I guess the recent Ghost Signs got me thinking about the way things used to be in an earlier age. My memory circled back to a time when professional baseball didn’t exist in Washington, DC and we used to travel to Baltimore to see the Orioles play. This happened a lot when I was a kid, long before the Orioles occupied the beautiful, iconic Camden Yards that so many other ball clubs copied. The Orioles took the field on a much less beautiful and nowhere nearly as iconic Memorial Stadium before that. I even think we saw the Baltimore Colts play (American) football a couple times there too. The Colts left Baltimore in 1983 just to show how far back my mind wandered. What happened to Memorial Stadium after its replacement, I wondered.
Memorial Stadium; Baltimore, Maryland, USA
I drilled into a satellite image and discovered that the old stadium still existed. Well, not really. The city tore it down in 2001. However many fragments remained, spread throughout Baltimore. Its basic shape also remained. A new residential neighborhood occupied much of the land originally part of the Memorial Stadium property. It included a ring-road that approximated the circumference of the stadium itself. Inside that asphalt oval, an open field covered the spot where professional sports teams once played. It offered configurations for baseball, football and soccer.
That made me consider other stadiums wiped from the earth. In many cases new stadiums simply covered the exact footprint occupied by their predecessors. In other instances not a single sign remained at all. However, I enjoyed the ones like Baltimore the most, where people kept their memories alive. Those stadiums continued to exist in an odd ethereal way. The roar of the crowd now silenced, the crack of the bat or the kick of the ball no longer felt, but the stories remained in the landscape.
Some quick searching found several more examples.
Atlanta–Fulton County Stadium; Atlanta, Georgia, USA
Atlanta–Fulton County Stadium hosted both the Atlanta Braves of baseball and the Atlanta Falcons of (American) football at various times before a controlled implosion finally took it down in 1997. The brand-new Turner Field rose on an adjacent parcel, and the spot once occupied by Atlanta–Fulton County Stadium became part of its parking lots. The old footprint occupied a large section of the Green Lot (it looked awesome on satellite view). Even more of a bonus, the spot where Hank Aaron hit his historic 715th Home Run continued to be commemorated. Aaron accomplished that feat in 1974, surpassing the lifetime record of Babe Ruth, when Aaron hit a ball over an outfield fence and into the Braves’ bullpen. The memorial in the parking lot replicated the fence and the bullpen at the exact spot where it happened.
I realized that marker made little sense to much of 12MC’s international audience. Just understand that a really great sporting event happened there and its preservation was a nice touch.
The New York Yankees baseball team played at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx from 1923 until 2008 (map). The team left for a new Yankee Stadium on an adjacent lot. Then the city demolished the old stadium and created Heritage Field on the same footprint. As the New York Times described it,
… nearly every inch, from the pavement stones underfoot to the three natural grass ball fields, has been elaborately designed to pay homage to the Yankees and their celebrated former home. Even the sod is the same that the Yankees, professional baseball’s biggest spender, chose for their new stadium… Even the old diamond and outfield have been saved, delineated with five-foot-wide swaths of blue polymer fiber stitched into the sod by a Desso Grassmaster machine that had to be shipped over from the Netherlands.
Now amateur and high school baseball clubs from all over the city stand where some of the greatest professionals once played.
Milwaukee County Stadium; Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA
Combine the idea of a parking lot and a small ball field on an original footprint, and that became the fate of Milwaukee County Stadium. Miller Park replaced it in 2000 on an adjacent parcel. Although large surface parking lots grew completely around Miller Park, the former spot of Milwaukee County Stadium became a baseball field. It took the name Helfaer Field with room for 500 spectators in its bleacher seats. People can rent it for "softball, youth baseball, kickball, tailgates, meetings and much more." It looked pretty good on Satellite view sitting there, surrounded by parking lots.
The Golden Gophers of the University of Minnesota played (American) football at Memorial Stadium in Minneapolis from 1924 to 1981. The stadium became totally obliterated. An alumni center filled its former spot (map). However one vital feature remained, its entry arch, inside of the alumni center. People could still walk through the old entryway, although its passage no longer led to a gridiron. Instead it opened into a large room called the Heritage Gallery, "a multimedia museum … [that] honors the accomplishments of University of Minnesota alumni, faculty, students and staff."
Waverley Park; Mulgrave, Victoria, Australia
I found faded stadium footprints outside of the United States too. A prime example existed in Australia. Waverley Park in Mulgrave, Victoria once hosted up to seventy thousand Australian rules football fans. Concentric ring roads circled the demolished stadium, part of a masterplanned community, with a grassy centerpiece remaining at the spot of the original stadium now serving as a practice facility,
Today, as Hawthorn football players train on the oval, the sound of boots striking balls evokes memories of a sporting past. For some, the ‘Hawks’ are simply part of the scenery, for others they bring new meaning to ‘backyard footy’, with star players running junior clinics for tomorrow’s footy legends. Residents of Oval Front Homes have box seats, cheering on from their balconies during practice matches and training.
The original stadium no longer existed although a grandstand at one end still held room for a couple of thousand spectators.
I found a particularly early example in Scotland, a football (soccer) stadium called Cathkin Park in Glasgow. Professional football there dated back to 1884 when the Queen’s Park club called it home. Third Lanark took over in 1903 and remained there for more than sixty years until the team folded.
Sadly there are no fond memories for Third Lanark fans of that era. They were shattered to witness the Cathkin gates being closed for the final time on 30th June 1967.
Much of the stadium was removed as it fell into disrepair (map). However, terraces ringing three sides of the stadium remained in place, as did the old field. The area became a public park and a home field to various amateur and student teams.
A number of years ago, Twelve Mile Circle featured ten county seats in North Carolina with the same name as a different county. The concept continued to fascinate me ever since even as I doubted I’d find anything quite so remarkable. Places kept making it onto my mental list over the years so I decided to feature a few of them.
I’ve followed the still unresolved Bibb – Monroe border dispute for years. Most people who lived in Bibb County resided in the city of Macon, a name established at its founding in 1822. Nathaniel Macon served numerous terms in the United States Senate and House of Representatives from North Carolina. Consequently, places in several states bore his name even during his lifetime. That often happened to major politician during an era when the population expanded and created lots of new places. New settlements needed names. Macon died in 1837 and Georgia apparently felt it needed to honor him again. That’s when Georgia established Macon County (map), with its seat of government in Oglethorpe. Come to think of it, I found an Oglethorpe County in Georgia too, yet another example of the phenomenon.
Except the city of Macon just changed its name and somehow I missed it. Voters approved a referendum in 2012 to consolidate the city with the county. The merger happened in 2014, creating the conterminous Macon-Bibb County (map). They disincorporated the only other city in the county, Payne City. They deannexed portions of Macon that crossed the border into an adjacent county. Now an elected mayor and county commission govern the consolidated Macon-Bibb.
That left Georgia with both a Macon and a Macon-Bibb County. I’m sure that won’t cause any confusion. Of course not.
Confusion surrounded the whole Hettinger situation too. Counties in North Dakota formed rather late in U.S. history, crossing into the 20th Century. Hettinger County (map) dated its formation to 1883 although it remained unorganized for another couple of decades without a fully-functioning government. The name honored Mathias Hettinger, an Illinois banker who probably never set foot in North Dakota. His daughter Jennie married Erastus Appleman Williams who served in the North Dakota territorial legislature. That’s all it took to get a county named for someone back then.
North Dakota finally took action to make Hettinger a functional county in 1907. However, it split Hettinger into two portions. The upper half remained Hettinger County. The lower half became Adams County. Around that same time, a town in what would become Adams County blossomed along the path of the Milwaukee Road railroad’s new Pacific Expansion line. Residents decided to name it Hettinger(map), supposedly "by popular demand for the county from which this area was about to separate as a new county." That seemed like an odd development although I’ve seen stranger explanations for town names so let’s go with it.
Henry Schoolcraft created one of his made-up names to recognize the consensus source of the Mississippi River in 1832. He coined Itasca, by combining two Latin words, veritas meaning "truth," and caput meaning "head." He often liked to craft fake Native American words so he took the last four letters of veritas and the first two letters from caput, making Itasca. That Schoolcraft guy deserved credit creativity. Lake Itasca (map) gained quite a bit of recognition for its geographic significance.
Anyone looking at a map would quickly figure out that Itasca County, Minnesota did not overlap with Lake Itasca. In fact it sat nearly a hundred miles (160 km) to the east. How could that possibly be? Again, county structures formed quickly on the frontier during that period. Itasca County originally covered a lot more land when established in 1849. It stretched over a large portion of northeastern Minnesota. Government officials carved away at it repeatedly as it formed new counties and the chunk that retained the Itasca name (map) separated from the lake by quite a distance.
The capital city of Mississippi took its name from General (later President) Andrew Jackson, to honor his victory at the Battle of New Orleans during the War of 1812. Jackson County did the same thing and for the same reason around the same time. Both fared well over the years. The city of Jackson flourished as the state capital. The county of Jackson grew to a population of nearly 150 thousand, a center of ship building and oil refineries on the Gulf Coast.
I shifted gears as I researched Hinds County, where most residents of the city of Jackson lived. Sure, Jackson fascinated me because of its extinct volcano. The Hinds co-county seat interested me more, at least today. Several counties in Mississippi had more than one county seat, a strange situation common to the state although quite rare elsewhere. Jackson claimed the state capital but it still shared the distinction of county seat with tiny Raymond (map) with barely 2,000 inhabitants.
Jackson and Raymond started out around the same time. Officials selected Raymond as one of the seats of government due to its prime location near the center of Hinds County. Jackson grew due to its status as a state capital. Raymond, well, Raymond didn’t do much. It still had a courthouse that continued to serve legal functions although it quickly became subordinate to Jackson.
I mentioned finding lakes named Tin Can Mike and Hungry Jack in northern Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness Area (BWCAW), when I posted the article called simply Mike. There were limitless lakes within that wilderness, so many that people naming them had to revert to linguistic gyrations to separate one from another. I’ll get to those in a moment. It would be best to start off by describing the topography of the area.
The glaciers left behind rugged cliffs and crags, canyons, gentle hills, towering rock formations, rocky shores, sandy beaches and several thousand lakes and streams, interspersed with islands and surrounded by forest. The BWCAW is a unique area located in the northern third of the Superior National Forest in northeastern Minnesota… The BWCAW contains over 1200 miles of canoe routes, 12 hiking trails and over 2000 designated campsites… it allows visitors to canoe, portage and camp in the spirit of the French Voyageurs of 200 years ago.
The wilderness sat squarely within the "arrowhead" region of Minnesota, hugging its boundary with Canada. This formed a massive pristine conservation area — and even more so when combined with Canadian provincial parks adjacent to it — stretching some 150 miles (240 kilometers) on both sides of the border. Its abundant solitude and untouched natural beauty attracted canoeists, anglers and campers hoping to get away from the pressures of the outside world for a few days. People loved posting YouTube videos about their trips through the wilderness, too.
I found a complete list of Boundary Waters lakes that offered abundant entertainment. I wasn’t the first person to explore some of the more unusual naming conventions. Indeed, others before me had enjoyed their peculiarities and did their best to categorizing them: "The origin of some lake names are very obvious due to their shapes (Gun, Hatchet, LLC’s Lady Boot Bay). Or are descriptive (Boulder River, Hula, Moose River). Or named for area animals (Loon, Lynx, Beaver, Bald Eagle, Crocodile?)." Other names came from the Ojibwe language, which made perfect since because this was the final tribe of Native Americans living within this wilderness before they were pushed out by settlers of European ancestry.
Some of the more entertaining themes fell within sequential strings of closely aligned lakes.
The Lady Chain
The Lady Chain, for example, featured a string of women’s first names (map). This was a very popular canoe and portage route, either by themselves or when combined with others, such as the Lady Chain/Louse River Loop
Head west through Alton, Beth and Grace to Phoebe Lake. After July 1, small mouth are very easy to catch on Alton and Beth. Take the longer portage between Beth and Grace rather than the two shorter ones through Ella. Grace and Phoebe are two of the finest walleye lakes in the Boundary Waters. The little rapids between Grace and Phoebe are too small to be navigable. Be sure to hike into these streams off the portages, though, for some gorgeous scenery. Hazel and Polly complete the string of lakes named after ladies. The story is pioneer forest ranger Bill Mulligan named these lakes after his maiden aunts.
Whether true or not, Beth, Grace, Pheobe, Ella, Hazel and Polly did indeed sound like someone’s maiden aunts, born I’d suppose circa the turn of the last century. Many of these were popular names in the 1890’s: Beth (nickname for Elizabeth #5); Grace (#18); Ella (#32); Hazel (#23); Polly (nickname for Mary #1) My grandmother’s older sisters had names similar to these and they were all born right around that time too.
I noticed another theme featuring raw edibles such as Tomato, Carrot, Bean, South Bean, Celery, Potato, Parsnip, Strawberry, Melon, Kraut, Cucumber, Onion, Turnip and Peanut. Kraut didn’t fit the mold exactly although I supposed that fermented cabbage came close enough, and I imagined the person naming those lakes thought the same. This set was often called the Vegetable Chain, abbreviated to Veggie Chain (map), even with the random fruits and prepared foods thrown in for good measure. There wasn’t much more information available though. Technically the chain fell just outside of the BWCAW and it was visited primarily "by locals who travel to the lakes via logging roads on all-terrain vehicles (ATVs)."
JAP Lake (map) offered an interesting conundrum. The name was actually an acronym, for "longtime local residents James & Ann Paulson." However, over time Jap became an offensive and derogatory ethnic slur referring to people of Japanese ancestry, especially during and after World War 2. The name of the lake changed to Paulson although many people continued to call it JAP. Come to think of it, Kraut might also fit within that same derogatory designation albeit for Germans of a similar period, although the name of the lake never changed.
There were plenty of other oddball names that I discovered, including:
Pompous (+ SE of Pompous; + E of Pompous + NE of Pompous)
Trump (+ Little Trump)
I’m sure each and every one had its own amusing story.