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Re “The bungled basketball court,” editorial, June 2

The Times focuses on the economic problems faced by the L.A. Department of Recreation and Parks but fails to mention the real issue with allowing a wealthy benefactor to build a basketball court in Runyon Canyon Park.

The deal between the department, Friends of Runyon Canyon (FORC) and the owner of the clothing company Pink Dolphin was in the works for two years, yet neighbors had no knowledge of it until the day the park was closed for construction. The Hollywood Hills West Neighborhood Council hosted an emergency meeting three days after the park closure to deal with the resulting neighborhood outrage — not at the idea of a publicprivate partnership or RAP seeking partnerships to help sustain and improve a city park but at the fact that this was a secret backroom deal.

The question is why was this deal forged in secret? And why shouldn’t the motives of those involved in this secret deal be suspect? Rachel Singer Los Angeles

You write the following: “But if government goes forward with public-private partnerships, it must do so without allowing the crass commercialization of precious park space or letting corporate sponsors dictate park policy. Cities and states should not put public spaces up for sale to the highest bidders.”

Why not? Is there something inherently immoral about bouncing a basketball on a logo? Something religious about not putting up public spaces for sale? If companies want to contribute, why shouldn’t they be allowed to do so instead of bringing up the shibboleth of “crass commercialization”?

Los Angeles doesn’t have the money. Someone else does, so why not use it instead of leaving that barren ruins of an old tennis court in Runyon Canyon as is? Unless, of course, we’re afraid of meddling neighbors. Thomas Michael Kelley Newbury Park

The Times seems unaware of the brouhaha that erupted five years ago when the Recreation and Parks Department floated a plan to allow a large amount of corporate advertising in a number of city facilities as a way to raise money for maintenance and improvements.

The public response was loud and clear: Parks should be sanctuaries from an urban landscape saturated with marketing and branding messages, places where people can escape sales pitches for corporate products and services.

That plan was shelved, and in the aftermath, the department promised to seek public input in developing guidelines for placing donor and sponsorship signs with logos that wouldn’t cross the line between simple recognition and outright marketing and branding.

That promise obviously fell by the wayside, and Runyon Canyon Park neighbors were blindsided by the prospect of a basketball court-sized corporate logo that many rightly feared could set a precedent for parks throughout the city. Dennis Hathaway Venice