A guy, a few years ahead of me during high school, had a plum job. As an emissary of Lilly Endowment, Chuck would welcome the director of every visiting trade association to set the stage to lure companies and jobs here. Oh, how I envied him. Chuck made it effortless.
Our newly inflated Hoosier Dome was connected to the Indiana Convention Center. After dinner, at the first convention I attended, I strolled to the Hoosier Dome to discover a three-ring circus set up for us: high wire acts, cotton candy, taming of tigers, shimmery gals standing on the backs of horses going round and round, and Our Mayor as ring master.
Our Mayor always enthusiastically dressed up in all sorts of outfits to promote the city. His Hudnut Hook taught us to Keep Indianapolis Beautiful by tossing trash into bins. Or that same very tall man in St. Patrick's Day parades dressed as a leprechaun. The whole shebang.
The demonym ‘hoosier’ is self-mocking - we rough yokels shouting “ain't I a husher” to a census taker's “whose here?” or, we pioneers calling out “who's ‘ere” when fear’in a rustle in yonder prairie grass. Even Our Poet, James Whitcomb Riley, fancied that a trapper entered a southern Indiana tavern just after a brawl, spotted flesh on the dirt floor, and remarked “whose ear?” Being flatlanders leaves a chip on Our shoulders.
An alphabet soup of sports groups arrived; NCAA, USA Football, USA Diving, USA Track and Field, USA Gymnastics, Horizon League, and the National Federation of High School Athletics. Having the Indy 500 did not hurt either.
The seats installed in the Hooser Dome were blue, but no sports team played there. It was built on an idea. It worked. The Colts arrived - in blue uniforms. Alas, Johnny Unitas did not.
Art Angotti launched a stalwart effort for a team to be known as the Indianapolis Arrows to use the Hoosier Dome for Major League Baseball. The Arrows did not land.
Some ideas take time. I was not the first Hoosier to help promote change. All the railways here were at street level into the 1860’s, with thirteen routes in and out, and Our Town thus anointed ‘The Crossroads of America.’ Pedestrians and horse and buggy, and then automobiles and trucks, though, had to dodge these trains. Tunnels near Our Union Station solved the problem for a couple of decades. In 1884, boosters, including Colonel Eli Lilly, began to promote elevating the tracks. Railway investors refused due to cost. Street overpasses were built in 1908. Finally construction of elevated tracks started in 1915 with the railroads and Our Town splitting the costs 75% to 25%.
These public improvements were funded by the sale of bonds. The bond holders took a haircut from the bond brokers. Not actual hair, but less in proceeds from par value to reflect the perceived risk of the asset falling in value from forced sale or liquidation. Fear'in a rustle in them bushes.
On to present day. Now I witness what surely is a Founders Round. It is like a haircut. Say an entrepreneur has a controlling interest in a venture, say the Indy Eleven soccer team now playing in the USL. That Founder works endlessly to grow local interest in the sport with hopes of joining the ranks of Major League Soccer. Governmental blessings are given and work started on a promising site. The Founder understands ownership will be diluted. Classically some of the round of new seed capital, say, in addition to the MLS entrance fee, goes as an early return to the founder to increase the stake of the co-venturers.
But it turns out Major League Soccer has a gate keeper. Sweat equity is of no importance. Our Mayor, cloaked in mystery, cuts a deal banishing the Founder. Expansion is awarded on other factors. In this case through a favorite son of MLS. I suspect partisanship is at play. A big stream of construction jobs and cash flow lie ahead.
Last weekend I drove down to look at both sites. Our Mayor's site is next to Our Transit Center - a plus. Conventions like the walkability in Our compact downtown. Another plus. One of the first industries in Our Town was meatpacking, in and along Our White River. Its stench was horrible. I can turn my nose to this present effluvium. We may be ‘No Mean City’ but we hicks are not quite of broad shoulders.
Coda. I still delight in Our onetime appellation ‘Wander Indiana,’ which I would shout whenever I went out.
