Chapter 1: The Coliseum cause calls for its champions

My friend Mike can enlist your help before you even realize you're being drafted. Of course, you have to want to be drafted, and it turns out I did. I didn't know it, but in hindsight, I was so ready to be drawn into championing a cause worth fighting for.

I ran into Mike at a school fall fest in 2014… one of those trunk-or-treat things. 

"How's it going, Mike?" 

He had an exasperated look on his face that said, "Oh man, not good… not good at all."

"What's wrong, Mike?!"

"You haven't heard?,” he said. “They're going to tear down the Coliseum, that's all."

The Mid-South Coliseum was Memphis' 60s-era, mid-century modern masterpiece. In its prime, it had been the center of cultural life in Memphis and the Mid-South, and more. It was the first public assembly building built in the South to be imagined, designed and built with racial integration in mind. It hosted thousands of concerts from Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding to Kiss, Prince, Sinatra and the Beatles. In fact, the Coliseum was where the Beatles held their press conference when protests over John Lennon saying the Beatles were "more popular than Jesus" reached a fever pitch.

And it was Elvis' hometown venue. He played there often and he loved it. So much so that, after he died, the family considered having him lie in state there to accommodate fans paying their respects.

"Oh, Mike, surely that won't happen. They would never do that."

"Read the paper, man. It's happening. Short-sighted people who don't care that Memphis was the fertile crescent for 20th Century American culture have plans, and it looks like they've got the votes. It's all about making money. No vision. No heart. Just stale ideas and greed."

In the coming days, I couldn't stop thinking about it. What a tragedy that would be. The center of Memphis cultural life for all of us, destroyed. Why?

Mike started railing about it passionately on social media. Long-form screeds that were getting everyone riled up.

I had an idea. 

"Mike, you should write an op ed for the newspaper. I'm a PR guy. I'll act as your editor and pitch the idea to the opinion page editor."

"I need another movement like I need a hole in the head," he said flatly.

A few days passed. Mike would not let the issue rest.

"Mike, you've practically written the op ed on Facebook. Let me put something together. The paper is interested." 

"Okay," he said. "Not sure if it'll do a damn bit of good, but alright."

Mike's column blew up. Everyone was sharing it on social media. Between that and a "save the Coliseum" petition circulating, the Coliseum was truly the talk of the town.

At the same time, outspoken restaurateur Tyler Barker had written his own op ed critical of the project, not for love of the Coliseum, but for his dislike of Robert Lipscomb, the all-powerful city director of housing and community development. 

Lipscomb held all the cards, knew where all the bodies were buried and had markers to call in with everyone… city council people, developers, you name it. 

Tyler took exception to the plan's funding mechanism, a tourism development zone, or TDZ, which Lipscomb had famously been quoted as referencing in the paper saying, "Let's just go to Nashville and get the money, then figure out what we want to do with it." This struck us all as bad planning, and no one wanted to see someone wanting to bulldoze the Coliseum given a giant stack of cash to do whatever they wanted. Everyone told us it was a clear-out for Lipscomb, and that we were fools for standing in his way. 

I reached out to Tyler and we met up for a beer. We agreed we didn't like the plan and thought the TDZ had not been given enough thought. I had hoped to enlist Tyler’s help in drawing attention to the plight of the Coliseum, but he was indifferent about the Coliseum. He took exception to the "Lipscomb the bulletproof kingmaker" narrative, and the gall it took to put taxpayers on the hook for decades to pay off a bad plan. Both of us wanted to stop Lipscomb, even if we had different reasons. 

"I want to do some sort of event with speakers and call it WTF is a TDZ?" he said.

We both laughed out loud.

Then I realized he was serious.

My branding and PR brain kicked on. 

"We can't really call it that," I said. "Your older folks and staid actors will just stay home. How about Fairgrounds Forum?"

"I like that, too," he said. "Let's go with that."

And with that, we started planning.

The idea was simple. An open forum where people could share their concerns about the Fairgrounds redevelopment and TDZ. Now that Mike was feeling the rising sentiment his op ed had galvanized, it was an easy sell to get him to work it into a talk for Fairgrounds Forum.

"Sure thing. I'll start working on it," he said. "By the way, there's a meeting at Memphis Heritage tonight about all this. You oughta come."

"I'll try to swing by, Mike."

Besides Mike, Tyler and I wanted to make sure we had a good mix of speakers who could make different cases for opposing the redevelopment plan. I decided going to the Memphis Heritage meeting could help me learn the different viewpoints and surface additional speakers, so I went. Tyler worked the phones with his political connections and secured two key members of the county commission, Republican Mark Billingsley and Democrat Reginald Milton.

As I drove to Memphis Heritage, the city's preservationist nonprofit, I took a deep breath and thought, "They'll know what to do." 

I had goaded Mike into writing the op ed and was planning a forum with Tyler to let people have their say, "but I'm no activist," I thought. 

Memphis Heritage had saved Overton Square from the wrecking ball, after all. 

"That's where the real activists are," I thought. "Surely I'll meet the true resistance tonight, and, hopefully, Mike and I can get them working on this."

At that point, I saw my commitment lasting through the forum, and then others would surely take over, right?

At the meeting, we indeed met the ranks of the dyed-in-the-wool activists, but they wanted to know what we planned to do. Mike said he and I were working on a presentation for a forum that Tyler and I were planning. I told people where things stood and people seemed excited. Mike had other ideas about what ought to happen.

We were the only ones talking. We were the ones with the fire in the gut!

As we left, Mike and I made plans to meet up with a graphic designer Mike had enlisted to build a PowerPoint for his talk, with archival pictures of the Coliseum in its heyday. "Gordon's going to meet us there, too. He has some ideas. Oh, and you need to meet my friend Jordan. He could really help us."

Who were these people and who was "us?" I drove home excited, but with a sinking feeling that I'd really gotten myself into something. I focused on helping Mike with his talk and publicizing the Fairgrounds Forum.

On the night of the forum, I got to Circuit Playhouse early, only to find that the place was already packed -- three TV crews and two print media outlets were already there. I checked in with them to let them know who Mike was, where he was in the order of speakers, and how I could help facilitate interviews with him.

Mike's talk got a great response. Mike's a filmmaker, artist and musician, and he really knows how to work an audience. He had notes in his hand, but he never looked at them past the first cheer. Mike spoke from the heart about the Coliseum, about its music history… the Beatles, James Brown, Elvis… how it'd been the place where Jerry Lawler wrestled actor Andy Kaufman… how it had been the place that brought Black and white Memphis together to cheer on Orange Mound's favorite son, Larry Finch, who'd led the '73 Tigers to the NCAA title game and been a source of pride for Black Memphis. The crowd roared their approval for what Mike said and gave him a standing ovation. He practically floated offstage.

He was equally electric on camera for the TV interviews afterward. The talk, and the response he got, had given him a next-level energy.

The challenge was getting all the reporters what they needed. As Mike held forth with one media crew, I stalled for time with the others.

"Hey man," one TV reporter said. "Can you do the interview? I gotta get back to the station and file this story."

I hesitated, but then I realized I'd seen him get comments from the city and that worried me. "It'll lean positive for the city's plan," I thought. "We need to be in this piece for balance."

"Mike is really your man," I said. 

Just then I looked over, and Mike was mic'ing up for another interview. He would be tied up for the next 10 minutes.

"Sure, I'll do the interview," I said, and I got goosebumps as I threaded the lav mic cable up my shirt, just like I'd done a thousand times before as a PR guy, but never in this context, never with these talking points.

I nailed the interview like I was born to do it. 

When I caught up with Mike, we were both buzzing from everything that had happened. 

"I had to take one of the interviews myself. Sorry, I had to,” I said. "The reporter had a filing deadline."

"Cool!" he said. "I'm sure you did great. I mean, you do this all the time, right? Hey, I'm meeting up with Jordan. He's got an idea about what we can do with my presentation next."

I begged off. It had been a heady night, but I needed to take stock before I did anything else.

On the ride home I realized I had flipped a switch. All my reluctance had fallen away with that one on-camera interview. As I looked the reporter in the eye and spoke the words I realized, Mike's cause had become mine. 

The call had come, and I would no longer duck it and try to stay on the sidelines. I accepted the call. I was part of "we" and "us." 

We were the leaders we were waiting for.

By the time I got home, my social media feeds were already full of the media stories from the event. People wanted to know what Mike and I planned to do next.

"Next?" I thought, and I smiled. "Oh shit!"

Turns out after the Fairgrounds Forum, Mike and Jordan had stayed up to the wee hours talking about how to turn Mike's talk into an information kit. Jordan came up with the name Coliseum Coalition that night. Before I knew it, Mike and Jordan had produced 30 copies of the info kit, and Mike had descended on Mayor Wharton's State of the City address the next day, handing out info kits and talking to anyone who would listen about the Coliseum Coalition's plans. He gave packets to the mayor, city council members, members of the media and to Lipscomb, who pulled Mike aside to ask just what we wanted and what objections to the TDZ plan we had. 

"We can't be sentimental about an old building," he told Mike. "I have memories, too, but the consultants say it's an obsolete building whose time has passed."

In the coming days Mike, Jordan and I spent a lot of time driving around in Mike's car talking through what we were going to do as the Coliseum Coalition. In what seemed like no time, I had gone from helping a friend sound off in the paper to being the spokesman for a movement. At this point, I had accepted that, but I was still trying to get my bearings. We talked through everything we knew, and we drove through the neighborhoods around the Fairgrounds to get a sense of it. It was like we drew energy from the movement driving around the Coliseum and through the surrounding neighborhoods, as we soaked in every contextual clue. We spent a lot of time just parked outside the Coliseum looking at it. It was the dead of winter, so when we'd get cold, Mike would crank the car on and run the heat.

Media inquiries cropped up. People wanted to know who these crazy people were who would dare stand up to Lipscomb. 

A well-meaning friend pulled me aside to caution me.

"Man, I love your energy for our city, Marvin, but I don't want to see you get hurt." By that, I think he meant my reputation, but there was an urgency in his eyes.

"You don't mean physical harm, do you?" I asked.

"Powerful people stand to make a lot of money off this is all I'm saying," he said. "Think about that. Think about your family. You're an up-and-coming public figure in the right circles. You don't want to jeopardize all that for a lost cause, do you?"

I tried to make the case for the Coliseum on the merits, but he cut me off.

"That's all well and good, but this is Lipscomb's career-ending bookend. He's energized from remaking the Pyramid into the world's biggest Bass Pro Shop and he feels invincible. He's bringing in all his markers to make this happen as his big finale. What chance do you guys have against all that? You'll never save that building, so why risk yourself? If I were you, I'd stand down before it's too late."

It was too late. I was all in. So were others who were beginning to get in touch to offer help. On my ride home I realized the talk had only made me more resolved to do this work. Mike called before I got home.

"Lipscomb wants to meet with us," he said.

"Great," I said. "Things are moving quickly, huh?" 

“Why does Lipscomb want to meet with us?" I thought. "If he holds all the cards, why does he need us?"

I found out later from Tyler that the county commission had pulled its resolution in support of Lipscomb's Fairgrounds TDZ plan from its agenda. They had concerns that would need to be addressed before they could vote. 

That vote would never happen. We had thrown a monkey wrench into Lipscomb's plan. 

State law requires that a TDZ application must have the support of the local government. Lipscomb had gotten that support from the city council before news had ever surfaced, but since Memphis has city and county government, the doubt caused at Fairgrounds Forum, especially from the county commissioners who were worried about how it would affect businesses in their districts, meant Lipscomb now had a divided local government.

He couldn't go to Nashville to seek the TDZ funds. We had won an important ceasefire and now he had to deal with us.