Opening Night

Every year on May 12, I count the years since the first game ever played at the then-new Busch Memorial Stadium in 1966. My brother Brad and I rode to St. Louis with our college-student family friend, Bill, to be part of this historic event. We left right after school. My parents were not the kind to let us miss school for much of anything. Maybe if we heard the nation was under nuclear attack — as long as it was confirmed.

Just a couple weeks before, I had seen one of the last games ever played at the old Busch Stadium (formerly Sportsman’s Park), thanks to the wonderful tradition of Schoolboy Patrol Day. Now, banks of lights illuminated the evening sky as we entered a beautiful new structure that seemed a combination of ancient Roman Coliseum and giant spacecraft.

The two teams had eight future Hall of Famers between them: Hank Aaron, Eddie Mathews, Joe Torre and Phil Niekro of the Atlanta Braves, and Lou Brock, Orlando Cepeda, Bob Gibson and Steve Carlton of the Cardinals.

We sat high up on the first-base side. Our tickets cost $1.50. (Field boxes were $3.50. Too rich for us. Hey, it was 1966.) The brand-new Gateway Arch loomed on the left. Early on, we thought Cepeda had connected for a home run, but the big, round perspective of the new stadium fooled us, and it was actually just an infield pop-up.

As it turned out, the stadium wasn’t quite completed. Some of the electrical hookups were not yet finished, so instead of hot dogs and hamburgers, they had ladies in folding chairs selling ham sandwiches.

But the most unusual thing about the evening was when I went to the restroom. An old man standing at the next urinal startled me when he said, “Son, how do you like the new stadium?”

“It’s great!” I said.

“Seems like everybody likes it!” he said. His face was a little flushed. “Son, I’m Leif Sverdrup. My company designed this stadium.”

Later I checked the newspapers: it was true.

As it got later, we shivered in the unseasonably cold wind. In the bottom of the 12th inning, bases loaded, Brock stroked a bouncing ball up the middle past the drawn-in infield to drive in the winning run.

Chilled but happy, we found Interstate 55 South. We got home after 2 a.m. And, of course, still had to make it to school in a few hours.

It was the longest school day ever. I had never seen the minute hand — heck, the second hand — move so slowly. Being a seventh-grader, I had no experience with handling fatigue while having to function, and just staying awake was a major challenge. Finally, somehow, the school day passed.

Because my parents could not pick us up until they got off work, we would wait for an hour or so after school. Without anyone knowing, I went to the gym and laid down on a pile of tumbling mats hidden from view.

When I woke up, our principal, Mr. Seibel, was repeating my name; my dad, brothers and Mr. Seibel had been looking all over for me. He told my dad he would take me home. He knew about us going to the game and why I was so tired; he was nice about it. We talked about the new stadium and the Cardinals as he drove, and then we were there.

I trudged to our front door. Exhausted, I barely said a word to my parents and brothers.

Safe at home, I slid in.

To bed.

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