Sidney Shlenker – Memphis Flyer

If you’ve seen one mounted deer head you’ve pretty much seen them all, but 100 or so stuffed deer, elk, moose, bears, and other critters is another matter, so I went eagerly to check out those and other wonders of the new Bass Pro Pyramid when it opened.

And I was duly impressed. This is a special store in a special building. And if Bass Pro founder/owner Johnny Morris thinks first-time visitors aren’t as curious about the structure as they are about the furnishings, then he’s dumber than a catfish, which he obviously is not.

I wouldn’t be surprised to see Bass Pro go public within a year or so, with a valuation of a few billion dollars, which is not bad for an enterprise that started as a Missouri bait shop. So I say, as Morris and his team of architects and marketers go through their final punch list items, they should add one thing — a nod to the Pyramid’s history, perhaps a display or plaque, with suitable attention to the funders of the place (the citizens of Memphis and Shelby County) and its prime movers, schemes, and shenanigans. Yes, including Sidney Shlenker’s and Isaac Tigrett’s crystal skull. People love a good story as much as a plate of fried catfish or, I will wager, an ode to duck flyways.

I am sort of married to the Pyramid. I wrote so much about it that several times I swore I would write no more forever, and then something new would come along and I would break my vow.

In 1986, I was writing for The Commercial Appeal‘s Sunday magazine when a young man named Brent Hartz came calling. He had renderings of a gigantic golden pyramid his father had drawn several years before and was doing a road show to influential downtowners.

John Tigrett, who was as reclusive as his wife Pat is outgoing, was smitten. Memphis needed a landmark and a new arena, but this was no gimme. Mayor Dick Hackett and the reigning powers-that-be at then Memphis State University wanted to expand the Mid-South Coliseum at the fairgrounds. The Pyramid was too big, too expensive, too far, too risky. Tigrett persuaded his friend, FedEx founder Fred Smith, to chair the Public Building Authority that met for nearly a year. The go-ahead may well have doomed the fairgrounds, along with Hackett’s political career.

It was a Mad Men dream with a cast of characters, mishaps, and moments worthy of a mini-series: the decision to move the site from atop the South Bluff to “down in a hole”; the “Big Dig” groundbreaking with a giant lighted-shovel drop; daring ironworkers with video cameras at the topping-out ceremony; the gap-toothed Shlenker; the aforementioned hidden crystal skull at the apex; the flooded bathrooms at the opening concert; the inclinator to the top that never was; some rocking concerts and basketball tournaments; partial redemption as Grizzly bait; and the building’s closing in 2004.

“Who knows what’s going to happen to this Pyramid in the long run, how successful it’s going to be or not be,” said Morris in short and understated remarks at the opening ceremony.

He looked like a man who would rather kiss a rattlesnake than make a speech, but there is no shortage of Morris-abilia inside the Pyramid. The tales of Uncle Buck and the yarn about going fishing with Bill Dance and catching a whopper that closed the deal are cute, but it should be noted that this house was conceived and built in Memphis, and Bass Pro moved into it.

Even modest public buildings usually merit a plaque at the entrance recognizing the enablers. At the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, a riveting documentary film records the contributions of architect Eero Saarinen and the placement of the capstone piece.

The most interesting building in Memphis deserves something to acknowledge its history, and it would be good manners and good marketing if Bass Pro were to step up and do it. Why not give visitors an answer to their inevitable “How did this get here?” question?

You can’t make this stuff up, and you don’t have to. John Tigrett and Sidney Shlenker are gone, but the others are still alive, and there is gobs of archival film. Tell the story inside the building. Lord knows there’s room for it.

John Branston is a former Flyer senior editor who is now working on various writing projects — and his tennis game.

Brandon Dill

The Great American Pyramid opened on the banks of the Wolf River Harbor in 1991, a vision brought to life by the late great entrepreneur John Tigrett, who hired a hustler named Sidney Shlenker to run the place.

Hopes were high. The Pyramid, the sixth-largest such structure in the world, would become a major American tourist destination. There was to be a short-wave radio station inside, broadcasting Memphis music to the world. There was going to be an inclinator on the exterior that would take visitors to an observation deck, a Hard Rock Cafe, a music museum, a nearby theme park. It was going to transform downtown Memphis.

But things went south quickly, as Tigrett and Shlenker quarreled about plans, and Shlenker ran into financial difficulties. On opening night, the whole lower level flooded. The would-be tourist attraction then became an 18,000-seat sports and entertainment arena — home to the Memphis Tigers basketball team and host to concerts by REM, Prince, Fleetwood Mac, and many others. But the sound was awful and concert seating was difficult.

Oh, there were some highlights and good times — a Mike Tyson vs. Lennox Lewis prize fight; several NCAA tournament rounds; COGIC conventions — but for the most part, the Pyramid was a big, shiny, faux-Egyptian duck out of water.

The death knell came when the Memphis Grizzlies came to town and declared the Pyramid inadequate for NBA basketball. The FedExForum was built in 2004 and the Pyramid soon became a “big empty” that dominated the city’s skyline. For years, when visitors came to town and asked what was in “that big pyramid,” Memphians would have to answer, “nothing.” Awkward.

Then came the 10-year barn-dance with Bass Pro Shops, the Springfield, Missouri-based outdoor mega-retailer. After beginning informal talks in 2005, the city and the company reached a formal agreement on a 55-year lease in 2010. There was much wailing and snark from certain sectors of the populace, much of it based on the premise that the city shouldn’t turn its most iconic structure into a “bait shop.”

Now, after several false starts and delays, the big pointy bait shop is about to open. And after having toured the place, I predict it will be an epic game-changer for the city. The Bass Pro Pyramid is as much theme park as it is retail outlet, with a massive man-made swamp on the ground level, complete with towering cypress trees, native fish species, and alligators. In the center of it all, the world’s tallest free-standing elevator rises to the Pyramid’s peak, where visitors can drink and dine from a deck that’s higher than the Statue of Liberty, with a view unmatched in the city.

After 24 years of fits and starts, the city’s downtown core will essentially have one of the biggest retail facilities in the area, one that’s predicted to attract a million visitors a year. Call it a bait shop if you like, but if it brings in the tourism and jobs that are projected, Memphis has landed a lunker.