(Credit: Hannah Ross)
While the expectation is that South Park will follow in the successful footsteps of organizer Phillip Dane’s other Sunday flea market, Melrose Trading Post, it's no sure thing. After its inaugural gate-opening to reportedly several hundred shoppers at the parking lot on the corner of Grand Ave. and 8th St. last month, the Downtown spot’s momentum waned to the pace of one of Chef’s slow jams. For the next two weeks, South Park lost the battle against nature (rain—as a result, the “rain or shine” clause on the market’s website has subsequently disappeared) and man (the Super Bowl). And though by February 10, the skies had cleared and the Giants had won, the number of South Park’s vendors had dwindled from an estimated 60 to a couple dozen, and the number of shoppers had unquestionably decreased as well. But there’s a bright side: Fewer folks means more dancing room for the Hall and Oates compendium that seems to be on repeat and in stereo all over the market.
The atmosphere at South Park is amiable enough—the greeter at the entrance table gave such a friendly hello we literally had to stop in our tracks to respond—and is as welcoming to Downtown’s new artist residents as it is to Westside families and UCLA students. But the experience of browsing the booths there is almost forgettable as soon as you hear the greeter’s equally friendly goodbye. The wares are varied, ranging from spices to spray-painted trucker caps, but overall the merchandise at South Park lacks a certain kitsch, a certain, well, specialness that separates a flea market from a garage sale. Something that creates in the shopper a realization that this stuff isn’t just old and weird, but venerated and unique—that in fact, yes, she does need that hand-painted kitten locket, old highway map, or pre-women’s-lib Thanksgiving cookbook.
Still, its perseverance and congeniality have proven that South Park Flea Market intends to capitalize on its potential as both a hub of neighborhood communion and a reason for those outside Downtown’s skyscrapered perimeter to brave the 101. The prices vary greatly from vendor to vendor—we saw a used copy of Jewel’s "Night Without Armor" for 7 bucks and an awesome cobalt-blue ruffle-skirted cocktail dress for a quarter—but getting a book and a frock for less than it usually costs to park in Downtown ain’t too bad a way to spend a Sunday. Hidey ho!
