Campaign And Quarters

As Colum­bus began, the out­set of the War of 1812 gave it added pur­pose as a tem­po­rary gar­ri­son, a place for a few thou­sand troops to file in and out. As the young com­mu­ni­ty served the rov­ing army’s needs, it received in return a guar­an­tee that it would be able to stay in its place in the face of the threat of the British army and the tribes. But while the mil­i­tary would con­tin­ue to camp around the periph­ery in one form or anoth­er, from a Civ­il War POW camp to the ware­hous­es of today’s Defense Sup­ply Cen­ter, in the main it left behind the occu­py­ing force to estab­lish itself. Such an occu­py­ing force, detached from its mil­i­tary host, finds itself in the prob­lem of Xenophon – half-dis­band­ed in ambigu­ous ter­ri­to­ry. How to pre­serve its form? 

To set­tle can mean being a Lucas Sul­li­vant, giv­en a script to exe­cute at the head of a small band of fol­low­ers; but it may as eas­i­ly take oth­er forms of dis­ci­pline and coer­cion in space. Peo­ple, as mass­es, may be formed into a queue at a fair, or a chain gang at a road­side; in each case, their forced per­for­mance hap­pens in dia­logue with a land­scape about them. These mass­es may repeat the antag­o­nism of the mil­i­tary toward the land in dif­fer­ent shapes, the vio­lence increas­ing­ly covert under­neath. The mil­i­tary band looks down on the crowd from the town gaze­bo. The pro­ces­sion of the Macy’s Thanks­giv­ing Parade down Broad­way, with its col­lec­tion of high school bands, also dis­plays dis­ci­pline against the mot­ley crowd watch­ing. Behind the pageantry, the parade shows crys­tal­lized labor. It replaces the space of auto­mo­biles, glid­ing along with no effort, with a great strain­ing mass of work.

Every place for gen­er­al use – the lawns of parks, com­mu­ni­ty cen­ters and halls – was intend­ed in large part to serve such dor­mant mili­tias. The bowl­ing alone” com­plaint refers as well to the dis­band­ing of the vol­un­teer fire depart­ments, Shriners, and oth­er struc­tured vol­un­tary orga­ni­za­tions, orga­ni­za­tions that con­tin­ue the old­er con­ven­tion of mili­tia units sprin­kled through the coun­try­side, con­ven­ing reg­u­lar­ly on the green. But the march­ing band still tram­ples back and forth over the field of Ohio Sta­di­um, reen­act­ing the strug­gle over and over again. 

The state fair­ground here stays silent most of the year. Its great skin of asphalt bakes or shiv­ers in place, the win­dows of its many mid-sized sheds are dark, the stalls of its many sta­bles emp­ty and damp. The can­dy-col­ored ver­ti­cal ski lift defin­ing its spine swings vacant­ly over 17th Avenue. But the site rears to life dur­ing the fair, near­ly clogged with appa­ra­tus­es busi­ly spin­ning peo­ple around, seal­ing Almond Joys in bat­ter, demon­strat­ing advanced means of bal­ing hay. 4‑H’ers trot out their ponies in straw-strewn lots under vast shel­ter­ing roofs; Hol­steins lay under­neath an ele­vat­ed freight rail by the west­ern edge. As though squills were bloom­ing in a burnt savan­na, a dis­tinct field of objects sud­den­ly becomes vis­i­ble through the yawn­ing lawns and park­ing lots – trail­ers, campers, camp chairs, bales. In putting up their camp dis­play, these vis­i­tors go into a sort of social estrus; they decide to pull away from their local entan­gle­ments in Pataskala and Cen­ter­ville and coor­di­nate their actions in a new field. 

Like the uni­ver­si­ty a mile away, the fair­grounds is at once a zone of recre­ation and a test­ing ground. Both are lit­er­al­ly lev­el play­ing fields, where all of the amuse­ments dou­ble as tests of char­ac­ter – of stom­ach, of aim­ing abil­i­ty, of hus­bandry. The land­scape nec­es­sary for this assumes a take on the demo­c­ra­t­ic char­ac­ter dra­mat­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent from the min­is­ter­ing land­scape of an Olm­st­ed. No mat­ter the usu­al land­scape entan­gle­ments of calf or girl, they are here trans­ferred to the same shed, their orig­i­nal set­ting only to be guessed at, to be judged against one another.

In this way, odd­ly, the fair­grounds also take on a rep­re­sen­ta­tion­al char­ac­ter, an attempt­ed self-por­trait of Ohio – ren­dered here as a com­mon mar­ket of goods to browse through. It con­dens­es the expe­ri­enced real­i­ty of the rur­al world out­side, not through ide­al­iz­ing the land­scape of fields and high­ways it sits in, but by razor­ing that back­ground out alto­geth­er – as a book excis­es piles of notes and ref­er­ences into one order­ly rib­bon of thought. 

The Arca­di­an image of the university’s Oval is a not sim­ply a pleas­ing space, or an arbi­trary require­ment met, but a rep­re­sen­ta­tion­al stage unto itself. It sets forth a huge tract of flat land well-crossed by con­ve­nient roads, with a def­er­en­tial scrim around the edges of sycamore and oak. Stu­dents per­form their anx­i­ety and leisure as they cross, some (still!) with their noses in books, oth­ers doing cheer exer­cis­es on the broad tri­an­gles of lawn, oth­ers rep­re­sent­ing to their fel­lows the shame of priv­i­lege or infan­ti­cide or what-you-will. They rep­re­sent for any vis­it­ing gov­er­nor or regent the Youth of Ohio, play­ing on a con­ve­nient­ly Ohio-like grounds. Here, the young assets of the state are observed to appre­ci­ate in moral­i­ty and physique to the point where they can go beyond suf­fic­ing as mem­bers of soci­ety, and begin to return an appre­cia­ble prof­it. This is exem­pli­fied on the foot­ball field, where live­ly spec­i­mens and marched through their paces like quar­ter horses.

If landscape’s mean­ing depends upon the degree to which it is ani­mat­ed by peo­ple, the cam­pus land­scape makes the most sense on the morn­ing of a foot­ball game, where its voids are tak­en up by a unan­i­mous crowd of ami­ca­ble fol­low­ers. In the space around Ohio State’s home games, it becomes clear that the bod­ies break­ing and suc­ceed­ing on the field are only the cen­tral rit­u­al of what man­i­fests among a much larg­er pop­u­la­tion as com­mu­ni­ty. The fans redeem the idle spaces of a uni­ver­si­ty that has quite for­got­ten itself as a ver­dant aca­d­e­m­i­cal vil­lage and lapsed into blank access roads and park­ing garages. They set up their fold­ing chairs on medi­ans and shoul­ders; can­vas shel­ters, cool­ers, and hibachis in scar­let and gray hud­dle on the bald patch­es of what had been grass.

The game has its fas­ci­na­tions as a pro­ce­dur­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion of an aspect of the cul­ture at large – labor forces moved around by old white men to gain ter­ri­to­ry, for the sake of…gaining ter­ri­to­ry. But the game itself is only the key­stone of a larg­er struc­ture. This is true on the field itself, where the band is of near­ly equal impor­tance, and oth­er forces – the mas­cot and cheer team, the ghost­ly announc­er, the spe­cial guests from the com­mu­ni­ty – join­ing togeth­er in good order to keep the field occu­pied. And it extends to the field beyond, to thou­sands of satel­lite social occa­sions in the open air, from the sur­face lots of the sur­round­ing area to the lawns and patios of the end­less field beyond.

All of that turns around one metic­u­lous­ly main­tained 360’x160’ lawn. It makes pos­si­ble dis­plays of sen­ti­ment, the strug­gle of the foot­ball game as alter­nat­ed with the satyr plays of the supreme­ly well-drilled band. If the field makes the game even and pre­dictable, min­i­mal­ly liable to delays, it is no less the venue for the band to make mov­ing pic­tures with their bod­ies, arrang­ing them­selves into chug­ging loco­mo­tives, and final­ly the word Ohio itself, with a sousa­phone dot­ting the i. Here, the per­pet­u­al­ly old-fash­ioned march­ing band speaks to its func­tion as a mem­o­ry of the mil­i­tary cam­paign – the drilled group act­ing to make mean­ing of what is oth­er­wise an undif­fer­en­ti­at­ed green field.

(November 2024)