obtained. But it was plenty deep for the era—the accepted world record for hitting a baseball had been set a few years before in Cincinnati by Reds outfielder Mike Mitchell, who, using a fungo bat, managed to drive a ball 413 feet, 8½ inches in the air. But in reality, under game conditions in the Dead Ball Era, any drive much more than 300 feet in the air was considered extraordinary, and few outfielders played more than 250 feet from home plate. In Cincinnati's new park, Redland Field, the fence nearest to home plate was still 360 feet away, a distance so great, according to one paper that "it is doubtful a ball will ever be hit over the fence."
Under these conditions the size of the lot selected by the Taylors was more than sufficient to hold a ballpark. The shape of the plot of land and the resulting ballpark was not, as John Updike once famously, but incorrectly, described it, "a compromise between Man's Euclidian determinations and Nature's beguiling irregularities," for at the time Fenway was built, apart from a few buildings on Lansdowne Street, no other buildings bordered the parcel. Fenway Park's footprint was created by a surveyor's transit, not by livestock wandering the streets. The Fenway Park site was surrounded on three sides by raw land and empty, undeveloped lots. In the end the new park was built from the borders of the property inward simply to use all available space, not because concerns about the dimensions of the field required that it be so spacious. Had there been any desire to make Fenway Park symmetrical, it could have easily been done. The notion that Fenway is misshapen owing to the restriction of surrounding streets is a perception that developed long after the park was built, when the "lively ball" came into play, the game expanded, and the city grew to surround the park, making Fenway appear today as if it is crammed into too small a space.
Yet over the course of McLaughlin's discussions with Taylor about the new park, the club owner, who in turn was discussing the project with Ban Johnson and others, kept vacillating over one significant issue. Both during the original construction and during the Fenway Park reconstruction of 1933–34, the press reported that the original foundations for the park were built to support a second deck, yet as originally designed and built the park featured a grandstand with only a single tier. Taylor probably went back and forth on the issue, weighing the cost of a second deck against its economic benefit, before reaching a compromise with his architect. Although McLaughlin's final design would include only a single tier of stands, the foundations put in place would be sufficient to support a second deck in the event that the club ever decided to add one in the future. That single decision, more than any other, has allowed Fenway Park to remain viable to this day, for it has allowed the park to evolve in ways that would have otherwise been impossible.
In Boston's Back Bay and the Fenway, building foundations were not insignificant, and indeed, their design and construction remain challenging even today. The amount of filled land and the height of the water table make building there complicated. Inadequate or ill-designed foundations can sink and settle in the water-laden earth, causing entire structures to become unstable. To counteract the effect, many buildings built before the turn of the century, like the McKim Building of the Boston Public Library, were supported, not on stone or concrete, but on wooden pilings set below the water table to prevent dry rot. Other buildings essentially float on a sealed foundation bathtub or were built on caissons, a sealed watertight structure that allows excavation to take place until a stable surface is reached. Fortunately, Fenway Park was not built on filled land. Still, an abnormally high water table due to the proximity of the Charles River made the park's foundations an early concern. Like those of most other
Under these conditions the size of the lot selected by the Taylors was more than sufficient to hold a ballpark. The shape of the plot of land and the resulting ballpark was not, as John Updike once famously, but incorrectly, described it, "a compromise between Man's Euclidian determinations and Nature's beguiling irregularities," for at the time Fenway was built, apart from a few buildings on Lansdowne Street, no other buildings bordered the parcel. Fenway Park's footprint was created by a surveyor's transit, not by livestock wandering the streets. The Fenway Park site was surrounded on three sides by raw land and empty, undeveloped lots. In the end the new park was built from the borders of the property inward simply to use all available space, not because concerns about the dimensions of the field required that it be so spacious. Had there been any desire to make Fenway Park symmetrical, it could have easily been done. The notion that Fenway is misshapen owing to the restriction of surrounding streets is a perception that developed long after the park was built, when the "lively ball" came into play, the game expanded, and the city grew to surround the park, making Fenway appear today as if it is crammed into too small a space.
Yet over the course of McLaughlin's discussions with Taylor about the new park, the club owner, who in turn was discussing the project with Ban Johnson and others, kept vacillating over one significant issue. Both during the original construction and during the Fenway Park reconstruction of 1933–34, the press reported that the original foundations for the park were built to support a second deck, yet as originally designed and built the park featured a grandstand with only a single tier. Taylor probably went back and forth on the issue, weighing the cost of a second deck against its economic benefit, before reaching a compromise with his architect. Although McLaughlin's final design would include only a single tier of stands, the foundations put in place would be sufficient to support a second deck in the event that the club ever decided to add one in the future. That single decision, more than any other, has allowed Fenway Park to remain viable to this day, for it has allowed the park to evolve in ways that would have otherwise been impossible.
In Boston's Back Bay and the Fenway, building foundations were not insignificant, and indeed, their design and construction remain challenging even today. The amount of filled land and the height of the water table make building there complicated. Inadequate or ill-designed foundations can sink and settle in the water-laden earth, causing entire structures to become unstable. To counteract the effect, many buildings built before the turn of the century, like the McKim Building of the Boston Public Library, were supported, not on stone or concrete, but on wooden pilings set below the water table to prevent dry rot. Other buildings essentially float on a sealed foundation bathtub or were built on caissons, a sealed watertight structure that allows excavation to take place until a stable surface is reached. Fortunately, Fenway Park was not built on filled land. Still, an abnormally high water table due to the proximity of the Charles River made the park's foundations an early concern. Like those of most other
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