Authors: Glenn Stout
By October 15, 1911, not only was the drainage system in place, but a layer of loam had been spread over the field. Now it was time for Jerome Kelley and his crew to take over. They overseeded the entire field, save the skinned portion of the infield, with a blend of grass seed designed for the New England climate: quick-growing fescues mixed with perennial rye and more resilient bluegrass. The rye sprouted quickly and held the soil, allowing the slower-growing fescues and bluegrass a chance to take root. That way, as soon as the ground thawed in the spring, grass would begin to grow and the whole field could be overseeded once again. After spreading the seed, Kelley's crew then rolled the field to set the seed, covered the bare earth with straw to prevent erosion, and applied water. In less than a week the first few tufts of green began to show.
While work was being done on the playing field, work was also beginning on the grandstand, where there was no less pressure to get the job done before winter. The entire grandstand was designed to be built of reinforced concrete—concrete poured into forms and supported and reinforced with steel bars popularly known as rebar (reinforcing bar). Once temperatures dropped below freezing the mixing and pouring of concrete would become problematic. The pavilion, however, was less complex, consisting of simple steel-frame construction. But both the grandstand and the pavilion required the same basic foundation structures—load-bearing columns set into the ground on concrete-reinforced piers and extended footings. Although the size and spacing of the columns varied somewhat, owing to load, in general the columns were fourteen to twenty-four inches square and spaced eighteen to twenty feet apart throughout the entire footprint of both the grandstand and the pavilion. This meant that workers had to excavate and then construct at least 150 foundation piers.
In the center-field bleachers, however, no such permanent foundations were built. The wooden structure with its myriad of columns and supports sat on wood piers set into the ground. Within a decade they would rot to such a degree that the city of Boston would deem the structure unsafe.
The soil that would later prove problematic for drainage was nevertheless a godsend when the permanent concrete piers were constructed. Sample excavations revealed that the layer of hardpan was of sufficient depth to support the weight of the grandstand—up to four tons per square foot. After each pier was excavated carpenters created wooden formwork for that pier—essentially a box, flared out at the bottom—braced to withstand the weight of wet concrete without deforming. The interior was laced with rebar wired together, not unlike a series of nesting baskets, which added strength to the concrete.
The concrete column extending upward from the pier was also created by wooden forms. Four steel bars, 1⅜ inches thick, extending from the footing, ran vertically through each column up above the surface grade, where subsequent columns could then be built vertically upward to the concrete deck slab. As the structure rose, each column was then connected and cross-braced to those around it by concrete-reinforced girders.
Workers excavated and then poured the piers and columns first, beginning at the third-base end of the grandstand and systematically working toward the first-base side. They did not, however, build the grandstand up in layers, like a cake. Rather, as the concrete of the first piers and columns set and cured—a process that took, depending on the weather, between four and six days—forms were stripped, the piers and columns were backfilled, and the next level was built in sequence until the structure reached the level of the sloping deck that would form the floor of the stands, only three feet high at the edge of the field but forty-two feet at the rear of the stands. The structure rose like a wave from third around toward first, the columns and girders along the third-base line already extending into the air while piers were still being excavated and poured down the first-base line. As construction extended above the surface grade hordes of workers erected scaffolding to allow other workers to rise with the structure, and to enable carpenters to build formwork both for the columns and for the "false work": the forms beneath the deck slab that created and supported the underside of the seating deck during construction. Thousands of board feet of lumber, primarily pine, was used to construct the forms. Virtually every original concrete surface in Fenway Park, except for the floors, was once encased by wooden formwork. In fact, there are still places in Fenway Park today where it is possible to see the wood grain from the formwork on columns, girders, and the underside of the grandstand deck, even though much of it has recently been obscured by other structures and paint.
Now that Stahl was on board, McRoy and McAleer began planning for spring training. Although the Sox had trained in California in 1911, that was primarily due to the wishes of John I. Taylor. McAleer saw no reason to cross the country, so in mid-November he traveled to Hot Springs, Arkansas, the traditional Red Sox spring home, to secure a ballpark and hotel space. McAleer planned to open camp on March 10, and he arranged to share training facilities at Majestic Park with Cincinnati, at least until the Philadelphia Athletics left town, at which point the Sox hoped to take over the Athletics' Fogel Field. Sharing facilities and switching fields would not be much of a hardship, for at the time players trained more by taking long hikes and mineral baths than they did on the field.
By the start of December the piers, the footings, and the reinforced-concrete structure of the grandstand were complete and workers were rapidly forming the underside of the deck and the accompanying ramps—an innovation not yet used in any other big league park, where fans entered at the bottom of the stands, then climbed up aisles to their seats. McLaughlin's ramps allowed fans to enter at street level and reach the grandstand either by going through openings at the lower end of the grandstand or by wending their way up ramps to the top promenade and then walking down to their seats. Because fans could exit the park in reverse by the same means, the stands could be cleared more quickly. Tests later indicated that the entire grandstand could be emptied in only five minutes.
After the formwork was completed, the next major construction stage, the pouring of the concrete deck, ideally had to take place all at once. In any large construction project "continuous" concrete pours are preferable to pours that stop and create a seam between poured sections, which can weaken the entire structure. (In the 1911 construction of the Polo Grounds, for instance, the concrete for the entire grandstand structure was a continuous pour that took six full days and nights.) But that is not to say that the deck surface would be an unbroken surface. Even cured concrete expands and contracts according to changes in temperature. To allow for this expansion joints were built into the plan for both the deck slab and the ramps.
After the false work and scaffolding were complete, the undersurface of the deck slab was interlaced with rebar. By a few days before Christmas the slab was ready to pour. The procedure was so unique that a contingent of more than fifty members of the Boston Society of Civil Engineers traveled to Fenway Park on December 20 to witness the process.
Unlike today, concrete was not mixed and then hauled to the site by truck. Instead, a concrete plant was built on-site—probably on Jersey Street—where cement, sand, and an aggregate of crushed stone and water were mixed together in a 1:2:4 mix—one part cement to two parts sand to four parts stone. Water was then added, and the ingredients were mixed by a mechanical mixer and transferred—dumped—into a concrete dump bucket. The wet concrete was hoisted to the appropriate place and the concrete emptied into wheeled sidecars or dump buckets—essentially wheelbarrows, but with much larger wheels and a much greater capacity. Workers then manhandled the dump bucket into place and, where possible, simply dumped the concrete onto the deck. Then workers raked it into place and agitated the concrete to remove any air bubbles.
But since the deck was sloped, in many places it was not possible to dump the concrete directly into place. There it would be dumped into chutes, and workers then had to force the concrete down manually, using shovels not unlike canoe paddles, for even when wet, the concrete was too viscous and the angle too flat for it to flow completely on its own. Once the concrete was in place, more skilled workers used a series of floats and screes to create an acceptable surface, "floating" excess water off as the concrete began to cure. When the surface hardened it is likely that it was covered with some combination of straw, manure, and canvas to protect it from winter's chill (as the straw and manure rotted they created heat). By the time Fenway Park was complete, more than 7,000 barrels of cement—more than 2.6 million pounds—had been used.
For the workers on-site pouring concrete was dirty, messy, heavy, dangerous work. Every scratch from the sharp edges of the rusty rebar carried a threat of tetanus, and walking and climbing through rebar made it easy to trip and fall. Even the concrete itself was dangerous. It contained lime and when mixed with water created a caustic and heat-producing chemical reaction. Wet concrete left in contact with the skin can cause serious burns, and the reaction also quickly degrades clothing and leather. While working in concrete, most workers spent the day wearing heavy, knee-high rubber boots and praying that the form carpenters knew what they were doing. If a form blew out in the midst of a pour, workers could be buried. Shoulders and arms ached from the burden of shoveling the heavy mixture, which typically weighed 150 pounds per cubic foot, and workers labored in continuous shifts until the pour was complete. Records are unclear about whether or not the entire deck was done in a continuous pour (the pavilion was done separately), but even if the task was broken into several pours, several long days of work would still have been required. For this, the workers earned perhaps fifty cents an hour.
While McRoy wrapped up his duties as Ban Johnson's secretary and McAleer and his attorneys prepared to take official control of the club, the Boston Nationals, Boston's other team, served notice that they had been paying attention. Ever since the American League had fielded a team in Boston, the Nationals had been relegated to second-tier status, a third-rate team playing in a fourth-rate facility. Now, with the Sox ready to open a new park, the Nationals began to rouse from their slumber. James Gaffney, a member of New York's Tammany Hall political machine, purchased the club. Former player John Montgomery Ward was elected president, and on December 21 the club made some changes.
First, Ward announced that henceforth the team would no longer be known as the Nationals or the Doves or the Rustlers or any of the other unofficial names they had been dubbed with over the years. Instead they would be known as the Braves. Ward explained that new owner "James Gaffney is one of the grand sachems of Tammany in New York, and is known as one of the 'braves.' Therefore Boston Braves would have the true fighting ring that the fans would take to." The Tammany Hall building was in fact named after a Native American, Chief Tammany, and so the political activists who met there and became New York's foremost political machine were called "Braves." The nickname continues to this day, used by the Atlanta Braves, although few fans realize that the name originally referred to a machine politician, not a Native American.
Knowing that the old South End Grounds would appear positively decrepit when compared to Fenway Park, Ward also announced that the Braves would embark on some substantial renovations. Although it would not become public knowledge for another two weeks, the club was making plans to build a new park of its own, Braves Field. The building of Fenway Park provided the impetus that would help lead to a Braves pennant in only two short years.
For now, however, McAleer and company were far more concerned about a Boston Red Sox pennant, and they were eager to get going. All they needed to begin making concrete plans for the 1912 season was the formal reorganization to take place at the club's annual meeting on January 3, 1912. Construction was ahead of schedule at Fenway Park. Thus far the weather had been mild, and it had not yet snowed in Boston.
On the final day of December, however, a blizzard struck. The temperature plummeted to just above zero, the beginning of a cold snap that would last for more than a month. The major concrete work at Fenway had been completed just in time. It would be nearly two months before weather conditions allowed the concrete treads that would support the seats to be poured atop the deck.
When McRoy and McAleer met with the Taylors, their attorneys, and other officials on January 3, they hoped a variation of that headline—"
Winners
of Old Days Return"—would soon be written in regard to the Red Sox. McAleer was elected president and McRoy treasurer, while John I. Taylor was selected to serve as vice president. Those three men, along with General Taylor and John R. Turner, an attorney from Jersey City, New Jersey, formed the board of directors. Turner's residency allowed the corporation to operate under New Jersey's more favorable corporation laws. After the papers were signed the group toured Fenway Park and met with the press. McAleer made the expected optimistic pronouncements about the upcoming season and then began the real work to prepare for the 1912 campaign.
The first order of business was to draft and send contracts to the forty players Boston had in reserve. "I am satisfied," said McAleer, "that the Red Sox will be in the hunt." Even though he hoped that a few valuable new players might emerge during the spring, he seemed relatively satisfied with the roster already in place, particularly the outfield and the pitching staff. The only real question marks concerned who would back up Carrigan behind the plate and who would play shortstop and second base. Gardner's postseason performance against the A's had secured his spot at third, and manager Stahl was already an improvement at first base. If Charlie Wagner remained healthy enough to play short, Steve Yerkes, who lacked Wagner's range and arm, could settle in at second base.