So there I was last Friday near the Freedom of Expression wall, gathering signatures for my City School Board run, when Henry Graff comes bounding up with a microphone and cameraman to ask my opinion about private boundaries on the east end of the mall.
Up until a few years ago, the performance space at the east end of the mall was publicly-owned and the city would use the stage for free public concerts. The venue was cooperatively run by a coalition of local merchants called the Charlottesville Downtown Federation and it successfully brought attention and traffic to that end of the mall. The original Fridays after 5 usually featured great local acts and helped to showcase the best of Charlottesville.
In 2003, apparently due to declining sponsorship, the CDF began bringing in larger “name” acts and charging an admission fee. Two years later, the Pavilion was sold to a private promoter and our mall became home to the world’s largest lobster trap.
As a private business, the Pavilion has been more successful, but only by intruding on the public square. In order to keep out the unwanted — that is, those of us with families who would have to spend between $150 to $300 to enjoy an outdoor concert in what used to be a public space — the Pavilion enforcers have set up plastic barriers well into the bricks of the public walking space, beyond the entrance to City Hall and the taxpayer-financed transit center. A few weeks ago, I was strolling the mall and encountered those barriers and tables of Pavilion employees literally glaring at me as I walked along the length of the barriers trying to determine if there was any way around them. As the opening act played, I was intrigued to notice that the barriers were placed far enough away from the slopes of the performance space that I could not actually see the band. It struck me that this was not a coincidence.
It also brought a flashback, an incident I had not thought about in nearly forty years. In 1969, I was eight years old and living in the San Francisco Bay Area, the temporal and geographic center of the Hippy Revolution. My little town was experiencing a similar civic issue: a publicly-financed swim center in our community park was being used as a performance space for a July 4th concert. The “advantage” of using this space was that it was already barricaded, but to set up the stage, they actually had to drain and cover the pool. Only one gate was open, and to enter you needed a ticket. Large groups of “hippies” hung from the trees outside the barricade where they could see and hear the bands inside.
Attracted by the music, I rode up on my stingray bike and saw police with dogs chasing people out of the trees and away from the high fences. I rode around to a different side, away from the police, and leaned my bike up against the fence. By standing on my “banana” seat and stretching to the tips of my toes, I could just see over the barricade to the stage on the other side. A few hippies in a nearby tree cheered me on with shouts of “right on, man!”.
After a few minutes, someone tapped me on the back of the leg and I practically jumped out of my skin. I turned to see a shirtless and bearded teenager smiling at me. He politely asked “Can I stand on your bike for a minute?” I offered him my spot, he stood on my bike, looked every direction, then shouted “Now!”
With that, he leaped over the fence, and then dozens of young men and women slid out of their trees, rushed to the fence, and clambered over as one. Within seconds, I was left standing alone, only to see a phalanx of policemen running towards me. I hopped back on my bike and rode like hell in the opposite direction. Eventually, the organizers just gave up and opened all the gates to the concert, and once the adrenaline wore off, I felt proud for the small part I played in a popular revolution.
All this came back to me about three weeks ago as I paced the length of the plastic barriers cutting me off from the east end of the mall. I tried to imagine a re-staging of the barrier rush, but as I looked around for any available hippies, I noticed mostly parents pushing strollers and students wearing Lands End.
Last week, my friend and City Council Candidate Peter Kleeman addressed the same issue in his Hook column. In fact, I had read that article just a few minutes before being approached by Henry Graff. You can see that story, with video, on the NBC 29 website. My kids got a kick out of seeing me on TV above the banner “Pavilion Creep”.
I’m not happy that the City sold space on our mall to a private developer and then loaned him $3.4 million to build a gawdawful shell, but I recognize the exigencies of private enterprise to save a failing public venue. However, I think that they can keep the barricades well within the defined space of the Pavilion without invading the public mall. So what if onlookers can get close enough to actually see as well as hear the bands? You already have a police presence to keep the area safe. Let’s turn our mall back into a space for inclusive public gatherings, not a closed arena only for those who can afford it.