Labor Day Lock Up

Apologies for the amount of time since the last update. I'm still in Philadelphia, but the weekend has been quite busy. That's of my own making, and partly because I wished to take full advantage of NFL watching, given that Sunday was the first full day of the season (and I was able to go to a sports bar where I had the pick of what match I wanted to watch). Anyway, that makes me about a week behind on my travelogue; while I won't be up to speed by the end of this email - a man must sleep, after all! - I will at least have filled you in on my Labor Day weekend.

The US differs from much of the rest of the world, in that it doesn't recognise the International Worker's Holiday on May Day, but instead has its celebration at the end of summer. And in US culture, it really does mark the end of summer - children go back to school the next day; it marks the first weekend of the college football season. There is quite a noticeable festivity about the weekend, as families take the opportunity to make the most of the last summer time they get for another year. I scarcely need to mention the role it plays in rites of passage, either, given its intimate connection with the academic year.

Best of all, the weekend was bathed in glorious sunshine - the kind that is warm without being too hot. And so my plan of spending pretty much all the weekend outdoors turned out to be a good one.

On the 24th of December 1776, George Washington launched one of the most famous events in the Revolutionary War. Despite commanding a force that was ill-equipped, low on morale, and utterly frozen at winter camp in Pennsylvania, Washington figured an attack was the last thing that the British would be expecting. And so, in the dead of night, he marched his troops across the River Delaware, to launch a surprise attack on Trenton, New Jersey, and boost the morale of the flagging militia. On the 2nd of September, 2007, I made my very own crossing of the Delaware.

Unsurprisingly, it was nowhere near as dramatic as the more fabled crossing. Nor, indeed, was it as far upstream as Trenton. But it was significant in one small manner - it was the first time I had been to New Jersey to do something positive, as opposed to sitting in a bus, in an airport, or on one occasion getting horribly lost trying to get back to Philadelphia from Gettysburg (let's just say that New Jersey is much further than you want to go). My purpose for this visit was to watch another game of baseball - this time to go outside the auspices of Major League Baseball.

The last ten years has seen a proliferation of independent leagues. The minor league baseball that I wrote about in earlier emails is connected directly with the Major League franchises. Each team controls the rosters of teams at lower levels of the game, and promotes and demotes players accordingly. The independent franchises may not have the most talented or the most promising players (their stock-in-trade is the undrafted player who wants a couple of years playing professionally after college, or the second-chance who has fallen from grace in the major leagues). What they do have over other major league franchises, however, is a stable roster every year, and so fans feel they can identify with the players more than those who come and go on a whim.

I watched a contest between the Somerset Patriots and the Camden Riversharks (adding to a list of North American franchises such as the Seahawks and the Tiger-Cats, named after animals which don't exist). The Riversharks ballpark is one of the highest rated in Independent League baseball, and it isn't hard to see why - in the shadow of the Ben Franklin Bridge, certain spots around the ground offer lovely views of the Philadelphia skyline. It's not hard to see why the franchise succeeds, either. I turned up less than half an hour before the game started, and got the best seats in the house (genuinely, I wouldn't have switched for any other) for $10. That meant I got to sit directly behind the batters' box, and so had an excellent view of what the pitcher was doing. For comparison, I'd have been paying 8 times as much at just about any major league ballpark, and considerably more in places like Boston and New York. If, of course, those seats were still on sale 20 minutes before the first pitch.

The experience was spoiled slightly by an ear-splittingly bad rendition of the Star Spangled Banner - quite how the cars passing over the bridge didn't have their windscreens shattered by it is a mystery to me. (As a sidenote, this is a common experience at US sports events - when will people realise it is a military march, and is supposed to be sung quickly). Nevertheless, on a glorious day, it really was a pleasure to watch. Unfortunately the Riversharks pitcher had a horrendous habit of throwing pitches that were destined to leave for home runs (and some of them were enormous home runs), but that was something of a secondary concern.

Looking around the ballpark, most of the caps that were sported paid homage to the Phillies; indeed, the TVs around the ground were showing the Phillies game. It's clear that their stock in trade is tempting baseball fans to bring their families along, and to have a largely inexpensive day out at the baseball. The fans may not be as passionate, but there are far worse ways of spending an afternoon. And when the trip is rounded out by a ferry back across the Delaware with its clear views of Philadelphia's skyline and port, there really isn't much to complain about.

The next day was Labor Day, and although it was a shame not to get a little more time in the archives (Philadelphia is, unsurprisingly, the main hub of my research, and there is more here than I could ever hope to get through in three weeks), it afforded me a great opportunity to go and explore some areas of Philadelphia that I hadn't been to before. My particular visit was to the Eastern State Penitentiary. This was the world's first 'Penitentiary', or a prison that was designed to inspire penitence in its inamtes. From our 21st-perspective, it seems unnecessarily cruel. Prisoners were hooded when they entered the prison, so that no other inmate could see them and recognise them on their exit - the idea being that the reformed prisoner could have a fresh start. Their cells, too, were remarkably small, and were equipped with three things - a bed, some work tools for learning a trade, and a Bible. They were kept in silence, except when they spoke to a chaplain; and they were allowed outside for an hour a day. Even then, though, it was to their specific exercise yard, as small as the cell, and you were still alone. Anyone finding ways of speaking to other inmates - and there were some ingenious solutions found - were heavily punished. But for people in the early 1800s, this was considered progressive!

The prison became a major tourist attraction in the 19th century, and visitors from Europe made a beeline for the Penitentiary. Reactions were mixed; Alexis de Tocqueville wrote approvingly of the reformist creed behind the prison, but Dickens, in the 1840s, considered it harsh, and thought that it was incredible that anyone who stayed there for any length of time didn't go insane. The one thing I will say in defence of this 'Pennsylvania system' is that it seems considerably less cruel than the other progressive system prevalent at the time. That was the 'New York' system, based upon 'Sing-Sing' prison, which must have been an ironic nickname. For it allowed himan contact - indeed, the prisoners were chained together for work. But despite this close contact, silence was still strictly enforced. And such was the need to intimidate other inmates from similar indiscretions, the guards were known for their brutality.

Eastern State was, in theory, a model of design efficiency. Each wing was visible from a central hub, so the corridors could be viewed from the centre with a minimum of fuss - and moreover, the echoes could be heard if anyone was daring enough to want to talk. But really, the system never worked. The state wouldn't justify the expense for the small number of prisoners, so later wings were built two stories high, thus depriving inmates of their exercise yard. And it wasn't long before pressure of numbers demanded cellmates too. Silence was abandoned by the end of the 1800s; in the 20th century more wings were added; some of which were invisible from the centre.

The prison was eventually abandoned in 1971 - essentially, its 19th-century design couldn't cope with 20th century realities. A couple of riots, too, raised questions about whether it was sufficiently safe for the warders, though the rest of the displays showed that there was some harmony, to the extent that guards would take their families to the prison shop for a cheap haircut! One thing that surprised me was how quickly it decayed. It was designed to look like a castle from the outside; it could easily be mistaken for a decaying central European castle now. It can't have been well-maintained in 1971 - indeed, it wouldn't surprise me if it had been neglected for over 20 years by that point. Such is the state of decay that you have to sign a disclaimer before you enter - although that didn't seem particularly necessary.

I'd certainly recommend a visit to anyone going to Philadelphia. The displayswere varied and informative; there was an excellent audio tour; recent years have seen a number of artistic displays designed to get visitors to think about crime and punishment today. The most intriguing one was the cell that had been fitting out with a replica of a cell at Camp X-Ray, the original holding camp for prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. It was amazing to see the similarity of the dimensions. But the displays really are informative; they tell you about the change in recreation patterns, give perspectives by guards and inmates alike, and give you a sense of historical change, too, in particular considering the racial attitudes of guards and inmates alike.

After that, I went for a walk through Fairmount Park, along the River Schuylkill. I was amazed by just how much I ended up walking (if the maps they have up in the park are accurate, I must have walked at least 7 miles), but on reflection, it's hardly surprising. The park was lovely, and only spoilt by the fact it's kind of hard to get away from the road that runs by the side. The river itself, though, has wonderful views, and the park is littered with all kinds of interesting sculptures. Philadelphia as a city spends a lot of money on public art; by law, 1% of the city's budget is spent on it each year. My favourite (in the park at least) was the memorial to US history, with various figures representing the progress of the nation - from Puritans to Scientists. The park itself is one of the largest urban parks in the world, and the river is clearly where the rowing in the city takes place. Indeed, one part of the park is called 'Boathouse Row'. I don't need to explain that to you in any more detail; all I will say is that you can tell the money that must go into University sports, because they put the boathouses in Oxford to considerable shame.

Thus ended my day, with a slight detour via the steps of the Museum of Art, which affords a beautiful view down the Ben Franklin Parkway to City Hall, and the iconic image of the Philadelphia skyline, the statue of William Penn. Those steps, of course, are the most visited steps in the world - not because of the view, but because of the poster for the film 'Rocky', where Sylvester Stallone stands with arms outstreched. Needless to say, there were many imitators taking photographs while I was there. But despite my slight disdain for the fact that few of these people ever make it into the Museum behind them, I wasn't in a mood to feel bad about it. The weather was too nice and the view too good for me to feel anything other than thoroughly content.