Disney on the James

By John Sarvay

Or call it Sixth Street Marketplace-Riverside. If there’s a formula for saving Richmond, rest assured there’s still time for some plucky youngster from VCU or South Dakota to package it, market it and make a few bucks. Until then, sit back and watch the Old Richmond Establishment make the same mistakes, over and over.

The Sixth Street Marketplace mistake was creating a mall in downtown, forgetting that the primary draw of a mall is location. In other words, the suburbs. That’s where the mall exists in some weird, symbiotic relationship that cannot be mirrored in the urban core.

VCU’s Biotech Research Park mistake will be missing the wave. Biotech parks riddle cities from the industrial Worcester, Massachusetts, to scenic Durham, North Carolina. More than 100 of them were built in the 80s. Which, incidentally, ended in 1992.

The mistake—the biggest mistake—made by Valentine Riverside is not having a reason to exist. Is it a museum, or an amusement park? By failing to answer either of those questions in Phase One, the park has set itself up for a big fall.

If you’ve wandered around Richmond, you’ve probably climbed the walls and enjoyed the industrial remnants of Tredeger Iron Works near Belle Island. Until May 28, you enjoyed them for free. That’s when the gates opened to one of the Holy Trinity of potential Saviors for our urban blight. (The aforementioned biotech park and anything proposed by one of the Ukrop boys are the other legs of this wobbly table.)

The merits of Valentine Riverside are almost without exception those very things that shouldn’t cost money. The crumbling walls and ironwork that mark the site of the old foundry are intriguing. The new African American monument is an appropriate acknowledgment of the contributions made by blacks to the city. And the on-site archeological digs and reconstructed bateaus are precisely the things that draw the casual wanderer. But not at nine bucks a pop.

After throwing down $5 for parking, enter the Pattern Building, which holds the gift shop, a small cinema, a large playroom for children and an exhibit. Once inside, plan on paying between $9 and $14 for one- or two-day passes.

Welcome to the multimedia history experience—”one that appeals to a mass audience,” the media kits reads. That’s the problem with marketing in the 90s.

The first stop is a slightly engaging (and thunderously loud) multimedia presentation, “Sons of Vulcan,” which explains Tredeger’s role in Richmond.

A bit melodramatic at times, and glossing over a few facts (Who’s going to believe that workers actually enjoyed a day at the foundry in 1880?), “Sons of Vulcan” is at least interesting.

The heart of the complex is on the third floor of the Pattern Building, where the interactive exhibit, “Windows on Richmond/Reflections of a Nation,” allow visitors to see recreations of Richmond from centuries ago. The traditional portions of the exhibit are well-designed and make the history of Richmond and Tredeger actually seem important.

It’s the “state-of-the-art” segments that fail to grab the “museum-goer’s” attention. Just because the technology is available doesn’t mean it should be used.

Once leaving the Pattern building, it’s back to nature. A vast field of sod (struggling to stay alive just days after the grand opening) holds a carousel and a fancy sandbox for the kids, an archeological dig, a monument to African-Americans (Where, hopefully, they intended to misspell the word “tumbleing” by leaving the “e” in it.) and a bateau.

Ticket holders can wander the grounds, stopping here and there to digest more Richmond history from outdoor display plaques. Better yet, they can grab a neon pink or green bicycle and tour Downtown and Church Hill, sans guide. Short raft trips onto the James and bus tours of the city are offered. Now that’s entertainment.

At night, the history of Richmond is revealed in that gaudy Presidential convention mode, splashed on the side wall of the Pattern Building in a noisy, mindless and flashy video display. “Richmond: A Place Called Hope.” Whoo-whee.

Since visiting the park, various encounters with non-Valentine museum and history professionals have elicited comments like “brainless” and “sad.” Normally, I’d chalk it up to jealousy, but after visiting Valentine-Riverside I’d say those comments were generous.

There’s one thing certain: It’s a sure bet that Governor G. Felix Allen is praying the folks at Disney’s America work some different magic before 1996.

The Valentine Museum promised fun and has glued together some strange amalgam of raft rides, bicycle rentals and tot lots. For nine bucks a person, they could have hired a few Klingons from Paramount to roam the grassy knolls and growl curses at visitors.

Bottom line: The Valentine’s advertising is right when it says “History will never be the same.” After all, they’ve done a reasonably good job of making a joke of it on the bank of the James.

Valentine-Riverside Suggestion Box It’s not too late to save Valentine-Riverside, and that’s why we’ve come up with some suggested additions to Richmond’s newest tourist attraction. In an informal poll of Richmonders, Caffeine continues it’s proud reputation as a cultural busybody. Free Admission. Better yet, pay people to visit the historic site. Public Floggings. Colonial Williamsburg and Jamestown have stockades, and the kids love‘em! Invite the public down for floggings conducted by various members of the Republican Party of Virginia. Entertainment should be coupled with a strong moral message for our youth. Flash photography encouraged. Build Some Pyramids. And other miniature reproductions of the Seven Wonders of the World. Parks need gimmicks. For that matter, so do cities. City Council Puppet Shows. Create marionettes using actual City Council members with heavy ropes tied to their limbs. Texas Cage Matches. What would draw a bigger crowd than a Texas Cage Match between Gene Cox and Charlie Fishburn? Very little. Toss two local media celebrities into a cage with machetes until one is left standing.