The battle began soon after the Rocky phenomenon took hold. Before Rocky, Philadelphia had long been a city of two diametrically opposed traditions, existing peacefully side by side, occasionally rubbing against each other, but rarely colliding. Founded in 1682 by William Penn, the I city had been dominated for centuries by his Anglo-Saxon descendants who had spoken the King’s English, lived genteelly among their teacups and art, and settled in groups along the exclusive Main Line and expensive suburbs. It wasn’t until the early part of this century when waves of impoverished Italian immigrants settled in the southern part of the city that the established group met its match, both in numbers and conviction.
For though the newcomers spoke broken English or no English at all; though they lived in small row houses on tiny, crowded streets; though their neighborhoods were working class and often grim, they were vocal and proud and determined to thrive. Separate but equal was the way they saw themselves.
To their affluent predecessors, as long as the newcomers were separate, they could be as equal as they pleased. So the two sides staked out their territories, established their claims and pursued their disparate lifestyles and dreams. The art museum, concert halls and theaters belonged to the Main Liners. The sports stadiums, pizza joints and street corners belonged to South Philadelphia.
In the mid-1970s Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky Balboa put Philadelphia on the movie-star map. The city that had slept for the last 100 years and had become the butt of comedians’ jokes for its lack of excitement and glamour suddenly became dazzling and magical on film. The Italian Stallion took that exhilarating, cinematic run up the art-museum steps and Philadelphia came alive.
All at once the world was on our doorstep. The River Drive, the working-class neighborhoods, the Italian market, the stadium were haunted by tourists and natives alike, eager to see the very spots where Rocky had tread.
But it was the museum itself that attracted the biggest crowds-not for its art which rivals the best in the world and not even for its structure, magnificent Greek Revival architecture, but for its steps, all 72 of them, Rocky’s stairway to fame. People came and gaped and they ran up in triumph. They, too, had made it to the top.
Then, Sylvester Stallone decided to immortalize the champ in bronze and donated a commissioned statue of Rocky to the city. The city fathers were overdoyed at the gift. And why not? Rocky had boosted the city’s image, swelled the municipal coffers and shown Philadelphia’s potential as a movie center.
By 1982 the Rocky monument in its 12-foot-high, 1,800 pound glory was complete and ready for its home at the top of the museum steps. No problems there, or so the city officials and Rocky fans thought. The scene of his triumph was where he should be; besides, he was art, wasn’t he?
A hero: But to the museum administrators and their Main Line cohorts, Rocky belonged anywhere else. He was a boxer, after all, a hero of the masses: hardly one of the cultured elite. Put him in front of a stadium, a gym, a sporting-goods shop–certainly not at the entrance of a major artistic institution. Round one went to Rocky’s fans. The statue was placed at the top of the museum steps. The museum group fumed. With money and connections, the museum and its supporters managed to keep the controversy alive long enough to wear out the city and force a reversal. Round two went to the Main Liners. Rocky was hauled off to the stadium.
There was a good bit of ill-tempered resignation on the part of South Philadelphia, but lacking money and influence, Rocky’s compatriots knew when they were licked. And that’s how things stood until the beginning of this year, when Sylvester Stallone brought his cameras to the city for the filming of “Rocky V.”
How embarrassing, how awkward, that the monument to his greatness, that gift to his city, that larger-than-life replica of himself, should not be where he had left it. And with the script calling for Rocky to return to The Steps, to recreate his famous run, to greet his bronze likeness, Rocky lovers enjoyed renewed birth. Rocky was removed from the stadium and reinstalled on the steps where he stood until filming was completed last week.
What comes next is anyone’s guess. But if, in this era of endless movie sequels, Rocky should live on in higher and higher Roman numerals, well, then, just maybe he will get to return to the The Steps and stay there. As for me–a South Philadelphia native grandchild of Italian immigrants, student of art history and long-time museum member–I can hardly take sides. Yet I find that these days, when I wander through the museum visiting my favorite works of art, I often pause on the front steps as well and remember a commanding figure silhouetted against Greek columns and the sky. It may not be art, but it certainly has given this tired old city some life.
