A Story for the Kitchen

by Bernie McCoy

I'm old enough to remember when wakes, specifically Irish wakes, were held in the home of the deceased. The cadaver was "shown" in the parlor, or front room, and, inevitably, during the evening, the closest friends of the departed gradually gravitated to the kitchen, and commenced, fueled by some liquid incentive, to tell their favorite stories about the deceased. The stories, given the tenor of most Irish wakes and the effect of the aforementioned liquid incentive, were not necessarily complimentary, but the stories were told with an affection that was both unmistakable and sincere. This is a kitchen story.

The birth, in 1966, was delayed, as is usual for most major construction projects in most major metropolitan areas. There was, indeed, a great deal of construction going on in 1966 in St. Louis, including an almost complete renovation of a crumbling downtown. One of the centerpieces of that renovation, on the Mississippi River, was a 630 foot arch endowed with a Chamber of Commerce inspired sobriquet "Gateway to the West". A rejoinder to that rather grand title quickly surfaced among the river city's considerable congregation of cynics and "Backdoor to the East" was heard around town almost as frequently.

One subject that has always escaped cynicism in St. Louis is baseball. The town is home to the most knowledgeable and loyal fans in the sport. I say this as a native of Brooklyn and with the hard earned awareness of what loyalty to a team and knowledge of the great game really feels like. In 1966, St. Louis had the football Cardinals with a beloved, but aging, quarterback named Charley Johnson and a once sleek wide receiver named Sonny Randle, who, in 1966, seemed to be concentrating more on his job as a sportscaster at the NBC-TV affiliate, than catching Johnson's now less than laser-like throws. St. Louis also had the basketball Hawks, featuring the last hurrahs of such stars as Lenny Wilkens, Richie Guerin and Cliff Hagan, who were good enough to take the Los Angeles Lakers of Elgin Baylor and Jerry West to seven games in the Western Division finals. But, in 1966, as today, "other sports" in St. Louis were but a diversion for fans and for the city between the World Series and "pitchers and catchers" reporting to spring training.

That's why there was some anxiety when Busch Stadium, the other major project of the downtown renovation, wasn't ready for the opening of the 1966 season. This was of particular concern because the All Star Game had been awarded to the new stadium. Thus, the season opened in Sportsman's Park on North Grand Blvd and continued in that old park through April and into May. On May 12, however, the brand new Busch Stadium was ready for baseball, the Cardinals and the St. Louis fans. Appropriately, the first game was a good one, a 12 inning, 4-3 win over the Braves.

It was on that May Thursday, when the vast majority of St. Louis baseball fans got their first up-close look at the new ballpark. Whereas Sportsman's Park had, indeed, the feel of a "ball yard", Busch Stadium had, in the construction pattern of the day, the antiseptic look of a multi-sport complex that would come to characterize all new stadiums of that era. Completely circular, Busch Stadium was suited for both baseball and football and, in a particular nod to the city's sports diversity, soccer. It was also on May 12 that fans became aware of a particular feature of the stadium's construct; the playing field was situated approximately five floors below street level.

St Louis is imbued with what meteorologists term a continental climate, cold winters and warm summers. It wasn't particularly apparent on that opening day in May, but St Louis was not the ideal location for a completely circular stadium; one that lacked much discernable circulation of air and a stadium with the majority of fans seated well below street level. It didn't take long for this construction glitch and it's implications to become apparent.

In 1966, the All Star Game was still being played in the daytime and two months to the day of the new park's opening, the "mid-Summer Classic" came to Busch Stadium, St. Louis; continental climate St. Louis, completely circular, no air movement Busch Stadium. July 12, 1966 was a typical Summer day in St. Louis; that is to say, hot and uncomfortable in the city, sauna-like in Busch Stadium. That afternoon, in the depths of Busch Stadium, the temperature reached 105 degrees.

I was working for the Globe Democrat, the PM paper in St. Louis, on July 12, 1966 and, given my sub-junior-assistant level in the sports department, felt fortunate to be assigned to "sidebar" duty for the game. I was instructed to gather local color in and around the stadium, while other, more experienced writers covered the game, from the air-conditioned comfort of the press box. While roaming the stands, I was one of the first to notice that the medical personnel were extremely busy attending to fans who were passing out from heat exhaustion. I made note that the first casualty was in the top of the second inning and they started coming "hot and heavy", (a line I was planned to use), after that. It was also apparent that the game, for an All-Star contest, was moving at an amazingly brisk pace. The contest went 10 innings with the National League winning 2-1 and was played, incredibly, even for that era, in two hours and nineteen minutes. Most All Star Games would have been in the fifth inning at the two hour mark. The players, completely aware of the heat and the lack of circulation in the park, were going through the motions of the game as if they all had late afternoon dates in East St. Louis.

After the game, I made my way into the National League clubhouse, as much to seek the relief of the air conditioning as to add to my rather meager notes. I spotted Casey Stengel, who was an honorary coach for the game, having ended his managerial tenure with the New York Mets the previous year. Casey was off by himself in a corner, beer in hand and I ventured over but could only come up with a rather mundane "How do you like the new stadium" question. Stengel was 75 at the time and his most noteworthy baseball exploit in recent years had been his well documented tendency to nap on the Mets bench. But, Casey, even at 75, knew a straight line when he heard one, and without missing a beat answered with Groucho Marx-like timing, parrying my query with, "well, it's brand new and it sure seems to hold the heat real good." My editor loved the quote, but I never did get that line in the paper because another writer overheard Stengel's one-liner and featured it the next morning in our competitor, the Post Dispatch.

I left St. Louis at the end of the year and went back to New York and although I would occasionally get back to St Louis and Busch Stadium over the years, I still remember, best, that All Star Game on that blistering July afternoon in 1966. There were many better moments for Busch Stadium than that game, but as I watched on TV as Roy Oswalt shut down the Cardinals a couple of weeks ago, on October 19, the final game in that park, I thought back to July 12, 1966 and the heat and baseball in sunshine and thought that Busch Stadium had a good forty year run with a lot of good teams and great fans and that, in terms of a "ball yard", is a life well lived. After that, I looked around for a jar of Irish whiskey and someone to tell my "kitchen story" to.

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