In the 1890s, two frontier towns, Dallas and Fort Worth, held their very first, friendly, head-to-head baseball match.
Fort Worth Star-Telegram columnist Bud Kennedy described the final result: "I believe it ended in gunfire."
Rivalries between American towns are fairly common, although they typically don't involve pistols drawn, Old West-style. So to answer the question: Yes, the often-contentious relationship between Fort Worth and Dallas — one that started years before that baseball game — still echoes today. A Fort Worth clothing company, Murdered Streetwear, currently sells t-shirts that read: "If I die in Dallas, drag my body back to the funk" (a reference to Funkytown, a nickname for Fort Worth).
In short, Dallas and Fort Worth are different cities, and those differences, however small, can chafe. We — as individuals, much less cities — we often shape our identities through opposition. Especially when the irritant is right next door.
In 2017, The Dallas Morning News and the Fort Worth Star-Telegram editorial boards published responses to an Austin-based study that said Fort Worth has terrific advantages as a city — except, the study concluded, it "appears to be on its way to becoming a suburb of Dallas County."
Inevitably, perhaps, the News sounded condescending: "Fort Worth, Texas pardner, old neighbor pal, please . . . don't stop being Cowtown."
The Star-Telegram fired back: "Fort Worth is nobody’s little brother." Readers joined in: They love Fort Worth precisely because it's so . . . not Dallas.
"The two cities are so close, yet they're so incredibly different," Kennedy said. "Dallas, the city of fashion and design, the city of retail and marketing — it's always looked to the east for inspiration, to Chicago and New York. But Fort Worth, just one step further west, being on the Chisholm Trail, the cattle drives, and later the packing houses, Fort Worth was built around cattle and then oil. It looks west."
It's as if, Kennedy said, the two cities are only 30 miles apart, "but they stand back to back, looking in opposite directions."
This tale of two quarreling cities seems to have started more than 150 years ago over what probably were typical Texas real estate practices. Historian Richard Selcer said that in the 1850s, settlers heading west through Dallas would ask about the land over there.
Dallas residents warned them Fort Worth wasn't safe.
"'The bloodthirsty Indians will get you!'" Selcer said. "'Stay here in Dallas!'"
In 1875, Robert Cowart, a former Fort Worth lawyer, even wrote to a Dallas paper that Fort Worth was still so dangerous and backward, a panther had been sleeping on the courthouse steps. Dallasites chuckled, but Fort Worthers defiantly made it a nickname and a mascot: Panther City. Hence, the 'sleeping panther' statue by Deran Wright that slumbers at Main and Weatherford Streets.
All of which indicates Fort Worth's occasional attitude — it's often like a 'little brother,' the picked-on one who turns your mockery around and wears it proudly in your face. Panther City. Cowtown. Funkytown.
Friendly, funky and more down-home is how Fort Worth is often characterized. In contrast, Dallas is seen as swaggering, sleek and status-hungry (because, for all its swagger, there's an insecurity about its status). So — as much as people see an outright 'feud' between the two, they definitely find differences in atmosphere and social outlook.
Or as Kennedy put it: "Fort Worth is home for people with a little dirt on their boots. In Dallas, if they have boots, they're for special occasions."
In fact, until the '70s and '80s, employees in downtown Dallas banks and offices were often forbidden to sport 'Western wear': cowboy boots, pearl-button shirts, bolo ties. And in 1960, many Dallasites were disconcerted when the professional football team finally settled on the Cowboys for a name — a name associated with all the dusty Old West trappings the city has typically bulldozed for something more modern.
Interestingly, census reports often do not support these popular distinctions. Dallas and Fort Worth just aren't that different demographically. Sometimes, they even confound our popular expectations. As a percentage of the population, more Fort Worth households have computers than Dallas ones. They have more health insurance, more high school degrees.
Our election patterns don't suit our public images, either: Supposedly upscale, supposedly conservative Dallas County has voted solidly blue Democrat — and it has for years. Dallas County voted for Barack Obama in both of his presidential elections. Funky, downhome Tarrant County voted very emphatically for Donald Trump in both of his presidential elections.
But what's not surprising — considering the bragging competition between the two cities — is that both have wound up mimicking each other. Both, for instance, have major cultural districts, and both of those boast works by world-famous architects. With Renzo Piano designing the Nasher Sculpture Center in Dallas and the Kimbell's annex in Fort Worth, the two towns even hired the same world-famous architect.
Whatever the similarities and differences, the tale of this twin-city face-off is usually offered with a happy ending and an uplifting moral: Both sides learn the real advantages of setting aside their differences and cooperating.
In 1974, after fierce public quarrels and drawn-out court cases, the municipalities agreed to build the D-FW International Airport. All it took was a hefty federal offer of cash for a regional airport and the strong ultimatum that — if North Texans couldn't decide for themselves — Washington would choose the location for them.
Hatchets were buried, kumbayas were chanted, North Texans harrumphed at federal strong-arming — and D-FW was built right between the two cities. It was the biggest airport in the world at the time — and the biggest boost to local commerce since the locomotives came through.
In short, the lesson people cite is that "regionalism" offers more benefits than dueling does. When combined as the "metroplex," Dallas-Fort Worth can draw on more resources, more people, more clout, and get things done. After all, nearly eight million of us live here — collectively, that makes the metroplex almost as populous as New York City.
Well, not so fast. Former Morning News business columnist Mitchell Schnurman has argued that the cities' rivalry has primarily been based on business competition — even when it came to those Dallas pioneers fibbing about Fort Worth being unsafe.
"And the unbridled pursuit of self-interest," Schnurman wrote, "has worked pretty well here."
True, he conceded, there are huge issues, too big and knotty and costly for any one city to solve: transportation, pollution, water resources, energy. We'll need to cooperate just to survive.
But when it comes to attracting businesses and customers here and not over there, when it comes to cranking up hometown economic growth — those are the engines, Schnurman argued, that have been driving our two cities' competition all along.
There are few incentives as powerful as out-hustling the next guy.
And as self-centered as that might seem, those wins can benefit all of us in North Texas. Fort Worth lured American Airlines from New York. Dallas got Detroit-based Comerica Bank to move here. This list can go on and on, especially when Collin County and Alliance Airport are factored in.
But actually, Bud Kennedy said, if there's something that unites the two cities these days, it's losing.
Both of them are losing — to the suburbs.
"Both cities have concerns about losing their identity and blending into the Big Metro," he said. "Typically, Dallas got the high-end jobs, while Fort Worth got the ones cleaning out the stalls. But these days, with Collin County having a higher-educated workforce, employers have taken notice."
And they've settled for going where the housing growth has been booming for years. When you read hallelujahs over yet another major corporate move to Dallas-Fort Worth, check the fine print for where, exactly, the company is headed.
Chances are, it's not downtown. Who wears cowboy boots and who wears business casual doesn't seem so important any more — when corporate HQs are high-stepping their way out past 635, out past 114 to put their money down. Plus, wider cultural currents would indicate that Dallas and Fort Worth and the suburbs may all be looking and acting more alike — because we're becoming more like everywhere else in America.
So let's finish here with a table-top view of the two cities and the current state of their differences: It's just one local restauranteur's take - but one with a stake in both towns. Travis Heim is the owner of Heim Barbecue. His original outlets are in Fort Worth, his hometown, but he's had a popular location right across from Love Field for three years.
Conveniently, Heim said, a taste for barbecue cuts across socio-economic boundaries. And city lines. So it's a handy item for comparisons — the differences will be apparent and possibly telling.
It's hardly news that both towns have large numbers of fans of traditionally well-smoked meat (unless, of course, you're a vegan or vegetarian). But when it comes to individual city tastes, Heim said, there are some differences in our druthers.
Fort Worth customers stick with the traditional "big meat and sides," he said. But "in Dallas what does really well are chicken and turkey, the lighter options.
"And salads," he added. "We have some great salads."
So. Be honest now.
On the issue of which city, Dallas or Fort Worth, prefers big meat and sides and which prefers chicken and salads — that would have been the way to bet, wouldn't it?
Feudin' and fussin': major moments fueling the Fort Worth-Dallas rivalry
- Early on, Dallas was on track to become the area's leading business hub — thanks to some political finagling (1874). The first north-south railroad across Texas and the first to cross the state east-to-west were going to meet — at a crossroads in Corsicana. But a Dallas representative changed a bill to specify the crossing must be within a mile of Browder's Springs. Where the heck is that? Surprise. It's not far from downtown Dallas. City leaders cooled public outrage somewhat by kicking in $100,000 and donating the right-of-way through town.
- Partly as a result, Fort Worth had to do its own desperate finagling to get a railroad connection (1876): The east-west Texas & Pacific railroad went broke six miles west of Dallas, leaving Fort Worth stranded. Leading citizens rallied, but the state's land grant would expire when the legislature adjourned. So Fort Worth Representative Major Darnell, then seriously ill, was carried in each day for roll call — and then carried out, preventing any adjournment vote. The train reached Fort Worth July 19, 1876. But the sentiment established between the towns was not a strong one of trust — more like cutthroat competition.
- The lies (and the cash) that won Dallas the Texas Centennial (1936): When Texas geared up to mark its first hundred years as a state, several historic sites logically expected to host the fireworks (San Antonio, after all, has the Alamo). But Dallas won the bid — and it didn't even exist in 1836. Mayor R. L. Thornton committed $8 million, promised to put on a show even if federal aid didn't come through and bragged Dallas could provide two promenades. (He didn't even know what a promenade was.) Ultimately, the Centennial lost money. But Dallas built what is now Fair Park, the fair brought in 6.4 million visitors and the city gained a national profile.
- In response, Fort Worth created its own counter-centennial (1936): Actually, it was created by Amon Carter, the owner of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Like Dallas, Fort Worth didn't exist during the Texas Revolution. But what infuriated Carter was Dallas gaining all that attention, preening like it was the Queen of all Texas. He was the biggest booster Fort Worth ever had — and the biggest disser of Dallas. (He's credited with the joke, "Fort Worth is where the West begins, and Dallas is where the East peters out.") Carter built the Casa Manana theater in a matter of weeks, hired showbiz impresario Billy Rose, who booked sexy acts like the fan dancer Sally Rand, and Carter had a giant, in-your-face billboard put up directly outside Fair Park in Dallas touting all the hooplah going on in Fort Worth. Later, Carter was a major force in the battle over D-FW Airport.
- Dallas for culture, Fort Worth for fun: Because of the Stockyards, the cattle drives and its red light district called Hell's Half Acre, Fort Worth earned an early reputation for Wild West rowdiness, even raw violence. But Bud Kennedy argued Dallas was no stranger to gambling and burlesque — even as Amon Carter was touting Fort Worth for fun. Through the '30s and '40s, Dallas had organized crime and the violence that comes with it, notably from gangleader Benny Binion (who later established the Las Vegas casino that bears his name). What partly led to Dallas dropping its boomtown ways, Kennedy said, was the long reign of district attorney Henry Wade (1951-1987). He was uncompromising in cracking down on racketeers, burglary rings, even drunk drivers. In his first year, his office racked up more than one thousand convictions. The rowdiness moved elsewhere, and Dallas gained its reputation as a conservative, sober-sided businesstown.
Got a tip? Email Jerome Weeks atjweeks@kera.org. You can follow him on Twitter @dazeandweex.
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