Falling in Love with Chattanooga

I’m not a believer in love at first sight.  Lust perhaps, but not love, which takes time to evolve and to mature.  Exhibit A would be that my wife and I were married on the 29-year and eight-month anniversary of our first date.  (Okay, it wasn’t exactly a courtship of nearly three decades, but that story can be held for another time.)

However, Chattanooga, tucked in the southeast corner of Tennessee, may force me to question my skepticism of spontaneously-kindled love.

I first visited Chattanooga four years ago.  It was at the end of a long day.  With a traveling companion, we’d watched the first seven innings of a minor league ballgame in Nashville, taken a tour of the former home of Barbara Mandrell (which gave me a story of false environmentalism that I’ll recount in my next post), and then driven 140 miles to Chattanooga to see another minor league ballgame.

By the time we arrived at our Chattanooga hotel, within walking distance of the ballpark, the game was already underway.  After a fumbled registration process, it was the third inning before we finally found our seats.

But even with my disappointment at our late arrival, something about Chattanooga had already captured my attention.  Perhaps it was how one arrives at the town, skirting a corner of Alabama, dipping into Georgia, and then swinging back into Tennessee just before Chattanooga presents itself.  Perhaps it was the rocky outcropping on which the ballpark, overlooking downtown and reached via a sidewalk escalator, is situated.  Perhaps it was having a hotel within a short walk of the ballpark, always a turn-on to my sense of urbanism.  Whatever it was, by the time I laid my head on my pillow, I was dreaming of a return visit.

So this past summer, when my buddies and I chose the south for our annual minor league baseball trip, one of my goals was putting Chattanooga on the itinerary.  I was lucky.  Chattanooga fit conveniently, almost essentially, into our schedule.

Indeed, the minor league schedules laid out so well that I could have made Chattanooga a two-night stop.  But I feared that would be too much too soon.   Much like inviting a new girlfriend to a football-watching party too early in a relationship, I was hesitant to show off Chattanooga to my traveling companions until my initial appreciation of her charms had been reconfirmed.

I needn’t have worried.  All three of us quickly saw the delightful qualities of Chattanooga and spent a fine afternoon exploring the town, driving up Lookout Mountain, and settling into a downtown brewpub for an appreciation of local beverage production.

To touch upon the urbanist highlights we noted, there was an elegant brick-faced multi-family development only blocks from downtown, set back from the street by small, but nicely detailed door yards and served by a short funicular.

Nearby was the Bluff View Arts District, anchored by the Hunter Museum of American Art and with many of the old, stately neighborhood homes now converted to art galleries.  My traveling party wandered the public sculpture garden and was then seduced by the aromas wafting from the bakery across the street, incongruously but delightfully located in an old mansion.

It was in the bakery where we made the one slip of our Chattanooga visit.  One of my traveling companions, as he paid for a pair of bronzed pretzels fresh from the oven, noted how impressed we were with Chattanooga, especially considering it was “in the middle of nowhere”.

As the smile froze on the lips of the theretofore friendly young lady who was ringing up the purchase, the third companion reassured her that “We’re still teaching our friend how to give compliments.”

Moving onward, we crossed the Tennessee River to take a quick look at a walkable district on the north shore and returned to the south bank where we viewed the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga.

After our outing up Lookout Mountain, we came back downtown to a brewpub fronted by whimsical sidewalk art reflecting the river orientation of the town.

While enjoying golden beverages, our waitress offered her version of the rebirth of downtown.  As she told the story, she was raised nearby but rarely visited downtown Chattanooga in her youth because it was a dangerous, scary place.  But the construction of a downtown aquarium in the early 1990s had begun to change the nature of downtown, proof that the seeds of urbanism can come from unexpected sources.

The waitress had now been working downtown for twenty years and loved it.

Of course, we finished our day at the downtown ballpark, watching the Tennessee sky turn orange and purple behind the leftfield fence.

 None of this is meant to imply that Chattanooga is an urban paradise.  The downtown block pattern is bigger than would be desirable.  Also, the downtown doesn’t show the daily vibrancy for which I could wish, with several establishments closed on a pleasant Tuesday afternoon in the heart of summer.  And many of older neighborhoods outside of downtown are gap-toothed and languishing.

Plus, a long-time reader who formerly managed a local business assures me that much of the town’s political leadership retains a suburban sprawl mindset, a reality that I assured him is true of many communities.

But Chattanooga has been sufficiently visionary to move the downtown a long ways upwards and to recently adopt a form-based code that should help sustain its trajectory.

Working off my thoughts on city-centric tourism, I don’t see enough in Chattanooga to justify a week of poking around.  But oh would I enjoy a long weekend of checking out the Art District, touring the Aquarium, and wandering the walkable enclaves.  Chattanooga, being in the “middle of nowhere”, especially relative to the North Bay, is an unlikely destination for a long weekend, but I can dream.  And meanwhile, I understand that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Next time, I’ll return to the story to which I alluded above, of the Mandrell mansion in Nashville and of false environmentalism.

As always, your questions or comments will be appreciated.  Please comment below or email me.  And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)

The Differing Roles of Minor League Ballparks

I’m a skeptic on the question of how much economic activity a new sports venue creates.  I’m dubious about those who argue that publicly-funded venues are essential catalysts for the economic health of cities.  But at the same time, I also doubt those who argue that there is no economic development value in new sports venues and that new parks serve only to enrich the owners.

(Acknowledgment: Part of my skepticism on the latter point is the four years I spent as the part-owner of a minor league baseball club.  Our goal was to break even so we could continue providing entertainment to the community, a goal that we never achieved.  We even explored making ourselves into a non-profit, but learned that federal law didn’t allow it.

I’ll acknowledge that major league sports are very different that minor league baseball, but I suspect that virtually every owner is motivated at least a bit by doing something good for the community, with many willing to accept a lesser return in exchange.  That’s probably the reason that most clubs are owned by individuals, not corporations. )

Having often pondered the question of the economic impact of ballparks, I’ll argue that ballparks can generally be put into three categories:

Economic Catalyst: A park in a walkable part of the city that is ripe for renewed development, with the new park providing the impetus.  In the Bay Area, AT&T Park was an economic catalyst.

Walkable Amenity:  A park in a walkable part of the city that is already economically vital, with the park providing an amenity for the people already visiting there.  If the proposed Warrior’s arena in Mission Bay proceeds, I’d consider it a walkable amenity.

Drivable Amenity: A park that may meet the need of the sports team, but is surrounded by parking so it won’t trigger new growth and will be difficult to reach except by car.  I’ll offer both Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara and O.Co Stadium in Oakland as examples.

It was with those categories in mind that I turned a critical eye toward the minor league ballparks of the south during a recent trip.

To be clear, this analysis isn’t scholarly and likely has errors of fact.  With a pair of friends, the mission of our twelve-day outing was good conversation, fine local beers, and attentive watching of minor league baseball.  Our plans didn’t include spending part of our days at the local public libraries, investigating the reasons given before the ballparks were built.

But the urbanist part of my brain is never turned off and I could still make reasonable, and hopefully mostly correct, observations, even while watching a ballgame and enjoying a beer.

Birmingham: We began our trip in Birmingham, where Regions Field was the best example of an economic catalyst that we saw.  Located in a fading industrial district and built to mimic the steel mills that once defined Birmingham, Regions Field seems to be triggering growth, with new construction visible over the centerfield wall (photo above).

It was even more exciting to have live music being played and beverages being served in a derelict industrial site across from the park when the game ended.  The neighborhood felt on an upswing, with the ballpark a key component.

Montgomery: Riverwalk Stadium in Montgomery fell more into the walkable amenity category.  A well-configured park that occupies a former railyard and uses a historical rail side hotel as office space, Riverwalk is a fine facility.  But it adjoins a largely developed downtown, so won’t catalyze much future development.  I loved the park, but it’s not a driver of new growth.

Pensacola: This might have been our favorite ballpark of the trip.  Situated on the Gulf Coast waterfront, the setting is lovely, the park has architectural interest, and the ballgame experience was great.  But the park is adjoined by developed parcels and is set back from the adjoining street behind a large parking lot, so Pensacola managed to build to a drivable amenity only blocks from downtown.

Mobile: Henry Aaron Stadium might have been worst park we saw the entire trip.  An oddly configured and aging facility in a fully developed business park next to a freeway, its only function is as a mediocre drivable amenity.  We suggested that Hammerin’ Hank should sue to have his name removed, even if his childhood home is now incongruously tucked outside the first base stands.

Biloxi: This ballpark puzzled us.  The downtown seems to have gone all in on gambling as an economic driver.  But then one of the key downtown parcels was devoted to a family-oriented function.  It’s a nicely configured park, open only weeks when we visited, but most folks arrive by car.  Heck, there wasn’t even a good pedestrian route to the casino directly across the street.  It’s absolutely a drivable amenity in the heart of downtown.

To show the depth of the problem, we went looking for post-game nibbles.  The only walkable option was the casino which offered either the buffet or a snack bar with all its seats filled.  We ended up driving to a Waffle House.

New Orleans: The history of the minor league New Orleans Pelicans is long and storied.  But the ballclub is now known as the Zephyr and is housed miles from the French Quarter in an unexceptional ballpark in an adjoining town.  With a giant parking lot and the principle view from the first base stands being a Harley-Davidson dealership on the adjoining stroad, Zephyr Field is the quintessential drivable amenity.

Jackson, Mississippi: With a downtown in desperate need of a focal point, the Jackson ballpark in located in the parking lot of a giant shopping mall in the neighboring suburb which is convenient only to cars.  Drivable amenity. 

Memphis: AutoZone Park is a puzzle.  It’s a well-designed park with an old-time baseball feel on a key corner only three blocks away from Beal Street, the center of Memphis music scene.  In any other town, development would be booming, but not in Memphis.

The best indicator of a lackluster neighborhood economy is that we were able to find cut-rate rooms in a mediocre hotel near the rightfield bleachers and within walking distance of Beal Street.  We were happy with the convenience and the price, but in any other town the motel would have been razed and a chain hotel with twice the room rate would have been built.

One of my companions suggested that the white flight from downtown Memphis was so profound that downtown regeneration is particularly slow.  The hypothesis is reasonable.

AutoZone Park, which could also use a different naming sponsor, is an economic catalyst that has thus far fizzled.

Nashville: First Tennessee Park is another newly opened facility.  Located midday between downtown and Germantown neighborhood which intrigued me during an earlier trip, the ballpark will likely be an economic catalyst.  But it’s too early to judge the success.

Chattanooga: AT&T Field has a marvelous setting on a rocky outcrop adjoining downtown Chattanooga, a place that I loved and will cover in a later post.  But the ballpark is an aging facility that isn’t having much of an impact on the vibrant downtown.  It’s a walkable amenity but one that I hope is someday soon rebuilt on the same site because I won’t want it to go anywhere else.

The next time you come across a facile argument about the value, or absence of value, in a proposed sports venue, remember that not all sports venues are created equal and dig more deeply.

Next time, I’ll return to a recent topic of city-focused tourism.

As always, your questions or comments will be appreciated.  Please comment below or email me.  And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)