No One Plays In No Man's Land

Like the caretaker for a deserted vacation estate, the gardener, Crockett Roy, longs for the day when someone will come to take advantage of his hard work. As he weeds, fertilizes and waters his playing field he dreams of softball stars knocking home runs over the fence, touch-football quarterbacks throwing touchdown passes and soccer goalies making valiant saves. After turning off the automatic Turfbird sprinklers he sweeps broken pop-bottle glass from the asphalt basketball and volleyball courts, as if he expects them momentarily to be trampled by gleaming sneakers.

But the University of California gardener knows there will not soon be any runs, hits or errors at People's Park in Berkeley. The 450-by-270-foot multipurpose recreation facility—and its adjoining parking lot—is perpetually deserted, an eerie student commemoration of the events of May 1969.

Even though 7,000 Berkeley intramural athletes are crowded into some of the worst collegiate recreational facilities in the country, they continue to honor a year-long campus boycott of People's Park. Last spring the bloodiest battle in Berkeley history saw the university thwart a spontaneous community development of the off-campus park in favor of the fenced field. As a result, the park is a no man's land. Everyone in town refuses to use it, even the ROTC.

Now, following the first anniversary of the battle for People's Park, the boycott is stronger than ever. Spring and daylight saving time put intramural facilities at a premium, but Berkeley athletes preferred waiting in line at other campus fields to playing in the park.

For years California ignored the requests of intramural players for more fields, courts, lights and parking. A recent survey of intramural facilities at 53 American universities ranked Berkeley 45th, with 1.7 square yards of outdoor field space per student. Still, the school went to great lengths to make People's Park a desirable athletic facility. In the summer of 1969, after police and the National Guard had cleared the area, the playing field, asphalt courts, portable softball backstop and portable toilet were installed. Ample off-street parking was provided for athletes, who at other sites are forced to interrupt contests to feed parking meters. Workmen even draped padding around an obtrusive telephone pole.

When these attractions failed to have any effect on the boycott last fall, the university intramural office scheduled soccer matches for the park. Players were warned that any team refusing to compete on the new field would have to forfeit. But the interfraternity council voted 30 to 1 against playing intramural games at the park. The soccer teams concurred, and eventually all of the matches were rescheduled for other fields.

Berkeley's intramural soccer players boycotted People's Park at much inconvenience to themselves. The shortage of available fields forced the 75 winter-league teams to limit games to 40 minutes. As many as 20 contests a week were held on one field. Games were frequently played in the rain, which turned the fields into quagmires. Hugo Herrera, a graduate student who directs one of the four intramural soccer leagues, says: "During the winter games were scheduled for 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 p.m. Often it was so cold and wet that the 40-minute match was over before anyone warmed up. But none of us wanted to use People's Park."

How did the U of C's small plot—today a pleasant patch of fresh sod, a handful of welcome trees, a touch of breathing space—become a pastoral symbol of student protest? Three years ago the site was occupied by 25 buildings that the university viewed as "the scene of hippie concentration and rising crime." So in 1968 the school bought the houses and razed them. The property soon became a communal dumping ground, filled with garbage and abandoned cars. In the spring of 1969 students and neighborhood residents decided to clean up the area. They laid a sod lawn and set up a playground, complete with Maypole, swings, barbecue pits, fishpond and truck garden. And they opened People's Park to the public. Viewed at its best, the park was no Eden, but it was far better than the debris dump it replaced.

But the university, not surprisingly, became concerned about this public occupation of its land. "We should have built a fence around it immediately," said Vice Chancellor Earl F. Cheit. Officials viewed the park as an all-too-available rallying site for political activists—of which Berkeley has no small supply—and feared its ownership of the property might eventually be questioned if the park were occupied by the public for any length of time.

At 4:45 a.m. on May 15, 1969 the university sent in 200 police to evict 50 occupants of the park. Immediately thereafter a work crew came in and erected an eight-foot fence. By noon student opposition had organized, and there was a march to reclaim the park. The students were blocked by Alameda County sheriff's deputies, who killed one youth, blinded another and wounded at least 30 with buckshot. On May 22, 482 demonstrators and innocent bystanders were arrested in a police sweep, but charges were never pressed. Subsequently a federal grand jury indicted 12 sheriff's deputies for violating civil rights by shooting and beating demonstrators.