Our city is something to be proud of, so why do so many of us live in the county?
City pride looms in the air in the city of St. Louis at Citypark, the stadium for St. Louis City SC. Without a mascot, the team has adopted cityness as its complete identity, its very essence and embodiment. Drums maintain the rhythm of fans chanting S-T-L, singing songs to the tune of “We’re Not Gonna Take It” and “Hey, Baby” but with words like “Oh, St. Louis city” instead.
Scarves declare “All For City,” a calling like that of a nation. The Lou’s flag is waved constantly; the fleur-de-lis is this place’s Stars and Stripes. Players sport St. Louis’ coat of arms: Jerseys that are blue, red and the yellow of a French lily flower. The screens that line the stands brightly show St. Louis’ local sponsors. A Purina ad declares boldly, “OUR CITY. OUR PETS.”
The togetherness is contagious. At Citypark, it’s always we: “Hey! We’re St. Louis City,” the crowd shouts; “Our City,” the national and international gas station, On The Run, advertises. The corporate sponsors of St. Louis City SC — World Wide Technology, Enterprise, Hoffman Brothers, Schnucks and Dobbs — are also illuminated in solidarity, yet each is headquartered outside city limits. For these companies, a truer marketing strategy would state “Your city. Our county.” In reality, these companies and we fans might give all for St. Louis to win, but would never share the blame for the city’s debilitated infrastructure, failing schools and depleting population. Frequenting attractions like the Armory bar, City Foundry, and the new Top Golf, is much easier and more convenient. So is crossing city lines once more on the ride home.
After the soccer game I, along with 22,000 others, mobbed city streets devoid of attention, barren at almost all other hours of any other day. From the brand-new, high-tech open-air stadium, we walked over collapsed sidewalks, loose gravel and mudded wood planks that replaced the city’s concrete path. Then, we “St. Louisans” saddled in cars, spilling onto highways designed to destroy city neighborhoods and accommodate suburban commuters during urban renewal. Through interstates, we returned to our own cities: the gated communities of the Central West End and University Hills, seemingly safe from St. Louis’ crime but only a short ride away from its liveliness; the rich hills of Ladue and Town and Country, far enough from the ills of closeness and community that mansions may be built; and to the suburban sprawl of South County and West County, home of strip malls, office parks and big box stores.
It felt great being under one roof, cheering for one team and imagining one city, even though I knew it wasn’t true. That night, we beat Inter-Miami CF 3-0, but since 1876, we’ve collectively gone 0 for 7 on city-county reunification attempts. Even before the city was officially partitioned, its identity was never complete or constant. St. Louis has been ruled by four empires and occupied by dozens of Native tribes.
Last January, as St. Louis’ resident rapper Sexyy Red ascended to national attention with her single “Pound Town,” I laughed at a tweet that read something like “If you don’t like Sexyy Redd, then you must hate St. Louis.” I assumed the tweet was sarcastic and ironic, because equating someone’s loyalty to the “Ghetto Superstar” (an album of hers) with their love of their city seems implausible … implausible because it’s a joke, and because Sexyy Red is from the county, specifically Normandy, not the city. The Twitter user does make a good point though: Nelly is getting old, and Sexyy Red might be all we’ve got to bring this collection of counties and municipalities together.
We all have reasons to feel whole. For advertisers and cooperations, it’s to make money. For the city’s teams, it’s fandom. And for residents of the greater St. Louis metropolitan area, it’s because it simply makes us feels good. I enjoy the uproar of the old Rams dome (home-away-from-home for the Arlington-based Battlehawks), and I can understand the hype around soccer — although I still won’t buy the $7 bottles of water at Citypark. I do want this city to be whole, yet until it is, our feelings are the products of advertising and marketing, chants and slogans. They attempt to unify a disunified city. They aren’t real, and unless they miraculously manifest politically and economically, they accomplish little in a divided city.
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