Going for two with Dodger Blue in '62
My magnificent adventure at Dodger Stadium for a Sunday doubleheader.
The scent of cigar smoke tantalized my five-year-old nostrils.
August 5, 1962, the Los Angeles Dodgers hosted the Chicago Cubs in that now nearly extinct cultural gem—the Sunday afternoon baseball doubleheader. This was my first Big Day at the newly opened Dodger Stadium, the Crown Jewel of Major League Baseball stadiums then and now.
Take me out to the ballgame
Dad took my brothers and me for a Boy’s Day at the Ballpark, and given the price tag for this outing—for a guy with five kids and one paycheck—we sat in the Reserve Level (the 4th deck), along the third base line, looking out at the left fielder. No matter, this was Dodger Stadium, and the sights, sounds, and smells, were intoxicating.
Back in the day, smoking was permitted in stadiums. I remember the haze from the old timers’ cigars mingled with the scent of Dodger Dogs causing our eyes to sting and mouths to water. And there were roving vendors hawking peanuts, sodas, ice cream sundaes, and other long-forgotten delights during our day-long epicurean orgy (ballpark style).
We sat in the hot August sun all day and into the night, and watched an epic 23 innings of baseball.1 After the sun had set, it got chilly and we donned sweatshirts. The last out of the second game was recorded well after 8 p.m., followed by the long drive home. The morning after, I awoke sunburned and tired. But happy.
What follows is a composite of my adult contextual knowledge of what it’s like to attend a game at Dodger Stadium and the impact of such a day on my five-year-old heart, mind, and body.
Almost Heaven
My first “Live” view of the Dodger Stadium field was breathtaking. Perfectly manicured and pattern-mowed Bermuda hybrid (with Rye overseeding) carpeted the large, diamond-shaped field. Infield dirt the color of burnt umber was dragged as smooth as velvet by the Grounds Crew pulling steel “mat drags” perfectly synchronized.
The first and third baselines were rolled perfectly straight in brilliant white chalk powder from the foul poles to the Batter’s boxes which bracketed a black-edged, pearl-white home plate before the Catcher's box. An unblemished crushed brick warning track framed the field in brilliant contrast to the Dodger Blue outfield wall.2
After batting practice, the Grounds Crew re-dragged the infield and used a long hose to spray the dirt turning it the color of chocolate chips! In their wake, other crew members anchored brilliant white bags to the buried posts at first, second, and third. A separate crew carefully groomed the pitcher’s mound whose rubber was as white as snow. As the last man left the mound, he dropped a clean, white rosin bag behind the rubber.3
A long day’s journey into night
While my recall has been eroded by time and limited by my five-year-old cognition on game day, some things remain crystal clear more than sixty years later. Most significantly, I remember that we left our home in Orange County in the morning and did not return until long after dark. Over time my mind has spun up the idea that we left before noon and returned home at 10:00 p.m.
I’ve researched the 1962 MLB schedule to confirm some facts about the day and reconstruct the game day timeline:
Location: Dodger Stadium (distance from home: 26 miles)4
Attendance: 43,914
Umpires: HP—Shag Crawford, 1B—Doug Harvey, 2B—Al Barlick, 3B—Ed Vargo
GAME 1 | Dodgers 4, Cubs 3
Assumption: The first pitch for a Sunday doubleheader was probably 1:00 p.m.
MLB data indicate the first game was a 14-inning affair that lasted more than four hours (4:01). So, the last out was recorded around 5:01 p.m.
GAME 2 | Cubs 4 Dodgers 2
The time between games for field maintenance, team uniform change, and rest was probably an hour. Game 2 lasted two hours and seventeen minutes (2:17) with the final out recorded around 8:20 p.m.
Including time to exit the stadium, slog through parking lot traffic, and make the Sunday evening commute from L.A. to our home in La Habra, we would have pulled into the driveway around 9:45 p.m.
All of this fits within the parameters of my childhood memories of the day.
The Magic of Dodger Stadium
There were Legends on the Dodger Stadium turf that long ago day—Wills, Roseboro, Snider, Banks, Santo. A young Lou Brock. These were some of baseball’s men of renown:
Earnie Banks, Tommy Davis, and Frank Howard each had four hits in the 14-inning epic first game. My older brothers remember Howard was a “big guy,” and Tommy Davis was “speedy” on the basepaths. I remember organ music, cigar smoke, and the ice cream sundaes we devoured during that sweltering afternoon.
Dad was a baseball fan from way back. There’s no telling what this day meant to him. But having the four of us together like this was a rarity, and he must have thoroughly enjoyed his boys and baseball in Chavez Ravine. Soon, my older brothers would be out of the house and college-bound, and Dad would continue his daily grind for many years, like all faithful fathers of his time.
It would be two more years before I would begin playing “organized baseball” (if you can call T-Ball “organized”). After that, I rose through the ranks and became a decent ball player up to the high school level. Eventually, I swung on my last fastball and, at the ripe old age of 18, “retired” from competitive baseball with a letterman’s jacket, a Freeway League championship trophy, a torn rotator cuff, and many memories.
Between the white lines
Baseball is a magical affair that has captivated the hearts and minds of millions for over a century and a half. On streets and fields across America, on a warm Summer day in my time, you could hear the hopeful exclamations of a million kids ringing through the neighborhood: “I’m WILLIE MAYS!” “No, you’re not—I AM!”
Some of you are scratching your head: “Who’s Willie Mays?”
Willie Mays was—in my opinion—the greatest baseball player of the era in which I came to consciousness. He was the consummate Five-Tool player who could hit for power; hit for average; run well; field his position well; and make impossible throws from center field, on the money, when it counted.
Having said that about Mays—of the archrival and hated Giants—I was a Dodgers fan throughout my youth and early adulthood. That T-Ball team I mentioned? We were the “Dodgers,” and I was jazzed about it. Unlike Tommy Lasorda, I never bled Dodger Blue, but I got a regular infusion of it every Spring throughout my youth.
But the world gets more complicated as the days pass, and simple pleasures yield to other obligations: Ball games are replaced by project plans. Dodger Dogs and flat Coke give way to Starbucks and stale donuts during the commute. Cheering crowds and teammates morph into demanding managers and clients. Time steals your vigor and pilfers your childhood dreams.
And then one day you wake up, and “the team” no longer needs you.
“Hey, kid . . . the Manager wants to see you in his office.”
There’s no Hall of Fame for the aged dreamers who cheered on the Boys of Summer. There are only distant memories and the smiles—and tears—they bring. Yes, baseball is a magical affair and hard to leave behind. Even for an old man. Especially as an old man. Because everything makes sense between the white lines.
The spirit of the Doubleheader
I’m reminded of the magical quality of baseball by this quote from Chicago Cubs Hall of Fame legend, Ernie Banks, who nurtured a deep love for the game. Even during the Dog Days of Summer with his team far behind in the standings, Banks would be heard to exclaim:
"It's a beautiful day for a ballgame. Let's play two today!" — Ernie Banks
Amen, Ernie. Two it is.
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Game 1, a 14-inning affair, lasted four hours and one minute. This contributed to the “long day” I remembered from my youth.
Fan, A. (2021, October 16). Dodger Stadium. Retrieved December 16, 2024, from https://www.intheballparks.com/national/dodger | In 1962 the wall was uncluttered. Presently, it is tattooed with banners from the many sponsors of Dodger Baseball.
McLaurin, A. (2024, January 1). Grounds Crew: A Day in the Life. MLB.com. Retrieved December 16, 2024, from https://www.mlb.com/cut4/a-day-in-the-life-of-the-texas-rangers-grounds-crew/c-57299808
Assumed route: Highway 39 North, over Hacienda Heights, to the 60 Freeway (connecting with the 5 and 10 Freeways, and entering the stadium parking lot through the Academy Gate). Pure speculation.
As a 9 year old little leaguer living in the Bay Area Fremont CA at the time (before moving to La Habra in So Cal a few years later) my first MLB game was a double header at Candlestick Park. The Giants vs the Pirates.
I still remember walking in and seeing the perfectly groomed infield and outfield deep green grass, and the perfectly dragged infield dirt that looked like you’d be taking a ground ball off of glass. Immediately I noticed the way these pros effortlessly threw in warm ups and how fast, crisp and accurate their throws were. I was in heaven.
Among others the Giants had Willie Mays, Bobby Bonds, Willie McCovey and Juan Marichal. The Pirates Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell and Matty Alou.
We had seats field level between home plate and first base. Willie McCovey (left handed) hit an opposite field monster home run that looked like it was stuck in the blue sky for an eternity before landing in the left bleachers.
Beautiful memories that were a catalyst for my love of the game and spurred me on to play through high school a game that I loved.
It wasn’t summer until we heard from Vinnie.
I never had the skills but have had a love for the game. Thanks for this trip down memory lane. My first pro game was also at Dodger Stadium.
Fortunately for me I still get to be a part of the game. For a time it was with a score book and now with a microphone. Not a bad deal if you can get it.