stadium sights were being considered. Setting

up some of the key issues, he observed: ‘St Louis built its new park on urban renewal property and the project revitalized its entire downtown area. Most new stadiums

have been financed through the combined efforts of city, county and state officials and a few in conjunction with private funds.’ [46] Stouffer argued that ‘It would make Cleveland competitive with other cities . . . and would add new incentive for a

revived civic spirit and generate much corollary business’. [47] An unnamed city official saw this as fitting in with the CLEVELAND: NOW! programme.

Charles Luckman presented a model stadium to Stokes, Ohio Governor James Rhodes, Stouffer, Browns owner Art Modell and other civic and political leaders on

17 June, claiming that it would be the most modern stadium in the country. After the proceedings, a combined city-county-state effort approved funding for a 90-day

feasibility study: $120,000 of public funds, to be split three ways, would finance Cleveland’s effort to enhance its ability to compete for entertainment and industry

with other American cities. Predictably, the proposed stadium won the support of both Indians and Browns organizations. The announced use of public funds was the most controversial aspect of this initial phase of the study. A Cleveland Plain Dealer

editorial fully endorsed the construction and argued that the private sector should

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not be expected to foot the whole bill since it would be a project ‘in which public convenience and comfort would be among the prime benefits’. [48] Based on the

letters posted in the Cleveland Plain Dealer’s sports section, Cleveland’s fan base was less concerned with the cost and more worried that 15,000–20,000 seats would be lost

for Browns games in the smaller-sized facility. Many of these letters came from residents of the suburbs and not the central city itself. [49]

Two major questions to the logic of the Luckman Plan, as it came to be known, emerged. First, should taxpayer money be used for a stadium or for more pressing

needs in public safety, education or other civic-minded issues? Second, was Municipal Stadium really in such a state that it needed to be replaced? Immediately after the announcement, Stokes received a bevy of letters contending that the city would be

doing a great disservice to its citizens and its future if building a new stadium superseded other priorities. One letter urged the mayor to focus on real human

problems, stating: ‘Domed stadiums, major league basketball and hockey teams, and a glittering sports complex won’t solve the problems of spreading slums, unemploy-

ment, and a second rate, underfinanced, educational system’. [50] Another missive pondered the futility of a new stadium if the Indians eventually moved or if a suburban

site were selected, and argued the estimated $40 million cost would take money away from education, new jobs or other civic needs. These letters were written by Cleveland

residents, but suburbanites also voiced their displeasure with the mayor, in part because they were responsible for Cuyahoga County’s $40,000 share of the study costs. One woman wrote of the ‘shock and disgust’ that rose within her upon hearing of the

prospect of a new stadium. Stokes responded to such complaints by indicating that the city was interested in a new facility, but not if it meant using public funds for

the construction. He attempted to distance himself from the controversy by asserting that no member of the administration had been present at the announcement, yet the

Cleveland Plain Dealer reported that he was there and a letter from Luckman thanked Stokes for his ‘assistance, direction, and impetus’ at the meeting. [51]

The replacement of Municipal Stadium was a problem that even Luckman mentioned in the feasibility report. The facility was as representative of Cleveland’s up-and-down history as any institution. It was conceived in the spirit of prosperity

but built during the Great Depression. It was promised to immediately host tens of thousands but often sat empty during its first decade. It was supposed to add to the

‘Best Location in the Nation’ but came to represent the ‘Mistake on the Lake’. Despite the many legitimate complaints against the stadium, it was regularly filled to capacity

for football games and was revered by sports fans. Many people saw Municipal Stadium as a functional facility that was still relatively new. This sentiment came

across in several letters to the Cleveland Plain Dealer. ‘So who really needs a super- stadium?’, questioned one reader:

Have we become so inured to spectating habits that we no longer watch outdoor sports in the outdoors? While the mayor of Cleveland has to collect nickels from the city’s school children to implement the pressing needs of CLEVELAND: NOW! we talk glibly about throwing away $50 million on a bauble. [52]

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It is also fair to assume that with a populace that was continually attempting to regain the growth and prosperity it experienced early in the twentieth century, when

Cleveland was indeed a shining example of the prosperity of the American heartland, the stadium served as a symbolic link to that golden past for much of the city’s

population. Lebovitz took the occasion of the Luckman Plan announcement to address whether Municipal Stadium needed or deserved being replaced. ‘Yes, it once

was good enough,’ he wrote. ‘It is now rapidly becoming obsolete.’ [53] Almost a year later, and as if on cue in this debate, six sections of Municipal Stadium’s upper deck

were closed after the concrete base cracked and presented safety concerns. [54] The feasibility study extended past its original 90-day schedule, and had still not

been completed by the start of 1970. When the 132 pages of text did arrive on 11

February, it dealt Cleveland a harsh reality check. The introductory letter contained the most poignant words: ‘It is not possible . . . to recommend for economic reasons

the stadium originally studied.’ The initial study examined the feasibility of a multipurpose stadium which would seat 65,000 or more patrons. The preliminary

figures showed that such a facility would run an annual deficit of $3,000,000. Subsequently, Luckman provided modified studies for a smaller stadium (56,000

capacity) and plans for enclosing the existing stadium as requested by city officials. This report indicated that a smaller deficit ($2,600,000) would result from a smaller

structure, but it was not considered a feasible solution. Enclosing Municipal Stadium with a dome would solve the problem of Cleveland’s harsh winter and spring weather, but this was ultimately rejected because the facility was too outdated to offer

the sightlines and comfort levels demanded by modern fans. [55] A stadium-arena concept was then proposed, but because the original fees of

$120,000 had been depleted, only a very limited study was conducted. When compared to the previous studies, it was determined that with financial assistance

such a structure could be built and successfully operated. Luckman concluded that ‘such a facility would offer a most original and exciting home for the present baseball

team in an intimate comfortable environment, as well as to provide a major impetus to the possibility of Cleveland securing a major league hockey franchise as well as a major league Basketball franchise’. [56] Having considered the city’s existing and

desired professional teams, the study determined that football was not a major concern because of the Browns’ history of success and fan support. Once, or ‘if’,

football could be removed from the broader scenario, thereby leaving only baseball, hockey and basketball, a smaller 30,000- to 35,000-seat facility emerged as a

possibility. Such a structure would maintain reduced construction costs and debt services and therefore increase its capacity for revenue. Luckman reported that the

Indians were very open to this idea. The issue that ultimately confronted each and every one of these plans, but especially the stadium-arena, was the cost of financing.

The study looked at three options – publicly funded, privately funded and a combination – and found only the privately funded option to be viable. The city expressed no interest in fully funding a facility and the combined funding option did

not appear to be a natural fit with any specific downtown renewal project. If the city

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could attract investors through enough tax incentives and long-term benefits, however, the privately funded stadium might become a reality. [57]

Determining an ideal location for a proposed stadium illuminated the city-suburb stresses that plagued Cleveland’s foundation and image during this period. Population

figures projected a decline in city population but optimistically envisioned the growth of the suburbs and therefore a long-term possibility of success. Many of the economic

figures painted a picture of a highly desirable market with little sign of urban decay. The site selection process narrowed its attention to the present stadium location and

to an eastern suburban location in Warrensville Heights. The former provided centrality and familiarity while the latter appeared destined to reach the wealthy sports consumers who had fled the central city over the previous two decades. In the end, the

potential growth of Warrensville had to be weighed against the central location and veneration of the existing stadium site. The feasibility study unsurprisingly concluded

that a new stadium would be best suited for Warrensville. [58] In the aftermath of what was soon viewed as a stadium debacle and needless waste of

$120,000 in taxpayers money, Cleveland moved on with an old lakefront stadium and a downtown still searching for a magical elixir. City Council President James V. Stanton

stated that ‘we’re going to go with what we’ve got’. The mayor’s executive assistant commented: ‘The report speaks for itself.’ Cleveland Plain Dealer columnist George

Condon added some levity to the situation by asserting: ‘If the generous representatives of our three branches of government concerned had handed out dollar bills to 120,000 pedestrians on Public Square in return for their casual, offhand opinion of a domed

stadium scheme, they would have got approximately the same reply.’ [59] Stokes finished out his second term as mayor without the support and hope that

had ushered in his tenure back in 1967. Cleveland’s temperament was that of a city that wanted to be bigger but was unable to take the necessary steps to come even

remotely close to achieving such growth. Stokes believed that the city was ‘entering a period where there could be no more change or movement’. [60] Had he become

another of the so-called ‘caretaker’ mayors who put personal ego ahead of civic progress? Was his administration torpedoed by political adversaries and racial politics? Or was Stokes the candidate of personality and not substance as he was

sometimes characterized? It is likely that there is a bit of truth in each of these assertions, but the process of decline that continued through the 1970s was arguably

too dramatic to be effectively confronted by a single individual. In November of 1970, just nine months after the feasibility study struck down any

hopes of a domed stadium, the Cleveland Plain Dealer ran a special editorial on the problems most afflicting Cleveland’s infrastructure during what it called a ‘bad year’.

Among the six problem areas listed was the need for a ‘new look’ for the city’s sports facilities. It argued that Cleveland ‘needs some bright, modern facilities which

embody the latest in spectator convenience, attractive surroundings and which offer the best setting possible for complete athletic performance’. New facilities in Kansas City, Oakland, Pittsburgh and Cincinnati were envied in the editorial and stood as

symbols of Cleveland’s descent further down the list of viable markets. The city’s

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attempt to join the aforementioned cities with their shiny new edifices failed, and the continued calls to stay on this issue could not change that. The editorial lamented the

fact that all Cleveland had to show for its efforts was a problematic feasibility study, which was hardly a sign of progress. [61]

It can never be known what would have happened to Cleveland or where the city would be today if the Luckman study moved differently and a downtown domed

stadium emerged on the shores of Lake Erie. The scenarios that played out in Pittsburgh and Cincinnati most likely represent Cleveland’s possible fate, but

questions remain. Would downtown have re-emerged as an entertainment centre in the metropolitan area? Would development in the central city have followed the stadium and turned downtown into a desirable residential district? Would Art

Modell have still moved the Browns to Baltimore? Did the study doom the Indians to two additional decades of poor play and poorer attendance? [62]

As in any ‘what if’ scenario, projecting alternatives is an amusing exercise, but Cleveland’s future in 1970 was not merely a question of fate. Instead it was a journey

determined by the decisions of politicians, business leaders and citizens in preced- ing decades, and carried out by the convictions and fears of a city in the midst of

urban decline. The example of Cleveland showed that big dreams can lead a city to pin its hopes on a groundless vision, but harsh reality can stop the dream dead in its

tracks. A domed stadium was no magical elixir, but the dream remained. During its popularly perceived renaissance in the early 1990s, Cleveland built new facilities for baseball and basketball and later a new football stadium for its 1999 expansion

franchise. These multimillion dollar facilities have neither stopped retail closings nor brought residents back downtown in droves.

In Field of Dreams, a haunting voice tells farmer Ray Kinsella: ‘If you build it, he will come’. Following this ghostly command, Kinsella creates a baseball diamond that

brings the spirits of the 1919 Chicago White Sox, a parade of tourists and most importantly the ghost of his deceased father to his farm. [63] Hollywood’s field

brought people and prosperity, the dream elements civic leaders from the rustbelt sought to rekindle the spirit of a more prosperous past. Government officials and professional sports organizations still approach stadium construction today with

promises of economic growth and a return to prosperity. Rustbelt cities such as Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis and Cincinnati have collectively committed

billions to stadium construction with the hope that these massive structures will somehow stave off decline. Finding that ‘field of dreams’ remains a continuing urban

saga. Clevelanders, however, can look back at the Luckman proposal and ponder: ‘If they built it, what might have happened?’

Notes

[1] Foster Hailey, ‘Project to Be Built by Present Owners’, New York Times, 4 Nov. 1960; ‘New Madison Sq. Garden to Rise Atop Penn Station’, New York Times, 25 July 1961; Hal Lebovitz, ‘Domed Stadium Step Closer’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 16 June 1968.

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[2] John T. Howard, What’s Ahead for Cleveland? (Regional Association of Cleveland), January 1941, Special Collections, Cleveland Public Library, Cleveland, Ohio; Cleveland City Planning Commission, Cleveland Today . . . Tomorrow: the General Plan of Cleveland, December 1950, Cleveland Public Library, Cleveland, Ohio.

[3] The term ‘Sunbelt’ in contrast to ‘Rustbelt’ was coined in 1969 by political analyst Kevin Phillips in his famous The Emerging Republican Majority. For a history of the Sunbelt see Abbott, The New Urban America.

[4] Teaford, Cities of the Heartland, x–xii. [5] Ibid., x–xii, 174–6. [6] Miller and Wheeler, Cleveland, 170–1, 199. [7] Teaford, The Rough Road to Renaissance, 130. [8] Condon’s quote is found in Zannes, Checkmate in Cleveland, 7. [9] Teaford, Rough Road to Renaissance, 136–7.

[10] Ibid., 136–7, 176. [11] William Serrin, ‘How One Big City Defeated Its Mayor’, New York Times, 27 Oct. 1968; and

Stokes, Promises of Power, 93–7. [12] Teaford, Cities of the Heartland, 211–19. [13] Gruen, ‘Postwar Stadiums’, 16–20. [14] Trumpbour, The New Cathedrals, 24–5. [15] For information on the Cleveland Group Plan see Daniel H. Burnham, John M. Carrere and

Arnold W. Brunner, ‘Report to the Mayor and the Board of Public Service’, dated 1 Aug. 1903. Group Plan container, Call No. 726.09 C59a, Cleveland Public Administration Library, City Hall, Cleveland, Ohio (hereafter CPAL). For more on the construction of Cleveland Municipal Stadium see Suchma, ‘The Selling of Cleveland Municipal Stadium’.

[16] Letter from Andrew G. Putka, Deputy Commissioner of Auditorium and Stadium to Louis L. Drasler, Director Deputy of Public Service, 22 Oct. 1954, Anthony J. Celebrezze files, MSS. 3884. Container 3, Folder 77, Western Reserve Historical Society, Cleveland, Ohio (hereafter WRHS).

[17] Letter from John J. Locuoco to Anthony J. Celebrezze, 8 Sept. 1954, Celebrezze files, Cont. 3, Folder 77; letter from Paul Brown to Celebrezze, 17 April 1957 and response to Brown, 26 April 1957, Celebrezze files, Cont. 3, Folder 79; Inter-office memo from Locuoco to Celebrezze, 1 Aug. 1958, Celebrezze files, Cont. 3, Folder 79; and Inter-office memo from Paul J. Hurd, Commissioner of Cleveland Auditorium and Stadium to Celebrezze, April 5, 1956, Celebrezze files, Cont. 3, Folder 78, WRHS.

[18] Letter from David R. Jones, President, Cleveland Browns, to City Hall, 21 Oct. 1960, Carl B. Stokes files, MSS 4370, Container 29, Folder 524,WRHS; Letter from Nate Dolin, VP Cleveland Indians Baseball Club, to Paul Hurd, 7 Feb. 1961, Celebrezze files, Cont. 3, Folder 79; and Letter from Hurd to Dolin, 13 Feb.1962, Celebrezze files, Cont. 3, folder 79, WRHS. Hurd informed Dolin that the city would contribute to the rehabilitation of home team rooms, but not visiting team rooms. Also inter-office memo from Lucuoco to Louis Drasler, 8 Aug. 1958, Celebrezze files, Cont. 3, Folder 79, WRHS. Drasler was instructed to work with the city architect regarding specifications for a press box. For a general history of the Cleveland Indians during the 1950s and 1960s, see Suchma, ‘Cleveland Indians’, and Schneider, The Cleveland Indians Encyclopedia.

[19] Miller and Wheeler, Cleveland, 151, 160–1. [20] Teaford, Cities of the Heartland, 216–19. [21] Miller and Wheeler, Cleveland, 154–5, 160–4; and Zannes, Checkmate in Cleveland, 7. [22] George Rasanen, ‘Exodus of ’60s Drains City’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 14 June 1970. [23] Zannes, Checkmate in Cleveland, 8; Teaford, Cities of the Heartland, 233–4; Miller and

Wheeler, Cleveland, 166–7. For a more detailed account of the Hough Riots, see Lackritz,

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‘The Hough Riots of 1966’. Lackritz’s thesis can be found as an e-book through the Cleveland Memory Project at www.clevelandmemory.org/hough/ (accessed 24 Jan. 2008). For more on Jim Brown’s experiences in Cleveland see Suchma, ‘From the Best of Times to the Worst of Times’, 208–212; Brown Out of Bounds, 66–7; and Brown, Off My Chest, 169, 171.

[24] Zannes, Checkmate in Cleveland, 107. [25] Ibid., 44–5, 58–61. Stokes ran against incumbent Ralph Locher and former Lakewood (a

western suburb) mayor Frank Celeste in the Democratic primaries, and against Seth Taft in the general election.

[26] Stokes, Promises of Power, 128–30. [27] John P. Leacacos, ‘Washington Likes That Mayor Stokes’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 10 March

1968. [28] ‘City Rebuilding Drive Booming’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 5 May 1968. [29] Stokes, Promises of Power, 206. [30] Zannes, Checkmate in Cleveland, 141. [31] Ibid., 133–6; ‘Cleveland: Now! One Year Later’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 6 April 1969. [32] ‘Downtown Crime Shown on Rise,’ Cleveland Plain Dealer, 9 June 1969. [33] For information on the Cuyahoga River fire see, ‘Oil Slick Fire Damages 2 River Spans’,

Cleveland Plain Dealer, 23 June 1969; ‘Cleveland: Where the River Burns’, Plain Dealer, 24 June 1969. The Cuyahoga River, which flows through the heart of Cleveland’s industrial sector (the Flats), had caught fire several times during the twentieth century, but the 1969 occurrence was the best known.

[34] ‘Readers’ Forum’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 22 June 1969. [35] Rosentraub, Major League Losers, 36, 59–64. [36] Reader’s letters on the closings in the Theatre District can be found in ‘Readers’ Forum’,

Cleveland Plain Dealer, 16 Feb. 1969. [37] Hal Lebovitz, ‘Hal Asks . . .’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 16 July 1967. [38] Hal Lebovitz, ‘Mr Mayor: Time for New Arena’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 23 Jan. 1968. [39] Bouton, Ball Four, 176. For more on the Cleveland Arena see Condon, The Man in the

Arena. [40] Cash, ‘St. Louis Cardinals’, 427. [41] Rielly, ‘Cincinnati Reds’, 125–7. [42] Rossi, ‘Philadelphia Phillies’, 278; Peterson, ‘Pittsburgh Pirates’, 322. [43] Lisle, ‘Houston Astros’, 166–8, Danielson, Home Team, 104–10, 244. [44] Letter from Vernon Stouffer to Stokes, 11 June 1968, Stokes files, Cont. 29, Folder 525,

WRHS. [45] Lebovitz, ‘Domed Stadium Step Closer’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 16 June 1968. [46] Ibid. [47] Ibid. [48] ‘Stadium Plans Need Thrust’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 17 June 1968. [49] Hal Lebovitz, ‘Domed Stadium Step Closer’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 16 June 1968; Bill

Nichols, ‘$120,000 Pledged for Stadium Go-Ahead’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 18 June 1968; ‘New Stadium Gets Great Start’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 18 June 1968; Bill Nichols, ‘Modell Calls Stadium ‘‘Best in Entire Country’’’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 18 June 1968. Letters in support of the new facility can be found in ‘Sound Off’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 23 June 1968, and 15 January 1969.

[50] For a collection of letters to Stokes from residents of the Cleveland area in regard to the Luckman Plan as well as his responses, see the Stokes files, Cont. 38, Folder 703, WRHS.

[51] Letter from Charles Luckman to Stokes, Stokes files, Cont. 38, Folder 703, WRHS. [52] ‘Readers’ Forum’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 19 Jan. 1969. [53] Hal Lebovitz, ‘Hal Asks . . .’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 18 June 1968.

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[54] Chuck Heaton, ‘Stadium Has Troubles, Too’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 26 May 1969. The Indians’ director of stadium operations claimed it was ‘dressing the house’ – keeping fans close together – while a city representative said that safety could have been a concern but the closed sections would not have to be cleaned and therefore it was a money-saving move. While working part time at Municipal Stadium from 1992 to 1995, the author was told by facility operations staff that the concrete had shifted due to the stadium being built upon reclaimed land (landfill). The cracks and gaps in the concrete were addressed by filling in certain sections with a rubberized caulk and the painting of bright yellow warning strips where there was uneven footing.

[55] Charles Luckman Associates, Feasibility Study: Multi-Purpose Sports Stadium for the Greater Cleveland Area, 1970. Carl Stokes Papers, MSS. 4370, Container 87, Folder 1713–1714, WRHS. See, the introductory letter and Section I.

[56] Charles Luckman Associates, Feasibility Study: Multi-Purpose Sports Stadium for the Greater Cleveland Area, Sect. II, 4, Carl Stokes Papers, MSS. 4370, Container 87, Folder 1713–1714, WRHS.

[57] Ibid., Sect. I, 1–6, Sect. II, 1–4, and Sect. III, 100–102, Carl Stokes Papers, MSS. 4370, Container 87, Folder 1713–1714, WRHS.

[58] Ibid., Sect. III, 4–9, Carl Stokes Papers, MSS. 4370, Container 87, Folder 1713–1714, WRHS. The Cleveland trade area was defined as Cuyahoga, Medina, Lake, Lorain and Geauga counties, as well as parts of Portage and Summit counties and the metropolitan areas of Akron and Youngstown.

[59] George E. Condon, ‘And Then the Roof Fell In’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 13 Feb. 1970; Douglas Bloomfield, ‘Report Snags Dome Stadium’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 12 Feb. 1970; ‘Stadium Study a Waste of Money’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 12 Feb. 1970. The editorial called the project ‘mishandled’ and said it was a waste of taxpayers’ money. See also Editorial Cartoon, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 12 Feb. 1970. The cartoon depicted a dome sinking into Lake Erie with the caption ‘. . . and so, as our domed stadium sinks silently into the lake, we say, aloha’.

[60] Stokes, Promises of Power, 237–9, 247. Stokes believed his administration remained haunted by the link between the Glenville Riots and CLEVELAND: NOW! and that what gains they had made could never be put back together.

[61] ‘Reassessment of Cleveland Area Near End of a Bad Year’, Cleveland Plain Dealer, 22 Nov. 1970. The conclusions from the Luckman feasibility study could not be implemented in 1970, but the broader message was not lost on Cleveland’s sporting entrepreneurs. Construction of an arena outside downtown and the privatization of Municipal Stadium in the 1970s embody to the findings and suggestions of the feasibility study.

[62] For more on Art Modell and the move of the Cleveland Browns football club to Baltimore in 1995 see Suchma, ‘Losing is a Work of Art’, 37–69; and Poplar, Fumble! Between 1960 and 1993 the Cleveland Indians never finished higher than fourth place in their division, finished with a record better than .500 only six times, had an attendance below 1 Million fans all but twice during a two decade segment, and traded away a Myriad of future all-stars as ownership turnover and threats of relocation remained almost constant. For more on the demise of the Cleveland Indians baseball club see Pluto, The Curse of Rocky Colavito; and Suchma, ‘Cleveland Indians’.

[63] Robinson, Field of Dreams.

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