Of all the beneficiaries of an early spring, Sugarhouse Park seems particularly blessed. In recent days, it has been buzzing, its pale green fields beckoning to joggers and other recreationists; its air filled with flying disks and balls.
I visited the place the other day, driving slowly to avoid all the people who were walking, running or pushing strollers. It was a peaceful sight, hardly worthy of its reputation as one of the bloodiest philosophical battlefields in Salt Lake County.In political terms, Sugarhouse Park is worthy of a U.N. peacekeeping mission, a place where for the past few years philosophies of park management have been used as ammunition aimed straight at politicians.
That may sound a bit overstated, but it doesn't compare to the strained logic and hyperbole, not to mention the conspiracy theories, that have attended park issues recently.
The latest skirmish has to do with Highland High School's baseball team, a group in search of a decent home. Located adjacent to the park, the school now plays its home games in a stadium that is so cramped it has to share right field with a popular jogging track that passes about 200 feet from home plate. Granted, this is an arrangement that makes both joggers and right fielders nimbler, but the school would rather do without the extra excitement.
The school several months ago proposed expanding one of the little-league fields in the park. It might as well have yelled, "bombs away!" To the Friends of Sugarhouse Park, a group worn down in recent years by a city-county onslaught, the proposal had all the impact of a well-timed sortie.
Last year, the county and Salt Lake City decided to replace the park's governing authority, an independent board of trustees composed of some people who had served honorably for nearly 40 years. City and county officials wanted to appoint their own authority members, and they wanted more control over the combined $330,000 they contributed to the park annually.
It was a reasonable desire. The city has an ordinance limiting all board appointments to two years. If it had been applied to the park authority, some of its members would have been replaced in 1959.
What followed was an avalanche of letters and charges that politicians had a secret agenda to destroy the park. The fears stemmed from city-county pressure to allow a holiday light show in the park and from a simultaneous proposal to build a recreation center there.
The old authority and its supporters believe the park should be a quiet place, free of moneymaking ventures and political whims. The park's charter calls for it to remain that way. The baseball diamond, then, represents the first step toward total commercialization and toward allowing outside interests to have priority over part of the park. Next step: a recreation center, followed by an amusement park, outdoor rock concerts or something equally as intrusive.
Baloney. Despite all the fears, the new authority also believes in maintaining the park as it is, or at least on changing it only in ways the public wants. The 4-3 vote in favor of the high school is evidence of how seriously the board considered the matter.
And despite the outrage over a loss of open space, the high school isn't planning to build a new ball diamond. It only would slightly expand an existing one. About a dozen trees would be uprooted, but the authority would either relocate or replace them with even more trees elsewhere in the park. The outfield fence would be removed after every game. Not many people show up to watch high school baseball. The only permanent facilities would be two sets of bleachers about 6-feet high and a backstop.
The high school has to come up with about $400,000 to pay for the whole project before construction starts. This is hardly a major change for a park that already has ball diamonds, soccer fields and picnic pavilions.
And why not set aside a portion of the park for organized athletics? Young people need a place for constructive activities that don't include spray paint.
Trust me, there are no conspiracies here. Sugarhouse Park may change over time, but not without the public's approval. In that sense, the new authority is much more responsive. The old one didn't hold public hearings.