50 years later, Neil Young's 'On the Beach' remains bleak — and beautiful

TONYA MOSLEY, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Tonya Mosley. And right now tens of thousands of people have converged on the United Center Stadium in Chicago for the Democratic National Convention.

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UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: We hereby call the in person portion of the 49th quadrenial Democratic National Convention to order.

MOSLEY: Like the Fiserv Forum in Milwaukee for the RNC a few weeks ago, the United Center Stadium has transformed into the beating heart of the DNC in the presidential race. It's a tradition that has endured for over 150 years. Stadiums are the epicenter of politics, sports, and entertainment. And as my guest today writes in his new book, there are also venues where people go to wrestle with defining the soul of America.

Frank Guridy's new book, "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest And Play," is a deeply researched look at the role of stadiums in the United States. From the 1920s pro-Nazi rally at Madison Square Garden, to the 2020 Barclay Center racial justice protests in the wake of George Floyd's murder. Stadiums, Guridy writes, are our nation's public squares, where we battle over race, class, gender, and sexual inequities.

He also delves into how stadiums have become billboards for corporations, and their influence on urban development and gentrification, and how it came to be that taxpayers often pay to build and maintain stadiums with little economic benefit for communities. Guridy spent 15 years conducting research for his book. His previous book, "The Sports Revolution: How Texas Changed The Culture Of American Athletics," is about the sports revolution of the '60s and '70s, when civil rights and feminist movements were reshaping the nation. He's a professor of history and African American studies at Columbia University. And, Frank Guridy, welcome to FRESH AIR.

FRANK GURIDY: Thank you for having me. It's great to be here.

MOSLEY: What a timely discussion because your book actually starts off by taking us to the Democratic National Convention 100 years ago. It was June 28, 1924, 17,000 people crammed into Madison Square Garden. And as you write, division was high. The country was in the throes of discontent over a changing America. This sounds very familiar. And there was a defining consequential issue that turned the Garden for two weeks into the center of political theater. Tell us about it.

GURIDY: Yes, the resonances between 1920s America and 2020s America are really hard to avoid in the historian's mind. So at that time, you know, the U.S. is wrestling with all sorts of questions, and one of them being the question of immigration, right? This is a moment when millions of people, and tens of thousands of people have migrated to the United States from Europe and other parts of the world as well. And it's a moment where we're seeing resurgent nativism, strong movements in the Democratic Party, actually, not the Republicans - in that sense, it's different - against immigration.

And one of those forces catalyzing that nativist movement was the advent of the Ku Klux Klan, its second iteration when it emerged in the 1920s. And the Democratic Party is wrestling with this because the Democrats were dominated in part by Southerners - right? - who had presided over Jim Crow segregation in the South. And so one of the issues at that convention was, you know, should the party pass a resolution condemning the Klan? And it becomes this major, major point of contestation.

And there are literally fisticuffs at the Garden, you know, for two weeks to try to figure out that and to figure out who the nominee was going to be. And at a certain point, Andrew Irwin, who was from Georgia, the son of a Confederate, gets up there and turns the Garden upside down and says that the clan is the most destructive force in America.

And people are stunned at this Georgian saying this, and it just turns the convention on its head. And so in the end, the resolution doesn't pass by one vote. They wind up landing on a compromised candidate, John Davis, who eventually loses easily to Calvin Coolidge, the Republican nominee that year. And so, you know, that was the longest political convention in American political history. And it happened 100 years ago in Madison Square Garden.

MOSLEY: You started there because it really is such a powerful illustration of how stadiums had at that point, become like the public square for public discourse and a show of what was happening culturally and socially within our country.

GURIDY: That's exactly right because we tend to think of stadiums as places to see things that we saw at the Olympics - right? - extraordinary athletic performances. Or we see our favorite concert performers, a Beyonce or a Taylor Swift. But what I'm trying to show in this book is that stadiums have had a much larger role in American history. You know, they are by definition, political because they're contingent on political processes to make them possible in their management and in their construction. But also, they become political because, you know, we fight our political battles in stadiums.

And that '24 convention is just one of many examples of the ways in which we see all sorts of contending forces for the status quo, for the perpetuation of a Jim Crow segregation or corporate domination, to the social movements who contest those hierarchies that pervaded American history. And so many of those battles happen in stadiums, because they are places where people congregate, because they're large, because they can accommodate all sorts of people, and they become ideal places to stake your claims on what you want from the United States to be.

MOSLEY: We're going to get into some of those social and political movements that really shape the stadium experience. But before we get to that, I want to talk to you about why taxpayers fund them. So in the book, you go way back to the 1800s, and you write about how it would have been inconceivable that taxpayers would be on the hook for construction and upkeep. Back then, private entities actually paid for arenas and stadiums. So how did it come to be that taxpayers now essentially pick up the tab?

GURIDY: When stadiums are emerging, as I see them as circus tents and, you know, wooden constructed ballparks, you know, they're built by entrepreneurs who are kind of carrying the kind of 19th century amusement culture and what becomes eventually what we know as the entertainment industry. And that's an industry in - it's an embryonic state in the late 19th century, early 20th century. And it really isn't until, you know, two things happen. No. 1 - Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal helps begin the process by which public funds are building stadiums. Part of his public works project was building stadiums across the country - right? - in small towns, and even in a place like Miami, where the Orange Bowl, which had existed for a long time, was a New Deal stadium construction.

But it isn't until after World War II when we see the exploding growth of both the sport and the entertainment industry. When United States really becomes a nationally sports-crazed nation, where sports franchises start to make the case to politicians that, you know what? If you want to have a team in your city, you need to build a stadium for us. And politicians discovered that they can gain a lot of political capital by bringing a major league team to their city. And that accounts for the exploding growth of publicly financed stadiums in the 1960s and '70s, and really until this day.

MOSLEY: And the argument for that oftentimes is that, oh, you know, a new stadium will bring jobs. They'll bring people into a city, for instance, and then those people will spend money. And so those are the short-run impacts that can be significant. But what are some of the realities of the financial benefits for cities to then have taxpayers fit the bill for construction and upkeep?

GURIDY: The economic argument for stadiums is fairly novel. It only the last 30 years where we see this argument that essentially stadiums that can become revenue generators or can help catalyze economic revitalization in dormant inner cities. You know, before that, you know, the argument was, yes, we want Major League teams, but that these buildings were seen as monuments to local civic identity. I mean, whether it's the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum or, you know, so many stadiums, Memorial Stadium in Baltimore. These were seen as memorials as much as they were sports or cultural facilities. That civic identity has faded as stadiums have been turned into, you know, essentially corporatized structures that are now - have the names of corporations on them now. And they've been dressed up as sort of, you know, I would argue, temples of worship to the corporate gods of the 21st century.

MOSLEY: Yeah (laughter), right.

GURIDY: You know, they are monuments to State Farm insurance or Toyota, or American Airlines.

MOSLEY: Crypto Arena, Barclays. Yeah.

GURIDY: Crypto Arena. And the names change constantly, right? And so this notion that stadiums are places that help generate economic development is a fairly recent argument, and it's one that's been debunked over and over and over again by economists, who've shown because of the enormous amount of costs that is incurred when you build them and maintaining them that, in fact, whatever revenues they generate are outweighed by the cost of construction and maintenance.

And so that's an argument that has been, you know, argued about over and over again over the last 30, 40 years. And sometimes municipalities see the value in not building a stadium, but more often than not, they actually capitulate to these arguments. And they wind up building stadiums more and more. And we've seen sort of an upsurge of stadium construction, you know, over the last several decades.

MOSLEY: And what that does - I mean, I'm going back to that thing you said about stadiums being a marker for civic identity. So before there were all of those ads everywhere and corporations then took over the names of them, there was - I mean, I grew up in Detroit. And I remember Cobo Hall, Cobo Arena. And there were - you write about this in your book - but I remember it, that it was a place that felt so Detroit. When you went inside, there were markers. The people who worked inside and outside of it were characters. Now, I guess they feel, like, cookie-cutter or corporations in many ways.

GURIDY: You know, it's funny because when Camden Yards in Baltimore is built in 1991, it really transforms the meaning of stadiums and even their location. You know, it's built in downtown Baltimore, and it is this kind of manufactured homage to the city's industrial past. And it's hailed by ballpark enthusiasts all over the country. And it helps unleash this phenomenon of kind of the retro ballpark construction that takes off in cities all over the country. Everybody wants to build a stadium, you know, modeled on Camden Yards in Baltimore.

But then that becomes a generic formula where, you know, they have very similar architectural styles. They have brick constructions and cast iron and all sorts of things. They have glass - where, now, they all look the same. And then when you add the corporate name to them, then, you know - like, right now, I would argue that most of these facilities feel like no place, right? Because they all have the same sort of arrangements of ads and same types of scoreboards, same sorts of, you know, sort of rituals that we see in the contemporary stadium and arena - and then, I would also argue, you know, minimal or less civic usage than there used to be in previous decades. Ironically, I think the contemporary stadium more often than not obliterates a sense of space rather than actually creating a sense of a local identity.

MOSLEY: Let's pick up this conversation in just a minute. Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, my guest today is author and scholar Frank Guridy. He's written a new book about stadiums in the United States called "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest, And Play." We'll continue our conversation after a short break. This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF ROBBEN FORD AND BILL EVANS' "CATCH A RIDE")

MOSLEY: This is FRESH AIR. Today I am talking to scholar and author Frank Guridy about his new book, "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest, And Play." Guridy goes back to the beginning, when elites turned games into celebrations of war, banned women from the press box and enforced racial segregation. Guridy is a professor of history and African American Studies at Columbia University.

Frank, let's talk about America's favorite pastime and how it has essentially shaped the stadium experience that we know today. So baseball stadiums used to be, as you mentioned earlier, these wooden structures before they turned into these architectural landmarks that we know of them. And they used to be in neighborhoods. And I want to play a clip of the 1952 World Series between the New York Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers. The series was played at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, N.Y., the home of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Let's listen.

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UNIDENTIFIED SPORTSCASTER: The final game of the 1952 World Series, and I know that you're anxious to know the official identities of the starting pitchers. And so, quickly, we go right down to the playing field and show you, as you would expect, right-hander Joe Black of the Brooklyn Dodgers, as previously announced by Chuck Gresson (ph), making his third appearance in this series as the starting pitcher.

MOSLEY: That was a clip from the 1952 World Series between the Yankees and the Dodgers at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, N.Y. And I'm talking to author Frank Guridy about the social and political history of stadiums in our country. And, Frank, you heard the announcer mention Joe Black. And Jackie Robinson also played in that World Series. And as we know, he broke the Major League color line in 1947. Robinson brought Black fans into the stadium in record numbers. What was that integration experience like?

GURIDY: The story of racial integration and the impact of Jackie Robinson on that process has been told over and over again, and with good reason, right? I think there's a way in which American post-World War II identity is very much tied to the way we imagine that we overcame Jim Crow segregation. And the role of Jackie Robinson and sports in general in that process - in that ballparks like Ebbets Field become places of this enormous cultural and social and political transformation.

Now, it's not just because Jackie Robinson shows up in a Brooklyn Dodger uniform. It's because people have been agitating for the desegregation and the elimination of Jim Crow for decades, in New York City for sure. And that's part of the backdrop that, you know, compels Branch Rickey to sign Jackie Robinson. It's not the only factor, but it's a major one. And we see this all across the country, particularly in the South, when the stadium - and in that case, it's not just the baseball stadium, but the college football stadium becomes this kind of shrine, this temple that is designed in part to not just stage football games, but to actually exemplify and celebrate the Jim Crow South and its imagined legacy, and the Confederacy - right? - and slavery.

And so, you know, stadiums up until the mid-20th century, particularly in the South, are all-white affairs - right? - or certainly designed to sort of exclude people of African descent and non-white peoples. But because of the impact of the freedom movements across the South and in other parts of the country, you know, we see this major shift playing out in public at stadiums across the country, right? And so Americans are able to experience that, you know, live, you know, at your local facility.

MOSLEY: You write about how stadiums in the '30s also became like these places to cultivate mass loyalty. For example, singing "The Star-Spangled Banner" and raising the flag, which are synonymous with sports events. It almost, like, without even thinking about it, that's just what you do. I can't imagine a world where a game would start and we wouldn't start that way. What were the first instances of that ritual?

GURIDY: It starts in the early 20th century, where we start to see performances of Francis Scott Key's anthem in public places, right? But it isn't until 1931, when it becomes the national anthem - and it really isn't until, like, even like the 1940s, where we start to see the kind of regular performance of the national - of "The Star-Spangled Banner" before sporting events. You know, that's not that long ago, If you think about it.

MOSLEY: Right. Yeah.

GURIDY: Again, as you suggest, I mean, it's this thing that we just do. It's standard procedure. Not just before sporting events, but, you know, before concerts sometimes, too, right? So in other countries, that's actually not the case, so the U.S. is kind of unique in that way. You know, not coincidentally in the aftermath of wars and the aftermath of World War I, in the aftermath of World War II, and then, as I talk about later on, we start to see the proliferation of anthems like "America The Beautiful" and others performed after 9/11, right? You know, in moments, not coincidentally where the United States is at war, when the U.S. government really has to make the case of national loyalty to its citizens. And the ball park and the stadium and the arena becomes one of those places where that loyalty is cultivated.

MOSLEY: You write about this, but I had never thought about it in this context. When Whitney Houston sang "The Star-Spangled Banner" at '91 Super Bowl and everyone in the stands at the Tampa Stadium - they weighed these signature, you know, these little small miniature flags. That was actually a moment tied to the Gulf War as a way to engage patriotism.

GURIDY: Yes, the very famous, memorable performance of Whitney Houston, which, you know, inaugurates a pattern that we've seen to the present, where women of color and Black women performers often fulfill that function of stirring the nation at the sporting event. I mean you saw that - Beyonce at at the 2015 Super Bowl, right? I mean, and so it's an interesting, kind of foreground the person from the marginalized community to bring the nation together.

And, again, as you say, that happens in the midst of the Gulf War, right? If you look at patriotic performances in the '70s and '80s, it's very different, right? I mean, like at the Bicentennial, you know, it's kind of that you have the color guard out there, but you don't see this hyper-militarized, hyper-patriotic performance at ballparks, right? And the 1983 NBA All-Star game is remembered for Marvin Gaye's extraordinarily sultry performance of the national anthem, right?

MOSLEY: Right, right, yeah.

GURIDY: So a very different vibe in those years after the Vietnam War. But basically from the Gulf War forward, and after 9/11, patriotic culture at ballparks and stages becomes much more patriotic and the kind of expression of American patriotism, I argue, becomes narrowed in a lot of ways, right? And we see this if you just track the performances at halftimes or pre-game shows, as I did, and you see that transformation very clearly.

MOSLEY: You call this militarized nationalism. And it got me thinking so much about the debate around Colin Kaepernick taking the knee in 2016, because the discourse during that time was sporting events are no place for protest. But what he did wasn't inherently unusual. Athletes have used their platforms to protest for years, but the blowback was much stronger in 2016 than what we had seen in the past. What was different about that particular moment?

GURIDY: By the time Kaepernick takes his knee at Qualcomm Stadium in August 2016, now eight years ago, you at that point had 15 years of jet flyovers, 15 years of honoring the military and law enforcement. And that's the thing that's interesting after 9/11. The ways in which these celebrations of the military become celebrations of law enforcement, which almost immediately, you know, partly because of those who died among the first responders at the Twin Towers, but it's more than that. It becomes a policy of pushing pro-police politics, I would argue, across the country.

And so now, that - by the time Kaepernick does what he does, it's now 15 years of that. In which patriotic expression is narrowed, and dissent is less tolerated in public. Certainly, athletes have been persecuted before Colin Kaepernick, most famously Tommie Smith and John Carlos when they made their Black Power salute at the 1968 Olympic games in Mexico City. But, you know, having lived long enough and having to study this myself, you do see the absolute intolerance and the vilification of Colin Kaepernick, which I would argue was unprecedented, right? And I think it's because we have converted the stadium into a pep rally for the military and for law enforcement.

So any sort of questioning - just the questioning of any sort of police action becomes intolerable, especially when a Black athlete does it. So I think that's what accounts for the absolute virulent response to Kaepernick and other athletes as well. I mean, he's the most famous case, but there were others. I think that's what I would argue. I think that that's why the stadium becomes this interesting theater to look at the way in which we make sense of our world and of American politics. And I definitely think that there's a much more repressive political culture that ensues after 9/11 than what existed before.

MOSLEY: Let's take a short break. Our guest today is Author Frank Guridy. He's written a new book "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest And Play." We'll be right back after a short break. I'm Tonya Mosley, and this is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF BILL FRISELL'S "WASHINGTON POST MARCH")

MOSLEY: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Tonya Mosley. And today I'm talking to scholar and author Frank Guridy about his new book, "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest, And Play." Guridy recounts the history of the American stadium, taking us to the early 1900s, when elites turned games into celebrations of war, banned women from the press box and enforced racial segregation. Guridy is a professor of history and African American studies at Columbia University. His previous book is about the sports revolution of the '60s and '70s, when civil rights and feminist movements were reshaping the nation. It is titled "The Sports Revolution: How Texas Changed The Culture Of American Athletics."

I want to talk about some of the historical social movements that give us a deeper understanding of where we are now. In the book, you take us to 1972, to Los Angeles, to Wattstax. What was Wattstax?

GURIDY: Wattstax was a concert, political rally, celebration of the Black community all in one. It was organized by Black cultural activists in Los Angeles who had already organized the Watts Summer Festival, which was organized in the aftermath of the very famous Watts uprising of August 1965, in which the Black committee rose up against police violence and economic deterioration and political repression. And Black Angelenos decided right after that that nobody would ever forget Watts. And so we see - it's an interesting moment across the country, but in LA in particular, of a kind of explosion of Black cultural activism and Black activism in general and African Americans making inroads into local politics, most famously through the election of Tom Bradley, the first Black mayor who got selected in 1973.

So you see this influx of African American political and cultural power after Watts, actually. And so those organizers come together with Stax Records, a very famous record company based in Memphis, Tenn., that had recorded some of the leading soul acts of the day, most famously Isaac Hayes, The Staple Singers, among others. And they, motivated by a sense of corporate responsibility, come together with these organizers and stage this event at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum which featured all of their artists. You know, it was essentially a benefit concert to raise money for Black Angeleno institutions, right? It's this convergence of the record company, the organizers, and it was documented for posterity in the very famous "Wattstax" documentary. So it becomes this celebration of Black power politics financed in part by corporate money but also made possible because the LA Coliseum was a public institution where events like this had happened over and over again, right? And so that's why the Wattstax concept becomes really significant culturally and politically.

MOSLEY: Right. It's a memorial, a concert and a political rally all in one. And I want to play a clip from the opening ceremony. In this, we hear a young Jesse Jackson. He steps on to the Coliseum stage. At the time, he's the founder of Operation PUSH, which is the People United to Save Humanity. And when he looked out onto the crowd, he saw this large mass of Black people. It was the largest, as you write, since the March on Washington nine years before. So here is Jesse Jackson engaging the audience to repeat a chant.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

JESSE JACKSON: I am...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I am...

JACKSON: ...Somebody.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Somebody.

JACKSON: I am...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I am...

JACKSON: ...Somebody.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Somebody.

JACKSON: I may be poor.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I may be poor.

JACKSON: But I am...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I am...

JACKSON: ...Somebody.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Somebody.

JACKSON: I may be on welfare.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I may be on welfare.

JACKSON: But I am...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I am...

JACKSON: ...Somebody.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Somebody.

JACKSON: I may be unskilled.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I may be unskilled.

JACKSON: But I am...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I am...

JACKSON: ...Somebody.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Somebody.

JACKSON: I am...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I am...

JACKSON: ...Black...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Black...

JACKSON: ...Beautiful...

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Beautiful...

JACKSON: ...Proud.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: ...Proud.

JACKSON: I must be respected.

UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: I must be respected.

MOSLEY: That was civil rights leader Jesse Jackson giving the opening ceremony of the Wattstax concert at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum in 1972 to mark what was the seventh anniversary of the 1965 Watts riot. And, Frank, the event was intended to be this celebration of Black culture and this demonstration of community resilience and pride. It also showed the shift in the community's relationship with the Coliseum. What did it tell us about the political leverage Black activists and public officials actually had at that time at the Coliseum?

GURIDY: It shows us how Black Angelenos were having increasing political power - no doubt, right? And so we see, Black elected officials emerging slowly but steadily, again, with Tom Bradley being elected the year later. But on the Coliseum Commission, the commission that actually governed and managed the facility, we have African Americans on that commission, right? So it's not by accident that Wattstax becomes the venue in part because it's in South Los Angeles, which at that time - right? - and still is a predominantly Black community. That's the other part of the story.

You know, we are seeing the promises, you know, at least at that moment - 1972 is a kind of apogee of Black power politics. The Gary political convention, the Black Political Convention, happened just a few months earlier. Shirley Chisholm has a historic candidacy for the presidency that year, 1972, right? And so, you know, all of that is coming together at the LA Coliseum on that August afternoon. And I think that we were seeing the kind of ascendance of Black political power. I mean, and a lot of the promises were not fulfilled. But nonetheless, you see the kind of optimism and the notion that things are shifting for African Americans in the country at that time.

MOSLEY: Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, my guest today is author and scholar Frank Guridy. He's written a new book about stadiums in the United States called "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest, And Play." We'll continue our conversation after a short break. This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF BOSTON POPS ORCHESTRA'S "RODEO: HOE-DOWN")

MOSLEY: This is FRESH AIR. Today I am talking to scholar and author Frank Guridy about his new book, "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest, And Play." Guridy goes back to the beginning when elites turned games into celebrations of war, banned women from the press box and enforced racial segregation. Guridy is a professor of history and African American Studies at Columbia University.

Frank, it's interesting how you note the stadium, like the school board, like the government, like media, was also a battleground for gay liberation, in part because baseball stadiums were where, as you describe, this segment of anti-gay movements took hold. What did that look like? What were the ways anti-gay sentiment was expressed in stadiums and at games?

GURIDY: Well, it's expressed in the fact that I think the dominant culture at most stadiums was, you know, very hetero masculinist, for sure, right? But it isn't until you start to see the advent of the gay rights movement, or in its iteration after the Stonewall uprising in New York in 1969, where you start to see, you know, this anxiety and this pushback, strong pushback against the presence of gays and lesbians and queer people, you know, throughout American society, but in particular, ball parks, right?

And one of the most famous cases or infamous cases of this was the 1979 Disco Demolition event that happened at Chicago's Comiskey Park in which a local disc jockey, Steve Dahl, decided to create this ceremony in the middle of a baseball double-header to blow up disco records, right? And this is at the moment when the kind of anti-disco movement was emerging in the United States, and it was very much an anti-gay movement, right? It was very much fueled by homophobia and racism, even though Dahl insisted it didn't. But if you actually look at the evidence, it's very clear. And so, you know, you start to see, that event turns into a riot, where literally people charge the field, and the games are canceled. The second game of the double headers is canceled on that evening in 1979 in Chicago.

So the ballpark becomes this battleground, and it's because in part gay activists take their struggle to the stadium. And they do that in San Francisco, with the event of the Gay Games movement, which is created by Tom Waddell among a host of other organizers who decide to create kind of an anti-Olympics Olympics - right? - to sort of create their own athletic competition that showcased the athletic talents of gays and lesbians. And that's what they do in San Francisco in the early 1980s, and their first Gay Games happens in Kezar Stadium, another public-controlled stadium in the summer of 1982.

MOSLEY: At the Gay Games opening ceremony, Tina Turner performed, thousands attended. They played lots of different games. I want to play a clip from a documentary from the BBC. Sara Waddell Lewinstein, was a founding board member of the games and widow of Tom Waddell. In this clip, she talks about the feeling that everyone felt the first day of the games.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

SARA WADDELL LEWINSTEIN: When we marched in, and we had all of these people on both sides of the stadium clapping for us, we all cried. We all cried.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: May I welcome you, athletes and spectators from all over the world, to the first Gay Games.

(APPLAUSE)

MOSLEY: That was Sara Waddell Lewinstein talking about the first Gay Games in 1982 in San Francisco. You talked about, Frank, how, really, there was this movement that had already been happening for several years that led up to the formation of the Gay Games. What impact did the Games then have on the broader LTBTQ movement?

GURIDY: So, I mean, San Francisco is this extraordinary place in the 1970s. This is flourishing of all sorts of gay institutions, you know, and some of that is showing up in the sports world, where the proliferation of gay softball leagues and all sorts of other recreational activities, you know, for gays and lesbians and other folks who identified as queer, that we would say now queer, right? And so, yeah, so it's not by accident this is happening in San Francisco.

And Waddell himself had been an athlete. He actually performed at the '68 Olympics, right? He actually was one of the few people who actually stood in solidarity with Tommie Smith and John Carlos, right? And so, you know, what he was trying to do was to showcase to America that gays and lesbians are - you know, can be athletes, and can be normal - right? - something he would say over and over again, actually, right? And so many other folks are like, well, we don't necessarily have to show how normal we are, but we could show the extraordinary cultures that we have that we've been developing in our communities, you know, in the bars.

But what Waddell's movement and that movement does, it allows to bring it out into the public, right? And it's not by accident, they bring it out to the local stadium. Kezar Stadium was a local institution, right? It had been the place that the San Francisco 49ers NFL franchise had played for 25 years. Here we see in the '80s, you know, Kezar becomes the space where the anti war movement in the '70s, and now the gay movement in the '80s is showcasing itself in all of its glory, right? And that's what we see happening there. And so it has an enormous impact, you know, politically.

And it also showed that, of course, at that time, is the moment when gays and lesbians were having political influence, right? Obviously, in the '70s is when we have Harvey Milk get elected to the Local Board of Supervisors. He's assassinated by Dan White, of course, most famously. But so we've got kind of the gay-lesbian movement really emerging, and it shows itself very clearly at the local stadium and at stadiums in other parts of the country as well.

MOSLEY: Right? I mean, it also sounds like this is the beginning of a movement for gay and lesbians' place in sports, more generally, which is something that we still have conversation and discourse about. Like, it is still, in many instances, a contentious topic.

GURIDY: No doubt. And it was then, because one of the things that happens, part of the story I didn't get to is that National Olympic Committee actually goes out of its way to make sure that this movement can't use the Olympic word at all. It was actually really...

MOSLEY: So that's why it's just Gay Games.

GURIDY: That's exactly right. They actually - they file a lawsuit, but I mean, they go out of their way to harass and make life miserable for that organizing committee, right? And so, you know, they're combating homophobia in sports, absolutely. And this is something near and dear to that - to Waddell and his colleagues and to those athletes, right?

And I think that as I read the accounts, and your audio brings us through over and over again, the enormous impact that it had to see athletes in all shapes and sizes from all over the world, not just from the United States, you know, showcasing themselves publicly and unapologetically then performing their own - you know, their own dances, doing disco dances during the ceremonies as well after - years after disco supposed he had died, right? And so this was about showcasing the gay, lesbian, queer community in all of its fullness.

MOSLEY: What did you find out about safety challenges? I'm thinking about the 2021 Astroworld Festival in Houston, Texas. And just to remind people, 10 people died, and there were hundreds of people that were injured. The crowd surged onto the stage while rapper Travis Scott was performing. Was that an outlier or a signal of bigger issues around safety?

GURIDY: That's a great question. You know, stadiums, you know, show us at our best and can show us at our worst (laughter), right? I mean, if you're a follower of soccer in Europe, you know the long standing traditions of hooliganism, and stadiums are designed to actually keep fan bases apart because of the kind of tribalistic affiliation that people have to their local soccer clubs, right? So, safety, of course - anytime you're gonna bring tens of thousands of people together, safety is gonna be a question, right? No doubt. Absolutely. And that becomes a major issue after 9/11 when we see the larger securitization of American society. I mean, we're seeing that even on college campuses where I work, you know, now you need to have ID swipes. I mean, securitization is a fact of life - right? - unfortunately, I would say, because it really curtails our ability to engage, I think. So, certainly, yes, I mean, that's an issue at stadiums, no doubt. You know, but if you actually look at the function of security guards at stadiums, they're usually there to keep the crowd segregated. You know, that's the thing that I've...

MOSLEY: Oh.

GURIDY: Oh, absolutely. I remember...

MOSLEY: What do you mean by that?

GURIDY: What do I mean by that? So I remember going to Bruce Springsteen's last concert at the old LA Sports Arena. And, you know, it was one of his favorite arenas, a very small, intimate setting he'd perform in. And I watched what the security guards were doing. And what they were doing is they were making sure that the VIP crowd can go into these sections and that, you know, the general public can go in these sections. That's actually what, most often, private security guards do if you actually look at what they do, right? And so even the question of safety and security has this interesting other element that is often not thought about.

MOSLEY: You know, early on, you talk about how in the early 1900s and before, stadiums were places for the elite. And I'm thinking about today with VIPs. I mean, you can spend a lot of money to have a VIP experience, to go to a sporting event or a concert and have, like, the top of the line. I mean, you can really take it up there...

GURIDY: (Laughter).

MOSLEY: ...You know, with what you get in a private box and everything. Like, do those experiences mirror each other?

GURIDY: Yeah. Well, I mean, I think this is part of the larger phenomenon of capitalizing on aspirations for the VIP life, which we see in the airline, in the airplane, and we see at the local stadium. Absolutely, right?

MOSLEY: Yeah.

GURIDY: And so, you know, you're paying more for a VIP experience. And so because the VIP sections take up much bigger amounts of real estate than seats for the average fan - and the average fan is not a working class person. The average fan is somebody who's upper middle class or somehow gets a ticket. Also, seating capacities are much smaller now. So you have large parts of the stadium real estate devoted to the VIP crowd, to the corporate crowd, right? And you have less, you know, space devoted for the average sports fan, right? And this is something that sports fans lament over and over again. And you could say, well, people could just watch sports or watch whatever they want to watch on their device, right? But what we discovered in 2020 is that the fan really matters (laughter), right?

MOSLEY: Right, yeah.

GURIDY: They're playing sports in front of empty seats, you know? There were people actually writing articles before 2020 like, you know, do we really need fans in stadiums anymore? And then 2020 showed us...

MOSLEY: We felt it, yeah. Right.

GURIDY: Actually, we do need them there, right?

MOSLEY: Yes.

GURIDY: And that the athletes want them there, and that the public wants to be there.

MOSLEY: Yeah.

GURIDY: Because it is a place to be. I mean, again, think of stadiums as institutions. Think of them as places where, you know, people want to go and congregate, you know, with good reason. And I think that's the stadium at its best, when we actually, you know, use it for that purpose. So why not open it up to a wider swath of people?

MOSLEY: Frank Guridy, thank you so much for this book and this conversation.

GURIDY: Real pleasure to be here. Thank you.

MOSLEY: Author Frank Guridy. His new book is called "The Stadium: An American History Of Politics, Protest, And Play." Coming up, rock critic Ken Tucker reviews Neil Young's 1974 album "On The Beach" on its 50th anniversary. This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF KEITH JARRETT TRIO'S "CONCEPTION")

TONYA MOSLEY, HOST:

This FRESH AIR. Our rock critic Ken Tucker continues his summer series about great albums celebrating their 50th anniversary. And what could be more appropriate for a summer series than the Neil Young album called "On The Beach"? It's not all sunny, though. Young has referred to his 1974 album as one of the most depressing records he's ever made. Ken explains the context behind that remark and why he thinks Young's downbeat music is actually thrilling, even inspirational.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "ON THE BEACH")

NEIL YOUNG: (Singing) I need a crowd of people, but I can't face them day to day. Though my problems are meaningless, that don't make them go away. I need a crowd of people, but I can't face them day to day.

KEN TUCKER, BYLINE: On the title song of "On The Beach," Neil Young sings I need a crowd of people, but I can't face them day to day. Two years before the release of this album in 1974, Young had put out "Harvest," a huge hit that attracted that crowd of people. It remains his bestselling album. But that success freaked him out. He started to write songs that were more downbeat, more guarded and prickly. His marriage to actress Carrie Snodgress was collapsing. When his guitarist, Danny Whitten, and one of his roadies, Bruce Berry, passed within months of each other in drug-related deaths, he told Rolling Stone that he held himself partly responsible. Young went into the studio and started talking about feeling like a blood-sucking vampire.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "VAMPIRE BLUES")

YOUNG: (Singing) I'm a vampire, babe, sucking blood from the earth. I'm a vampire, baby, sucking blood from the earth. Well, I'm a vampire, babe, sell you 20 barrels' worth. I'm a black bat, babe.

TUCKER: The recording sessions for "On The Beach" were gloomy affairs fueled by a lugubrious drug mixture the musicians called honey slides. In this context, "Revolution Blues," Young's rumination on psycho killer Charles Manson, fit right into the overall mood. Young enlisted Levon Helm and Rick Danko, the rhythm section of the band, to power up his memories of once trading guitar licks with Manson. The song ventures to get inside Manson's warped head with shocking, vivid details. It's one of the best songs Young has ever written and performed.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "REVOLUTION BLUES")

YOUNG: (Singing) Well, I'm a barrel of laughs with my carbine on. I keep them hopping till my ammunition's gone, but I'm still not happy. I feel like there's something wrong. I got the revolution blues. I see bloody fountains and 10 million dune buggies coming down the mountain. Well, I hear that Laurel Canyon - it's full of famous stars. But I hate them worse than lepers, and I'll kill them in their cars.

TUCKER: Is it any wonder Neil Young was Johnny Rotten's favorite hippie? The bleak but beautiful music Young was making during this period mixed folk and country with rough production and pinched, piercing vocals. It was Young's early, homegrown version of punk rock.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "FOR THE TURNSTILES")

YOUNG: (Singing) All the sailors with their seasick mamas hear the sirens on the shore, singing songs for pimps with tailors who charge $10 at the door. You can really learn a lot that way. It will change you in the middle of the day. Though your confidence may be shattered, it doesn't matter.

TUCKER: One thing "On The Beach" demonstrates is that artists can make good art, no matter how hemmed in, churlish or depressed they may be. What might emerge from such low moods can prove revelatory and relatable in the way that the best songs about feeling bad can feel so good to a listener. With typical willfulness, the summarizing message of "On The Beach" can actually be found in its very first song, "Walk On." Quote, "sooner or later, it all gets real."

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "WALK ON")

YOUNG: (Singing) I hear some people been talking me down, bring up my name, pass it round. They don't mention the happy times. They do their thing. I do mine. Ooh, baby, that's hard to change. I can't tell them how to feel. Some get stoned. Some get strange. Sooner or later, it all gets real. Walk on.

TUCKER: The album cover depicts Neil Young alone, barefoot in the Santa Monica sand, his back to us, all but shouting, get off my beach. His songs are stormy warnings. Beware. I'm no role model. But its music also says, we're all in this together. A bummer and a downer, "On The Beach" takes us not to the edge of the ocean but to the abyss.

MOSLEY: Rock critic Ken Tucker reviewed Neil Young's 1974 album "On The Beach." On tomorrow's show, how one investigative reporter says Donald Trump has changed federal law enforcement. David Rhode argues that since 2016, Trump has used conspiracy theories, cooption and threats to bend Justice Department and FBI officials to his will. Rhodes' new book is "Where Tyranny Begins." I hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at @NPRFreshAir.

FRESH AIR's executive producer is Danny Miller. Our senior producer today is Sam Briger. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Ann Marie Baldonado, Lauren Krenzel, Therese Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chaloner, Susan Nyakundi and Joel Wolfram. Our digital media producers are Molly Seavy-Nesper and Sabrina Siewert. Roberta Shorrock directs the show. For Terry Gross, I'm Tonya Mosley.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "SEE THE SKY ABOUT TO RAIN")

YOUNG: (Singing) Signals curling on open plain, rolling down the track again. See the sky about to rain.

Transcripts are created on a rush deadline, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of Fresh Air interviews and reviews are the audio recordings of each segment.