My Field of Dreams Saga: A Look at Magic, Memories and Yes, Baseball…

By Kevin Renick

“Is there a heaven?”
“Oh yes. It’s the place where dreams come true.”
— Ray and John Kinsella having a chat and much more, in Field of Dreams

I’m not sure exactly when I stopped believing in a supreme being or Deity. Maybe it came from reading too much about war and injustice in the world in my post-college years and not getting my many questions answered, maybe it was the cruel death of my mother just over a decade ago, when I practically begged God to let her live as she struggled from injuries incurred in an accident (God was apparently busy that day), or maybe it was just the inevitable result of years of soul searching. But the best I can do is call myself an agnostic these days. I’ve seen too much and heard too much, and though I’m all in with the notion of “primal forces of nature,” which Kevin Costner’s character references in Field of Dreams—definitely a film that matters greatly to me—I simply can’t give credence anymore to the idea of one all-powerful being, who makes all sorts of stuff happen for reasons we can’t comprehend. Is there a “God” out there? Prove it!

Despite my skepticism, however, I do like the notion that miracles can happen. And that there is magic in the universe, which we are sometimes lucky enough to be touched by or swept up in. I owe my music career and dozens of stunning moments with close friends, to what sure seems like magic. Or the universe winking a little. You can talk about “coincidences” or “fate” all you want, but…some things really do seem wildly improbable, even incomprehensible. You’re perfectly free to call such things “gifts from God.” And might God simply be the flow of positive energy in the world—the coming together of unlikely elements to create a stunning outcome for some of us? Who can say?

I wanted to begin my discussion of Field of Dreams by putting such questions out there, because this Kevin Costner vehicle, directed with uncanny soulfulness and emotional authenticity by relative newbie Phil Alden Robinson, is far more than just a baseball movie, which it is simplistically categorized as in some circles. Yes, it deals with the mythology and often epic nature of baseball, and yes, it uses the scandalous 1919 Chicago White Sox series featuring “Shoeless” Joe Jackson as a key plot element. But if it were just a cool baseball film, I wouldn’t be typing this essay. It’s because of the movie’s depiction of unfathomable miracles, faith in following crazy impulses, and the possibility of redemption on the deepest possible level, that I am moved to discuss it. The movie itself has become a kind of miracle, I’d say. From the director apologetically telling Shoeless Joe author W.P. Kinsella early on that the Hollywood financers didn’t like his novel’s title and insisted it be changed to “Field of Dreams” for the movie (something Kinsella didn’t mind at all—he originally wanted to call his book Dream Field); to the discovery of the perfect location for the story’s farm in Dyersville, Iowa, leading to a stunningly profitable tourist attraction for global visitors and dramatically changing the lives of the two families who owned the land; to the film’s fame as one of the few movies men will admit crying over; and, most recently, to an incredible major league baseball game between the Chicago White Sox and the New York Yankees actually played at the site, with grandly expanded seating and a truly mythic game that ended with a White Sox victory so memorable and unlikely, it was like the site itself had scripted the headline-grabbing event. Something powerful is behind this movie and this location. Something you can’t fully explain. Yes, it’s kind of magical.

“If you build it, he will come” is one of the most recognizable lines of movie dialogue of all time, widely used in all sorts of advertising and usually changed to “If you build it, THEY will come,” which, while effective, would cost you dearly on any game show where they insisted on accuracy. No, it’s that first utterance that Ray Kinsella, Costner’s character, hears whispered prominently as he is making his way through the cornfield on his farm one day. He is puzzled, then genuinely freaked out as the words are uttered a few more times. Say what? If you build WHAT, WHO will come? This is just the first of several mysteries Ray must attempt to solve, not an easy feat. With some sort of uncanny intuition, he comes to the conclusion that he is supposed to build a baseball field in the middle of all those tall corn stalks, and that if he does, perhaps his dad’s favorite baseball player—Shoeless Joe—will get to come and play ball again despite being banned from the game for his part in “throwing” a series. It’s made very clear early in the movie that Ray and his dad were NOT buddies; they were on the outs for most of Ray’s life, and Ray was so rebellious he wouldn’t even play “catch” with his dad, something most boys likely did with their fathers growing up. Ray regrets this deeply, and is haunted by the fact his father died before he could do ANYTHING to mend their broken connection. If you’ve seen Field of Dreams, you know how important this sense of regret is, and how some “primal force” in the universe was watching Ray Kinsella, offering him a complex chance for redemption. For the unlikely minority that may NOT have seen the film, I won’t spoil the absolutely entrancing climax to the film by simply stating it here. But do yourself a favor: watch the film. It has plot treasures galore, believe me.

At great risk, Ray does indeed build his baseball field, practically bankrupting the farm, as his supportive wife Annie (Amy Madigan) warns him is likely to happen.  She understands that Ray is trying to prove something to himself—his dad apparently never took any risks in life, and Ray wants to demonstrate that he himself IS willing to take some chances before he dies. But Annie grows impatient when further incomprehensible utterances from “the voice” occur, such as “Go the distance” and “Ease his pain.” Somehow Ray thinks he is supposed to contact a reclusive and legendary author, Terrence Mann (James Earl Jones), who had dreamed of playing for the Brooklyn Dodgers as a child. But Mann lives in Boston, far from the rural Iowa farm where Ray and Annie currently have increasing difficulties. Annie is against Ray pursuing yet another hare-brained scheme. But he’s insistent. “We’re dealing with primal forces of nature here,” he tells her, “and when primal forces of nature tell you to do something, it’s not prudent to quibble over details.” I love that line, always have. It’s so much richer and more evocative than the over-used religious counterpart, “God told me to do this.”

At this point, I should start talking about my own experiences with this movie. First of all, I found it deeply haunting on every level. The score by James Horner is one of my all-time favorites, evoking emotions that run the gamut from deep sadness to profound, stunned gratitude over life’s periodic miracles. And although I grew up on baseball, collected baseball cards for a few years as a teen, and followed the St. Louis Cardinals mostly enthusiastically through the years, that wasn’t the thing I found spellbinding about Field of Dreams. I was drawn more by the theme of a “solitary quest” that you couldn’t fully explain…the notion that you needed to find meaning in some private way. After I’d seen the film probably three or four times early on, adopting the soundtrack as a deeply personal sonic statement for my own life, I decided, in 1991 I believe it was, that I wanted to visit the site where it was filmed in Dyersville, Iowa. I’d quit a job as a proofreader for a medical journal, getting bored by the stifling atmosphere and having real problems with a co-worker. I wanted a nice long break. So I created a travel itinerary that would take me through Iowa, then to a stay with my sister in Milwaukee, and then on up to northern Michigan where I could visit a good friend as well as experience some much-desired wilderness. I was a lonesome guy at this time, NOT feeling successful or fulfilled on any level, and knowing I was in a “soul searching” mode. I stopped for a meal in Dyersville before I went to the farm, collecting any pamphlets I could find and asking questions of servers. This was a little before the Field of Dreams site was truly a well-established tourist destination; it was really the beginning of a kind of “cosmic buzz.” I was beyond excited as I drove up that winding Iowa road, saw the trademark signs, and saw the clean, well-contoured baseball field before my eyes for the very first time. The depth of my own emotions upon being here was rather surprising to me. There were two souvenir stands and I bought a t-shirt and a coffee mug to commemorate my visit. I watched people playing catch and doing batting practice on the field. Everyone was friendly; you were welcome to do anything within reason here. You could even wander around among the cornstalks, which I certainly did. It was a gorgeous, clear early fall morning as I recall. I wanted to sit in those bleacher seats, quietly, and just take it all in. I watched fathers and sons, husbands and wives, take their turn at the plate. I was mesmerized, honestly, but also melancholy. I snapped some photos. I couldn’t exactly express everything I was feeling. Then a woman’s voice startled me. “Would you like a picture of yourself?” she said. This seemed really improbable at the time. Why would a complete stranger offer to take my picture, when I wasn’t even sitting that close to her? The woman was young-ish, perhaps in her thirties, and she was just all smiles. “Gosh, that is awfully nice of you,” I think I said. “I actually really WOULD love a photo.” I handed her my little camera, and had her take a couple of quick shots. I don’t honestly remember if I then offered to take HER photo. I just remember she was warm and friendly, and just smiling a lot. She was as glad to be here as I was. This came to be something I always associated with this place, as I’d return for an even more memorable visit a few years later. People were HAPPY here. They smiled, they took photos, they played a little baseball, they posed for pics in the cornstalks, pretending they were the “ghost players” like Ray Liotta’s Shoeless Joe and other mysterious baseball legends in the film. They would wander around, often with a beatific look on their faces. The vibe was just uncanny at this place, truly. The movie was called Field of Dreams, and what you couldn’t help feeling…at least I couldn’t…was that everyone was searching for their own field of dreams. Everyone loved baseball, everyone had people they cared about and longed to bond with, everyone wanted to believe in magic. It really was just that simple.

I had two very close friends at this time, the Brazier brothers Brett and Barry, who were fraternal twins. For a period of at least two decades, starting in the late 70s, these two were facilitators of just about the most fun I’ve ever had consistently: non-stop laughter, outright silliness completely the opposite of how I generally found myself behaving, and both moviegoing and concertgoing experiences that gave rise to endless motifs and memory sharing in later years. Youthful masculine bonding experiences were more pronounced with the three of us than anything I’d had before or since. They were just the silly, simple good-time guys and I was the often sarcastic intellectual that needed to loosen up whenever possible. And they sure let me do that. These were days when going to movies was something we did often, and I encouraged that. I introduced them to Field of Dreams. Sometimes when we would watch a film together, their reactions were quite different from mine. But I could tell easily they loved this movie. By the time we watched it a second time together, they were quoting lines from it with me. “If you build it, he will come” and “Go the distance” were regular utterances for all three of us, in different contexts. Brett took great delight in telling the story of how he showed the movie to his young daughter Stasy, and she laughed and laughed at the scene where Costner’s character is initially rebuffed by James Earl Jones’ charismatic author, especially when he snaps “So piss off!” and shuts the door on Kinsella. Therefore, THAT became a motif, and at a wonderful Brazier family cookout one weekend, we were talking about the movie, sharing some lines. Brett said “Why don’t you piss off?” to Stasy, and she giggled uproariously. On this same day, I believe we played a little baseball at a nearby field, and one of us, could have been me, said “See if you can hit the curveball” from the pitcher’s mound, a line that Costner says to Liotta’s character early in their interaction. This sort of thing went on and on. And I distinctly remember Brett commenting on one of his favorite scenes, when the younger version of the “Moonlight” Graham character (played as an old man, memorably, by Burt Lancaster in his final screen appearance), gets to bat at last. Moonlight Graham had previously told Ray Kinsella that one of his unrealized dreams was to bat in the major leagues, to connect with the bat and “stretch a double into a triple…and slide headfirst into the bag.” In the movie’s magical world, “Archie” Graham, the youngster, is given a chance to play and come up to bat during a real game. He connects with the bat all right, getting a solid hit and yes, stretching a double into a triple. Costner’s character smiles at him, and the actor who plays Archie, Frank Whaley, nods and gives a beaming smile back, his eyes positively twinkling. Brett found this to be a “knowing” look, some sort of deep acknowledgment, that the character was aware that magic was happening. Brett wasn’t often given to philosophical musings, but I will simply never forget this moment from the film, and how it affected him. And there were plenty of others for both of my friends…

The three of us took a number of memorable road trips in the 80s and early 90s, and perhaps it was inevitable we’d go to the Dyersville film site. I don’t think I had to twist their arms very hard for this one. It was now the mid-90s, and the movie had long since been recognized as a classic, with ever larger crowds making the pilgrimage to eastern Iowa. The souvenir stands were still there, and the field looked more mythic and beautiful than ever before. An interesting detail about this visit: on the drive up, Barry was suffering from some kind of bad head cold; he was NOT real talkative as Brett and I mostly were. Yes, he wanted to see the place, but he admitted he just didn’t feel that well. He told us later that, mysteriously, once we arrived, he felt much better. As with my previous visit, the weather was perfect. Again, literally EVERYONE was smiling and happy. Although you had to wait your turn if you wanted to bat at the one home plate that existed, smaller games of “catch” were taking place in the outfield and on the sidelines. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a little baseball action. Our turn came, and I thought it was more important for Brett and Barry to get the main action here than me. They both got to bat, and I took an absolute wonderful photo of Brett on the mound pitching to Barry. One of them got shots of me coming out of the cornstalks. We were all in states of bliss, soaking up this unmatched atmosphere to our heart’s content. And at least a few times in subsequent years, when we reminisced about our trip to Dyersville, Barry would remark how strange it was that his illness disappeared at the Field of Dreams. It would return shortly after we left. Conclude from that what you will…

This wasn’t my only spectacular time with the boys, but it was definitely one of the most magical. I’d learn to immerse myself as fully as I could in later times with them, and during special times in general in my life. I seemed to always sense, or FEAR, that good times couldn’t last and that important things could easily be lost if you didn’t pay attention. These special friends would eventually drift out of my life as adult demands set in. One of my personal favorite scenes and bits of dialogue in the movie is Costner’s initial conversation with Lancaster in Doc Graham’s office. Graham has shared his unfulfilled dream of batting in the majors, talking about the day he got to take the field. He says, “We just don’t recognize life’s most significant moments while they’re happening. Back then I thought, ‘Well, there’ll be other days.’ I didn’t realize that that was the ONLY day.”  This meaningful insight has resonated with me strongly ever since. I have quoted it in different contexts through the years, and it informs much of the way I look at things, often with deep melancholy. Regrets, I’ve had a few... And Field of Dreams can’t help but cause some soul searching among many viewers. Apparently it’s done that pervasively with males, in the context of their own relationships with fathers they may or may not have been close to.

Myself, I was NOT particularly close to my dad. I thought he was an excessively angsty, insecure, loud-voiced, selfish conversationalist who could never stop talking. Yes, he loved us four kids and he adored Mom, but he grew increasingly abrasive and clueless through the years, in my opinion. I tried to bond with him in various phases of my life (through camping, fishing and some photography trips), but this was to become more and more uncommon by the time I reached my late 20s or so. Still, he made me THINK about what made him the way he was, and how he may not have gotten the best deal when HE was raised. There was an occasion in the late 80s or early 90s, and it honestly wasn’t connected to the movie at least on my conscious level, when I was gifted with a pair of tickets to a Cardinals baseball game. These could be hard to come by; everyone was happy to get tickets. I remember having a conversation with myself about who to invite: was there a girl I could take on an exciting date? What about Brett or Barry? But no, I decided to ask my dad. I mentioned this to my mom first, and she said “I think that would be very nice.” I’m pretty sure this was the one and only time I invited my dad to a baseball game. We simply weren’t that close. But…he was flattered and excited. I decided to be on my best behavior and be a “good son.” There were no arguments, no drama, just Dad and me going to a baseball game. I knew it was a rarity. And yes, it was. I would think of this day some years later, when my dad suffered a stroke that dramatically limited his speech and ended his ability to walk. No more hikes, no more photography excursions. He soon had to enter a nursing home, where his life consisted of watching a handful of TV shows and waiting for the nurse to bathe him or bring him food. He became uncommonly gentle and childlike in the home. Unable to shout or dominate conversations anymore, he would simply listen to what you said or look at what you brought him and say “thank you.” Or more commonly, “Bless you.” My only chance for a Field of Dreams type redemption was visiting him and trying to find a fun program for us to watch on TV together. I tried to be nice, and was as patient as I could be. My dad wasn’t going to be around much longer. He was now totally dependent, and nothing could be done about that. When I watched Field of Dreams in later years, a whole new level of melancholy set in with the father-son aspects of the film. There are articles out there where men tell detailed stories about their fathers—some joyous, and some very, very sad. And all expressing how the movie genuinely “got to them.” And while the Ray Kinsella character has that one specific demon he struggles with, and a transcendent chance for redemption thanks to “primal forces of nature,” many of us live with regrets that we DON’T get to resolve. People hurt each other all the time, both in families and friendships. So I know that part of my deep connection with Field of Dreams has to do with wishing for that second chance, that thing you always wish you could make better. Love, compassion and self-awareness are built into the fabric of this movie. Repeat viewings make that crystal-clear. When Shoeless Joe smiles and says to Kinsella near the end, “If you build it, HE will come,” there is a strong, primal reaction for many viewers, including me. You can read a religious theme into it, or you can be philosophical in a different sense. “If you push harder, take chances, and follow your crazy dream, something genuinely amazing might happen.” I believe that is one of the take-aways. And you can apply that in different ways.

But what about the baseball content? You might be asking that question by now as you read this. Oh, it’s there in the film, all right. It’s there, in the things Shoeless Joe says about how he loved the sights and smells of the game, in the famous James Earl Jones speech about how “baseball has marked the time” in America and endured through terrible chapters, it’s there in the eager words of young Archie Graham, who talks about traveling on buses to get to play. And perhaps most poignantly, it’s there when Ray’s young daughter says with a sense of wonder in one scene, “Daddy you don’t have to sell the farm. People will come! They’ll come to Iowa to see the game….like when they were little kids…” Baseball was a magical part of childhood for so many of us, whether we listened to games on the radio, hanging on a good announcer’s lively delivery and thrilling to the sound of a home run, or watching with buddies on a big modern television. Here in St. Louis, the Cardinals have been a storied team with a legion of legendary players that have come and gone. The truly improbable 2011 pennant race and subsequent World Series, which made David Freese a household name for his heroics, inspired me to write my one and only baseball song, which I simply called, yes, “David Freese.” I let myself say, in my own way, what baseball could mean and how it had changed through the years. But that magic I spoke of earlier has always been a part of what people love about the game. No matter what team you root for, something fabulous and unprecedented COULD happen. And people have been talking at water coolers and friends’ houses for DECADES about that game the night before, and the “miracle” that happened. Well, it was kind of a miracle that a deeply resonant movie was made with baseball at the center of the story as well as the notion of magic and miracles in general. It was a stunner that a tiny town in rural Iowa could start drawing people from all over the world to come see…a baseball field surrounded by corn fields. They wanted to be touched, and to be reminded of something good from their past. And to smile at other people. How many places do you know where THAT happens? It’s a miracle that Major League Baseball pulled off a brilliant televised game at the site this past summer, with an appearance by the film’s star Kevin Costner talking about the movie’s enduring appeal, a thunderous response beyond all expectations, a game filled with magic and a truly movie-like ending with the White Sox in a come-from-behind victory that fans still can’t stop talking about. And MLB has already announced that another game will be scheduled in Dyersville next year.

So, YES. “People will come.” The long line of cars with their headlights on in the final scene of Field of Dreams should be viewed, perhaps, as a metaphor. That a whole lot of us out there in the darkness will seek out magic if you can offer it. A whole lot of us out there want something that can get taken away, or has been already. A whole lot of us crave, yes, a miracle. That differs for everyone, of course. But we want the thing in life that transcends, that really makes us feel like exuberant, happy children. It could be a baseball game. It could be a loving friend. It could be to see someone you really, really miss. It could be any dream that YOU got to see come true. Because you worked for it. You believed. You took a crazy chance and “plowed under your cornfield,” symbolically. You heard a voice…just maybe. I don’t know about that God thing, exactly. But the sky that occasionally winks at you? The primal forces of nature? The beckoning, powerful voice? Yep, they’re out there. Are you listening?