BIOGRAPH TIMES: The Devils and the Details

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Chasing Off Haunts

Lee Monument pedestal June 5, 2020 (my photo)

In June of 2020, Richmond's Fan District residents found themselves living at the epicenter of a cultural earthquake. The demonstrations here that erupted in reaction to the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis gathered a spirit of outrage and focused it on a local controversy about old statues. Once galvanized, that spirit chased most of the city's Confederate statues off of their pedestals, pronto.  

Like plenty of others who grew up in the shadows of Richmond's Confederate memorials, I had been hoping for a long time the era for tolerating the galling platform of lies that supported the "Lost Cause" viewpoint would end during my lifetime. It was stubborn to the very end, but now it's easy to see that a year ago it ended.

When last summer's self-appointed statue-removers pulled down the Jefferson Davis statue that blatant act was naturally seen as an anti-Confederate statement, as well as an anti-racism statement. However, upon reflection, now it seems to me more was at work. After all, Davis had been atop his imposing Monument Avenue perch since 1907 ... then poof! 

Immediately, folks all over town started marveling at how easily the relic came down. Richmond's most mocked statue was kaput. Then the air cleared and the City began removing Confederate statues. Since last summer's purge of statuary it has been plain to see that those around here still noisily pushing the Lost Cause mindset have now become a wee minority. 

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However, as it happened, the night before the toppled Davis bronze struck the pavement, a partying mob yanked the Christopher Columbus statue from its plinth in William Byrd Park. The Columbus statue was then dragged down a hill and dumped in the park's Fountain Lake. Still photos and videos of the rude ceremony showed up on Facebook, which documented the rather mirthful tone of the occasion for anyone to see. 

In my view that act of defiance was not just spotlighting Columbus' now tarnished image as a heroic figure in history. Part of what prompted those two unauthorized statue-removals was a rejection of the concept of forced reverence that was in the air. 

A good part of the energy for that rejection seems to be coming from 16-to-35-year-olds who now appear to have developed the modern equivalent of a William Tell attitude. Somewhat like Tell, the 14th century legendary Swiss archer, when they find themselves confronted by today's equivalent of Albrecht Gessler's hat, they simply can't stand being compelled to show it respect. 

Fast-fowarding to more recent times, with his taking-a-knee gesture, Colin Kaepernick was right. Forced reverence should be challenged.   

As a Richmonder who has lived near the Robert E. Lee Monument for a long time and has given the subject of public art some thought, it looks to me like the era in which most people have had a sort of automatic sense of respect for heroic sculpture depicting yesteryear's political celebrities is on it last legs.    

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In March of 2021, Gov. Ralph Northam signed the law (which passed overwhelmingly in the General Assembly) to banish the statue of Harry F. Byrd from the grounds of Capitol Square. That's the same Harry F. Byrd, who, for decades, ran Virginia's statewide political organization that ruled -- the ultra conservative, anti-union, pro-segregation Byrd Machine.

On June 8, 2021, the Virginia Supreme Court heard arguments aimed at blocking the removal of the statue of Lee, still presiding at Allen Avenue and Monument Avenue. The plaintiffs want the Court to reverse Gov. Ralph Northam’s order to take down that state-owned memorial. The Court's decision seems likely to be revealed soon and we'll see what follows. 

Meanwhile, the Byrd statue was hauled off on July 7th. Which demonstrated that the quake of cultural change which began on the Fan District's streets last year is now being felt by most of Virginia's most powerful politicians. 

What to do with all the statues currently in storage is being studied. It should be and there's no good reason to rush to apply an artificial deadline. When it comes to considering the installation of new statues of whoever happen to be popular today, let's not rush into that either. It's also worth remembering that public art doesn't always have to be a 3-D depiction of a person (usually a man) striking a corny pose.   

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Hopefully, by now most Richmonders have accepted that because of last summer's cultural earthquake, the city took steps toward a brighter future. Yes, some good things happened. And, in a charged atmosphere with such upheaval underway, many bad things that could have happened, didn't happen. That should be seen as to the city's credit. 

Now a special challenge is facing us: Assuming the Lee statue is eventually removed, there are weighty decisions to be made about the future of the Lee Monument's graffiti-adorned pedestal. That, as well as the surrounding grassy circle that picked up a new name last summer -- the "Marcus-David Peters Circle." 

That site's central role in the story of chasing off Lost Cause and Jim Crow haunts is something worth commemorating. At the very least, that circle could become another of the Fan's distinctive little parks -- a place for a peaceful respite for travelers on foot. Maybe with a fountain? 

Anyway, if we're lucky, wise and creative heads will come upon the right call to make concerning the fate of the pedestal and the circle. And, as we wait to learn what's shaking with the mammoth 131-year-old Lee memorial, we can already say with a smile, "Goodbye Columbus and bye bye, Byrd."    

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Pickled History

When pundits, politicians and poseurs complain about "erasing history," particularly to do with dismantling Richmond's Confederate memorials, what in the world do they mean?

Are they really suggesting that most folks will simply ignore Stonewall Jackson's contributions to history, such as they were, because his equestrian statue on a plinth no longer looms over a busy traffic intersection?

Likewise, when some Virginians say they want history to be taught today, just as it used to be taught in the Commonwealth during their youth," are they talking about the teaching of verifiable truth or warmed-over propaganda? It seems the current brouhaha over Critical Race Theory is mostly about trying, once again, to perpetuate a version of the past that never existed.

Most of my life has been spent living in Richmond's Fan District, which used to be home to four statues on pedestals honoring heroes of the Confederacy. During last summer's statue purge three of them were removed from their pedestals -- Jackson, JEB Stuart and Jefferson Davis. With its now famous, graffiti-covered base, the mammoth Robert E. Lee Monument's fate is still tied up in court. 

To know what it was like in Richmond in the past, we look to old stories handed down, discussions with family and associates, popular culture sources, schooling from lectures and books, etc. Speaking of local history, now I’d like to better understand the slave market business that once thrived in my home town. Until the baseball stadium controversy put a spotlight on that evil truth, most Richmonders I know had no idea how significant that market was before the Civil War. Since that particular aspect of Shockoe Bottom's gnarly history seems to have been rather effectively covered up for generations, wouldn't it be useful to know more the burial of that story?

Accordingly, isn't it about time to shine a new light on how our history books were cooked in the 20th century. A fresh and thorough look needs to be taken at how the truth was systematically processed into Lost Cause fantasies. 

For instance, in 1961, my seventh-grade history book, which was used in all of Virginia's public schools, had this to say at the end of Chapter 29:

Life among the Negroes of Virginia in slavery times was generally happy. The Negroes went about in a cheerful manner making a living for themselves and for those whom they worked. They were not so unhappy as some Northerners thought they were, nor were they so happy as some Southerners claimed. The Negroes had their problems and their troubles. But they were not worried by the furious arguments going on between Northerners and Southerners over what should be done with them. In fact, they paid little attention to those arguments.

Well, in 1961, I had no reason to question that paragraph’s veracity. Baseball was my No. 1 concern in those days. Now, of course, those words of pickled history read quite differently than they did 60 years ago. 

Living through the struggles of the Civil Rights Era, with its bombings, assassinations, marches, sit-ins, boycotts and school-closings, did much to open my mind, to do with reality and fairness about racism. 

However, for me, there was no moment of epiphany, no sudden awareness of how I was growing up in a part of the world that officially denied significant aspects of its past. More than anything else, it took time. Life experience taught me to seek out credible sources and to look more deeply into things, in general.

In 2021, I know that old history book, crafted in the early-1950s by malleable "historians," hired and directed by the General Assembly, was an other essential cog in the machinery that maintained the Jim Crow Era. And since that same history book was used for a long time, that made sure yet another whole generation of Virginians was subjected to what was a traditional, systematic torturing of the truth about the institution of slavery, causes of the Civil War, its aftermath, etc.

Yet, while the aforementioned Virginia history book has been retired, along with other foolish throwback movements, now there are mischievous calls for once again teaching pickled history. Let's make damn sure that isn't done. 

Moreover, regardless of what has been done in the past, it’s our civic duty today to do the right thing in our time. In 2021, Richmonders of all political persuasions should find a way to band together to put truth itself on a pedestal.

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Addicted to Choice

Note: A version of this piece I penned in 2004 was published by STYLE Weekly in that year. Regarding the premise, in spite of the pandemic, not all that much has changed.

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Obsessions, compulsions and addictions have always been in play. Now we see a somewhat new twist in driven behavior: In a time of plenty, many Americans seem to have become addicted to the act of choosing between this and that. This group has unwittingly developed what amounts to a jones for choosing from a smorgasbord of options.

Yet, as with any buzz, when it subsides the anxious feelings it allayed return with a vengeance. Thus, choice addicts find themselves living in a continuous loop of making choices in order to cope with their habit. While this is somewhat about consuming, it's really more about just choosing.

Of course Madison Avenue, the great facilitator of this shoppin' 'round the clock scenario, has long depicted “choice” as utter bliss. Choice has also been a hot political buzzword for some time. 

To a person wanting to express a belief that a woman is absolutely entitled to opt for an abortion, choice is a useful word for a slogan. It implies that ending the pregnancy is a matter of a person having dominion over her own body, rather than submitting to an authority claiming to represent society’s collective will. Of course, those calling for “choice” in this case see the individual’s right to choose an abortion as trumping whatever damage, if any, might be done to society by the abortion.

The notion that it should be fine for any citizen to pull his tax money out of the funding of public education, in order to finance sending his own child to private school, has been called “choice” by its advocates. While this argument may appear, at first, to be resting on logic, it ignores the long-held American tenet that everyone in the community has a stake in public education, regardless of how many children they have.

In both cases, the sloganeers show a telling awareness of the lure the word “choice” has today. Perhaps this is due to some new collective sense of powerlessness in the air. Or maybe the scam aspect of selling folks their own freedom is as old as dirt.

In “One-Dimensional Man,” German-born philosopher Herbert Marcuse (1898-1979) warned us in the 1960s about illusions of freedom: 

Free choice among a wide variety of goods and services does not signify freedom if these goods and services sustain social controls over a life of toil and fear.

Marcuse’s keen eye saw the counterfeit aspect of the processed brand of freedom wielders of easy credit felt, even then, as they exercised their prerogative to select one set of time-payment obligations over another. Marcuse laughed at a man feeling free to choose between a new Ford or Chevrolet, then being chained to years of monthly payments. But Marcuse’s hard-nosed take on what he saw as controls over modern society is out of style today. Still, his view of how language is predictably used by a few of us to manipulate the rest of us remains as valuable as ever. Propaganda works better than ever.

French diplomat Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord’s (1754-1838) words on the topic of language remain crisp today. Talleyrand offered: 

Speech was given to man to disguise his thoughts.

British philosopher/mathematician Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) went further: 

Speech was given to man to prevent thought.

OK, so tricky lingo has long been used to shape perception. However, as a true believer in the unfettered streaming marketplace of ideas, I expect tortured language and agenda-driven slogans to come and go. My point is that the act of choosing should not be so highly valued that it comes at the expense of appreciating what happens after the choice is made.

Some folks put a lot of store in choosing the perfect mate. They shop and they shop. But from what I’ve seen, it's what couples do after their choice/commitment that has more to do with the success of the relationship than the perfection of the choice, itself. Of course, some just keep shopping, vows or not. They can’t stop shopping and choosing.

Can constantly switching TV channels for hours really be a more satisfying experience than watching one interesting program? Well, the answer probably depends on whether you value what comes after the choice. After all, in order to be able to surf 200 channels, as opposed to only 50 or 100, customers gladly pay extra, although many of them never watch any program in its entirety.

Much of television’s most popular programming feeds its audience a steady flow of information about people who act as if they have genuine clout -- rich celebrities who cavort about with enough bread to buy anything. Then, quite conveniently, every few minutes, commercials interrupt the program to offer the viewer/schlemiel a chance to un-jitter their jones by calling a phone number, or getting online.

Anytime your options are limited to what’s on a menu that was put together by someone else, by choosing from that prepared list you are surrendering some control to the list-maker.

And, the mountain of disposable schmidgets grows, evermore, as choice addicts cast off yesterday’s tarnished urge, to grab after today's sparkling urge ... just to get through the night.

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Some Biograph-Centric FDSL History

The Biograph Naturals in 1980. (Original photo by Phil Trumbo.)

Referred to as the “hippie league” by softball players who played in the polyester-clad softball world governed by recreation and parks departments, the Fan District Softball League had its own style, which leaned toward cotton, silk-screened T-shirts. Its games were played on “open fields,” rather than in softball complexes with fences. Among other things that meant the Fan League featured a style that put more emphasis on defensive play, rather than simply a home-run derby, with big-bellied Bubbas trotting around the bases.

It also meant the league’s activities received less scrutiny by authorities outside of itself, which was viewed then as a good thing.

The somewhat unorthodox Fan League bubbled up out of the pop culture ooze of the summer of 1973, which was the heyday of WGOE, the daytime AM radio station that then dominated the Fan District in a way that's never been equaled. Its sound could be heard in the shops and on the sidewalks of the bohemian commercial strip of West Grace Street, adjacent to Virginia Commonwealth University. Anyway, it was WGOE that set what eventually became the Fan League in motion, when its promotional softball team of deejays and a few ringers -- the ‘Nads -- played a few games against impromptu squads representing a few regular advertisers on the station, mostly bars.

By the next summer teams began to jell into rosters, but there was no formal schedule. Fields were still being commandeered, rather than secured by arrangement with any proper authority.

By 1975 the name Fan District Softball League had come into use and the six-team organization had its first commissioner — Van “Hook” Shepherd. Cassell’s Upholstery beat the Bamboo Cafe in a one-game playoff for the first season’s championship finale. The four other teams in the league that inaugural season were the Back Door, Sea Dream Leather, Uptop Sub Shop and WGOE.

In 1976, in addition to the regular season the league staged two tournaments. Teams representing the Biograph Theatre, Hababas, J.W. Rayle, deTreville, the Pinheads (the VCU sculpture department and friends) and the Rainbow Inn were formed in 1976.

As the years wore on more bars, and whatnot, came and went. During the first decade of summers of the league’s existence, next to the music and bar scene, softball-related activities were at the heart of the Baby Boomer-driven culture in the Fan District.

Unlike most softball leagues in those days, the FDSL usually had lots of fans at its games. Of course, the kegs of beer that were around — which meant free beer — probably had something to do with that. The freewheeling FDSL was also the only organized-yet-independent softball league in the Richmond area.

Thus, the Fan League governed itself, made its own schedule, cut its own deal with the umpires, etc. It remained so through its last season in 1994.

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On the first Saturday of May, every year since 1980, a softball reunion is held. Anyone who ever played on one of the Biograph softball teams from any year has been welcome, along with their families, friends, etc.

Serendipitously, that first reunion/old timers game was staged on the afternoon in which the Kentucky Derby would be run. The game was played at Thomas Jefferson HS. Afterward, most of us went to the Track Restaurant to join a Derby-watching party already underway.

The reunion subsequently became an institution and it’s been Derby Day ever since. Over the years, the game has moved around to various locations. Several of the guys at the most recent gathering were teammates of mine in 1976, the first summer of organized softball at the Biograph.

We called our team the Swordfish, after a joke in a Marx Brothers movie. That first year the Swordfish played a schedule that was not set in advance. Instead, our practice was to challenge established teams to play us for a keg of beer.

The lucky Swordfish won 15 games of the 17 we played that initial season. In spite of having few experienced softball players on a roster made up of employees, old friends and a few film buffs -- including two French guys who'd never seen a baseball game -- we probably won half of those keg games by coming from behind in late innings.

Typically, our opponents saw themselves as more experienced/athletically superior, which only made it more fun when they bumbled their way into handing us the victory. That first year, it was uncanny how often those supposedly better teams seemed willing to overplay their hands.

Now, having played and observed a lot of organized softball, I know that virgin Swordfish squad was absolutely charmed. In any sport, it was the loosest team with which I’ve ever been associated.

Both of the Swordfish’s losses came in extreme situations. The first was the championship game of one of the two tournaments we entered. Yes, we won the other one.

The second was played inside the walls of the old state penitentiary. Located at Belvidere and Spring Streets, the fortress prison loomed over the rocky falls of the James River for nearly 200 years (it was demolished in the early-1990s).

As it happened the guy in charge of recreation at the pen frequented J.W. Rayle, a popular bar of the era, located at Pine and Cary. During a conversation there he asked me if the Biograph team — I played outfield and served as the coach — would consider taking on the prison’s softball team on a Saturday afternoon. Chuck Wrenn, the bar manager at Rayle, had already told the guy the restaurant's team would do it. So I went along with it, too.

As it turned out the first date the prison guy set up was canceled, due to something about a small riot.

OK.

A couple of weeks later the Swordfish entered the Big House. To get into the prison yard we had to go through a process, which included a cursory search. We had been told to bring nothing in our pockets.

As we worked our way through the ancient passageways, sets of bars were unlocked and then locked behind us. Each of us got a stamp on our hands that could only be seen under a special light. Someone asked what would happen if the ink got wiped off, inadvertently, during the game. He was told that was not a good idea.

OK.

The umpire for the games — Rayle played the prison team first, then the Biograph -- was Dennis “Dr. Death” Johnson, a rather high-profile Fan District character, at the time, who played on yet another team. Among other things, Johnson did some professional wrestling, so he was good as hamming up the umpire's role.

The fence in left field was the same high brick wall that ran along Belvidere Street. It was only about 230 to 240 feet from home plate. Yet, because of its height, maybe 30 feet, a lot of hard-hit balls caromed off of it. What would have been a routine fly ball on most fields was a home run there. It was a red brick version of Boston’s Green Monster.

The prison team, known as the Raiders, was quite good at launching softballs over that towering brick wall. They seemed to have an unlimited budget for softballs, too. Under the supervision of watchful guards, about a hundred other prisoners seated in stands cheered for the home team. Actually, they cheered the loudest for good plays in the field and sliding collisions on the base paths.

During a conversation with a couple of my teammates behind the backstop, I referred to the home team as “the prisoners.” Our opponents’ coach, who was within earshot, immediately stepped toward me. Like his teammates, he was wearing a typical softball uniform of that era with “Raiders” printed across the chest in a script and a number on the back.

“Call us the Raiders,” he advised, somewhat sternly, as he pointed to an awkward-looking mural on the prison wall that said, “Home of the Raiders.” It looked like a jailhouse tattoo, blown up large.

OK ... it was obvious, I had made a faux pas.

“While we are on this ball-field, we’re not The Prisoners,” he said with, ahem, conviction. “We’re the Raiders.”

“Raiders,” I said. “Right.”

“And, all our games ... are home games,” he deadpanned.

We all laughed, grateful the tension had been broken. The Raiders coach patted me on the back and thanked us for being there, for agreeing to play them.

In a tight, high-scoring affair the Raiders prevailed. Johnson knew how to play to the crowd with his calls, too. Afterward, I was glad the Swordfish had met the Raiders. And, I was glad to leave them, too. Located smack dab in the middle of Richmond that prison was a perpetual nightmare in our midst. 

In terms of winning and losing, the Biograph teams that played on in the FDSL through 1994 never found anything close to the success that first year's team knew. Still, popups and bad hops aside, I'll wager most of the guys from the 1976 team remember more details about their meeting with the Raiders than many of the games we won playing at Chandler Ballfield, the home of the "hippie league" for 18 years.

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In 1978 the league expanded to 12 teams. That's the year the FDSL began throwing a party draped around its All-Star Game, in the middle of each season. Each summer in mid- to late-June, the stars of the Mars Division played the stars of the Jupiter Division. As I remember it, Buddy Noble came up with the notion of using planets for the names of the two six-team divisions.

The method for selecting the all-stars varied with the year. Occasionally there were votes held, more times there were caucuses of the bossiest guys; the best teams always put more men on those squads. Other times, each manger just named three players from his team. No matter how it was done, popularity, or the lack of it, always influenced the results. 

In 1980, blonde bombshell Donna Parker and the aforementioned Dennis Johnson made a memorable appearance at one of the All-Star Games at Chandler Ballfield. The ever-outrageous Johnson was dressed in his Dr. Death mask and wrestling costume. His date was outfitted in a black leather bikini. Space limitations don't allow for elaboration at this time, but Johnson left town soon afterward.

In 1982, the Bamboo Cafe went through the regular season undefeated, 33-0, but lost to its bitter rival, Hababas, in the finals of the playoffs. Throughout the decade of the '80s one of those two outfits won the playoffs every time.  

For several years during the ‘80s the all-star exhibition/party was staged at the Colombian Center in Henrico County. That era had the largest turnouts for the annual event, as between 200 and 300 people paid five bucks each to attend. Once admitted the beer was free and the food was plentiful.

 In the foreground: Artie Probst, Fitz Marston and Paul Sobel at the 
1985 All-Star Game at the Colombian Center.  

One particularly hot day for the party, according to the Budweiser truck guy, the attendees went through 22 kegs of beer. Figuring 200 beer drinkers, do the math.

For music, a couple of years Chuck Wrenn deejayed the parties. In 1986 the Motovators played live. The softball games were played on what was a field always in poor shape -- rocks in the infield and overgrown clumps of weeds in the outfield. We played with a rule against sliding on the base paths, to prevent injuries. The late Pudy Stallard was once called out, when, out of habit, he slid into second to beat a throw from the outfield.   

In 1987 and ’88 the food contest was at the center of festivities. Each team put out a spread to share and the consumers voted for the best of them. Some teams went to great lengths to coordinate their overall entry, others simply had people bring out covered dishes and whatnot.

The most talked about of all the efforts was the 3rd Street Diner’s 100 pound hamburger in ‘88. The beef was packed into a giant patty at the Diner. It was hauled around with great care, so as not to break it apart. The huge bun was put together at the Tobacco Company and baked in one of its large ovens.

Cooking the burger on an open grill at the picnic site turned out to be the best part of the ordeal. There must have been 25 experts and assistant experts standing around that grill, opining on how to go about doing the the job. The burger itself was a good six inches thick. The flipping of the thing, to cook it all the way through -- without having it fall apart -- turned out to be an engineering task.

After all the kibitzing, it was done without mishap, much to the delight of one and all. A spontaneous celebration ensued ... smoke-um-if-ya-got-um. 

The FDSL also established its Hall of Fame in 1986. The first class was elected by the 12-team outfit’s designated franchise representatives. To be eligible then one had to have retired from play and considered to be among the founders. Ten names were selected as the first class of Hall-of-Famers.

The same rule held true in 1987, when six new names were put on the plaque. However, by 1988, a few of those who had been inducted into the Hall had un-retired.

So, in 1988, eligibility to the Hall was opened up to anyone who seemed deserving. Those already in got to vote, as well. Nine new members were selected. The meetings to select new inductees were always quite lively, as were most FDSL meetings, the voting process was probably no more twisted than any hall of fame’s way of choosing new names.

For 1989 six additional names were added. The class of ‘90 included seven names, and in ‘92 the last five names were tacked on. In all, 41 players and two umpires were tapped. The list leans heavily toward those who made significant contributions to the league's lore in its early years.

Those men who were inducted into the FDSL’s Hall between 1986 and 1992 are as follows: Ricardo Adams, Herbie Atkinson, Howard Awad, Boogie Bailey, Yogi Bair, Jay Barrows, Otto Brauer, Ernie Brooks, Hank Brown, Bobby Cassell, Jack Colan, Willie Collins, Dickie deTreville, Jack deTreville, Henry Ford, Danny Gammon, Donald Greshham, James Jackson, Dennis Johnson, Mike Kittle, Leo Koury, Jim Letizia, Junie Loving, Tony Martin, Kenny Meyer, Cliff Mowells, Buddy Noble, Randy Noble, Henry Pollard, Artie Probst, Terry Rea, John Richardson, Jerry Robinson, Larry Rohr, Billy Snead, Jim Story, Hook Shepherd, Pudy Stallard, Durwood Usry, Jumpy White, Barry Winn, Chuck Wrenn.

At this writing, by my count, nine guys one the list above have died, with Henry Ford being the most recent to pass away. 

As an organization, the Fan District Softball League lasted 20 years, which was a wonder in itself. There are plenty of true stories from those years that are almost unbelievable. 

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