This Ain't Your Momma's Haymarket

     The Haymarket District of Lincoln, Nebraska - so named for a "Market Square" area being designated between 9th and 10th, "O" and "P" Streets for exchange of livestock and produce in the original plan of the city - has undergone many changes since the inception in 1867 of the now capitol city of the state.
     For those of my time frame growing up in Lincoln, The Haymarket was where places like The Tubbery, Andy Pasto's, and Starship/Stooges were located, bums hung out (I distinctly remember one peering out at me from a containment area under the front of one of the old warehouses there), the monolithic main Post Office lorded over all, and where Amtrak made their daily stop.  It was also a place of a self mortar-lobbed empty gallon bottle of wine out of a moving car about a block east of the aforementioned Post Office back in about 1979 or so.  No, we were not drinking and driving but the truth is what the truth is.

     Approximately six months from now, the Haymarket District will undergo another major change with the opening of the Pinnacle Bank Arena.  A gargantuan structure to the eye, "The Pin" will be home of the University of Nebraska men's and women's basketball teams.  (Note:  Lincoln's hockey team plays in a structure called "The Ice Box" and I started an unofficial campaign to have the new Pinnacle Bank Arena called "The Deposit Box" as sort of a companion structure but the idea never took flight, genius never being properly rewarded.)  It will also host concerts of major acts, most likely the state high school basketball championships, and other civic events.
     I recently visited the site for the first time since construction began, and the change in the area is striking and profound.  The arena appears to be so closely built to the old Main Post Office that one could jump from the roof of one structure to the other, although it would be a James Bond-like feat to try it.  It seems to be all circular shape, windows, and ramps and it has a big-time feel to it.

     Off to the south of the site, construction also looms large and in progress.  Parking garages, hotel construction, and development of something called Canopy Street are underway.  Canopy Street is a commercial and residential development that is being billed as a place to play and permanently stay to experience the new Haymarket.  One, two, three, and four bedroom lofts will be available in the area and, although I'm guessing the prices will not be cheap, I'm thinking that at least initially they will be snatched up by the eager.  On paper, it all looks very impressive.  For nearly a half a billion dollars of public and private investment, it had better be.
     The "Pin" will fill Lincoln's need for a concert venue, the Devaney Center having outlived its usefulness in that regard and the aging Pershing Center for the same reasons times 100.  Devaney's roof structure couldn't hold the weight of the setups of today's modern concerts, and Pershing for the longest time has only held concerts of used-to-bes and up and comers.  The new arena will bid for and host major acts.  One problem:  In researching this blog post, I found on one arena promotional site an informal poll asking respondents to vote on who should be the first act to play there.  Among the choices were Justin Bieber, Lady Gaga, Kings of Leon, The Zac Brown Band, and Kenny Chesney.  Chesney is the only one of the bunch that I'd even remotely want to see, and that's not by much.  But to all of the blogosphere, this I swear:  If Lady Gaga christens that thing?  I'm personally grabbing the torches and pitchforks and leading the charge to barricade the doors.

     But this is a sports-driven venture.  Lincoln is all about the University of Nebraska, and if you don't believe that ask those who tried to save the old state fairgrounds from the clutches of the uppity-ups at the "U" who wanted that land for the new Innovation Campus.  They never stood a chance, although the preservers of history did manage to save at least in some form the trapezoidal Industrial Arts building from the wrecking ball.  It will remain at least in part, to be connected up with the old 4-H Building in some sort of "modern" (read:  improved) structure, the future use of which is to be determined.
     The arena when finished will form the third point of a sort of sports triangle, the other two anchors being Haymarket Park (the baseball venue used by the professional Lincoln Saltdogs and the U of N's team) and the venerable and historic Memorial Stadium where football reigns in the fall.  It is quite the sight driving into Lincoln from the north on I-180 at night (see a virtual look at the drive along with views from the finished Haymarket here), with Memorial Stadium to the left and Haymarket Park and the nearly-done arena to the west and south, respectively.  But I'm prejudiced:  A lifelong Nebraskan, university alum, and sports fan in general would feel no other way.
     I'm really looking forward to seeing the finished "Pin" for the first time.  I'm guessing that I'll feel the same way about it as I felt the first time I walked into Haymarket Park for the Husker's NCAA baseball tournament game that Shane Komine started, completed, and won.  My thought was this:  This is too good a facility for Lincoln to have.  We don't deserve something this good.  Of course, we did.   But that's how I felt.
     I've no doubt that the new arena will make me feel the same way.  Winston Churchill said this once in regards to rebuilding the House of Commons after it had been destroyed in The Blitz:   "We shape our buildings, and afterwards our buildings shape us."  Talented workers have formed and continue to form the new venue on the edge of west Lincoln, but in the end the building will form and shape us and our lives through memories and experiences.
     I can't wait.
    

That Imperfect Season

      I recently came across an old memory, one of those things that are seemingly long forgotten but in spite of everything they retain a foothold on your soul, waiting for you to put down the burdens of the present to once again look, savor, and remember.

     It is worn and yellowed now, and perhaps angry for being so ingloriously stuffed away in a box under the stairway for forty years or so next to old Life magazines and dog-eared Sears and Roebuck catalogs.  Such is the fate and paradox of old memories:  They gather their strength and power through the lowly dust that collects upon them like a musty badge of honor.
     The kids in my neighborhood all had a dream of one day playing Major League Baseball and to that end our summer days were filled with seemingly countless pick up games over at the old schoolyard.  They consisted of maybe four - or at most, five - players per side, with the person at bat doubling as the catcher, meaning: if they missed the pitch, they'd take three steps back to the backstop to get the ball and throw it back to their opponent.  Baseball is the only sport in which the offense never touches the ball, but the "rule makers" never played true schoolyard ball, Lincoln, Nebraska style.
     As part of the stepping stone to the "Bigs" we all played little league baseball in the summer, the Lincoln version of it being called the "Little Chiefs."  It was called this in tribute to the old Lincoln Chiefs, a minor league affiliate of the Pirates who played their home games at venerable Sherman Field in the late '50's and early '60's.  Our summers revolved around this activity, and it is still one of the great times of my life.

     One year, we had a really great team.  I mean, really great.  Our best player was Steve Damkroger, the last in the line of a fine athletic family; he went on to be an all Big 8 linebacker at the University of Nebraska, following his brother, Maury - one of my childhood idols - who also played at the "U" as a fullback and had a brief cup of coffee with the NFL's New England Patriots after using up his eligibility.  Steve was a stud.  He pitched and no one could hit him; fortunately, he was on our team.  As a group, we were basically unbeatable.  
     Almost.

     I recently came across a booklet documenting our season that consisted of number-crunched statistics from the score book, various memories from Coach McCormick, and, oddly enough, a meticulous final page showing a to-the-penny bookkeeping statement of the after game treat fund which was used to pay for trips to the local A&W.  We only went if we won, and that summer we consumed a lot of A&W.  Except one time.
     In our fourth game, one of the players who was not normally a pitcher wanted a chance to take the hill and he was given that opportunity.  I remember playing shortstop during that game and seeing it not go well for us.  Looking back at the stat sheet, I see that there was one hit and three walks recorded early on, and peeking at the coach's memories part of the booklet, I saw that there was also a home run involved.  We gave up five runs in that inning and never recovered.  Later on in the year we got our revenge for that loss by defeating that team 22-1.  But the damage was done.  

     It's funny how sometimes I still think of that game and that imperfect season.  I can drive by that field and picture ourselves out there, gangly youth still full of innocence and chasing wisps of dreams in the early evening sun, caring only for the next batter, the next inning, the next hour, the next day, the next game.  Our adult lives were still out there somewhere, waiting and silently plotting to impose on us another, more harsh, imperfect season in the form of divorce, heartbreak, financial trouble, and all that being an adult would imply.  We eventually went our separate ways after school and a couple more seasons, but to this day the bond of that time and that one loss remains among us.