Steph Simon remembers the days of growing up in the Skyline Ridge neighborhood and attending Praise Center Family Church, where his mom performed with the praise team and his dad played bass.
An aspiring rapper, it served as Simon’s first stage too — singing, dancing, reciting Easter speeches.
Back then, it felt like they spent almost every day at church. Even after service ended, he remembered the adults lingering outside talking about things that had nothing to do with kids. So they’d grab a ball, walk to Crawford Park and play games like football or hide-and-seek. But kickball was always Simon’s favorite.
By 2017, Simon was a father himself and many of his childhood friends no longer lived in north Tulsa. That’s when he turned to social media.
“I just said, ‘I want to play kickball. Meet me at the park,’” he told The Eagle in a recent interview.
The response was overwhelming. Dozens of people showed up.
“It was crazy,” Simon said. “We enjoyed it so much that we just did it again and it kind of turned into a club.”
Year after year, the group returned to Crawford. These gatherings would become the spark for the first Dreamland Tulsa Foundation’s annual community kickball game held in 2025.
Defying the narrative
For Simon, the game became a way to preserve — and celebrate — the version of north Tulsa he knows.
“I don’t remember many tragic moments like you would see today in the narratives of how north Tulsa is painted,” he said. “I try to show people that it’s not what you think it is if you’re really out there for real. I grew up in a Black oasis out there.”
His upbringing is colored by scenes of backyard parties, calf roping, rodeos and family reunions. It is these memories that fuel his Dreamland Tulsa Foundation, which takes its name from the famed Greenwood institution Dreamland Theater.
Antonio Andrews, a childhood friend and musical collaborator, knows common north Tulsa descriptors well: under-resourced, overlooked, a food desert.
But he marvels at people’s determination to succeed anyway, saying there’s “just too much talent coming out of this small place with no resources.”
“The older I get, it makes you mad because it’s like, ‘if we did have the resources, what would come out of it?’” Andrews said. “That’s north Tulsa. It’s a powerful place.”
Simon and Andrews paid homage to that legacy in 2021, joining 50 Oklahoma artists to create “Fire in Little Africa.” The album illuminated the centennial of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre and was recorded at Tulsa sites like the Greenwood Cultural Center.
Living in the shadow of the COVID-19 pandemic and spending more of his time focused on music, Simon took a hiatus from kickball.
From the park to the stadium
He brought the event back in 2025 under a new name and on a larger stage: ONEOK Field.
The Dreamland Community Kickball Game and Fundraiser is set for 4 p.m. May 31. Interested players had until Sunday to sign up, but any undrafted players will still receive tickets to the game.
With the event having moved from the neighborhood park to the stadium, Andrews warns, it gets intense.
“Just the element of being in the baseball field just gives it this arena feeling,” he told The Eagle. “It’s different from playing in a park when it’s just you and your family or friends. It’s good but in that element, people get real serious.”
Proceeds from this year’s game will fund the Dreamland Festival, which celebrates its 10th anniversary in November. Previous headliners for the annual festival included artists like Rapsody, Larry June and Curren$y.
“I like to say it’s the best of Tulsa that doesn’t really get the Mayfest looks, you know. It’s a very Black-owned, Black-centric, Essence Fest kind of feel, full of hip-hop, R&B and soul,” he told The Eagle.
The funding will also support TMC Records, a music elective course Simon teaches at McLain High School to give students hands-on experience in performance, production and songwriting.
Nearly a decade after that first social media post, Simon wants to embrace the event’s growth without diluting its homegrown roots.
Ultimately, he wants to embody the spirit of the community that shaped him.
“That’s what my music represents. That’s what my festival represents — that Tulsa community,” he said.
