My Great Aunt Fran is as old as this century. A fanatic fan of the Boston Red Sox, she was 12 when Fenway Park was built; she was 18 when the Sox last won the World Series.
Fran does not regard herself as an institution. Bostonians, with that peculiarly American sense of history that regards pop music from the ‘70s as “classics,” think Fenway Park is one. Hallowed ground, they call it. There are people I know who literally whisper as they cross Yawkey Way, as if they were passing a church instead of a stadium.
It is no secret that Fenway Park, somewhat like my aunt, is showing its age. Built when the sport was young, it’s structurally unsound, too small, and doesn’t offer the amenities (like decent bathrooms) it should. The Red Sox have been looking to resolve this problem and for some time have been exploring other sites in, around, and even outside Boston.
But many fans, my great aunt included, would just as soon that they stay put. And, with the onset of spring training, it’s an idea that the Red Sox may now be entertaining.
The longtime presence of the Red Sox in Kenmore Square is both a blessing and a curse. Celebrated in story, poem and film, Fenway — green monster, Citgo sign and quirky outfield — defines Boston, defines baseball and is part of the earliest memories of many. For those who live there, the record is more mixed. Game day — it comes more than 80 times are year — brings trash and crowds, cars and traffic. Most of those who attend are well-behaved. But a few stay too long or drink too much, leaving residents in the Fenway, Kenmore Square and Back Bay angry and frustrated.
When asked about rebuilding and expanding Fenway, many residents react in horror. Adding 15,000 seats may make the Sox more money, they argue, but it also adds more automobiles and more people to a heavily congested area that can tolerate neither.
It certainly is possible the Red Sox may leave altogether, although it is doubtful that they would ever find another home in Boston itself. But their departure would be a shame. However short its history, Fenway Park and the Red Sox are now deeply part of Boston’s traditions. Losing them would be like losing part of the city’s soul. The solution, it seems, is not to regard the potential makeover of Fenway Park as a problem, but rather as an opportunity.
Fenway Park has been around for so long that it predates many of the residential and commercial communities that now surround it. Little transportation or urban planning went into its development and it shows. Parking lots dot the area. Roads are ill-equipped to handle game-day traffic. The commercial mix oftentimes reminds one of the blend of boom-or-bust businesses that surrounds popular beach towns.
If the Red Sox are to expand, the city and the neighborhoods around the park have an unusual opportunity to address these concerns comprehensively. Many have cited Baltimore’s Camden Yards as the model of how such a development can occur. Businesses can be stabilized. Intelligent planning can actually reduce traffic bottlenecks. Residential communities, rather than being beset upon, can actually thrive.
Two years ago, my family brought my Great Aunt Fran up from her home in Glastonbury, Connecticut, to watch a game at Fenway Park. Ninety-five at the time, her visit thrilled her. Fran tells us she intends to be around until the Sox win the Series. Judging by this year’s team, that makes it highly likely she’ll make it through 1997. But however long it takes, she, and many others like her, will take joy in their visits to Fenway Park — a place that can, with the efforts of many, represent the best new and old Boston has to offer.