Building the Mulberry Block - 1975

I can't recall when the arrival of the Fall semester lost its magic for me, but in August 1975 its hold was never stronger. In that, thankfully my last year of law school, thoughts of another and perhaps final campus tour resonated. It was in this cheerful, yet contemplative, mood that I pulled into Columbia on Monday, 26th birthday plus one.

Classes were a week away, and, equally important, the sale of season tickets for the Missouri Tiger football season. There were no thoughts of a national championship and little of a Top 10 rating, but Coach Al Onofrio's teams could never be counted out. Ever. They won plenty of big games over nationally ranked schools and made the rest close enough that there was always hope.

In those days before the complete monetization of college sports, students had two ways of securing season seats. Half the bleachers on the sunny, student side of Faurot Field were reserved for those choosing to enter a lottery. The other half went to folks willing to stand in line and purchase them at the window. For their troubles the latter could choose their locations for up to four tickets per valid student identification card. Most, not really caring where they sat, went with the first option as part of a living or department/school group.

Pursuing the on line strategy was somewhat time consuming. Heretofore a small ticket queue began forming sometime the night before the sale date. Group purchases rarely exceeded 50, so an arrival at the sales window before 9 a.m. normally was rewarded with tickets between the 25 yard lines. In 1974 our loosely knit group of law students, young lawyers, Little Dixie farmers, 2100 West lounge lizards, alumni and Columbia restaurant staff had gotten up early enough to secure an unheard of 162 seats between the 40 & 30 yard markers -- much to the displeasure of those behind.

Thinking of those great seats and the blue sky Saturdays, it occurred to me that someone might break tradition and queue up two days in advance. And, it followed that if one was willing to wait two entire days, there was another who might camp-out for seven or eight. With this annoying notion gnawing at my serenity, the driver and I stopped by Faurot Field as we swung into town. The lot was empty.

Nevertheless, the thought persisted, and after unpacking we returned to the stadium. This time a single guy standing in front of the ticket booth confirmed our fears. I immediately jumped in behind, and the wait was on. By midnight when relief arrived the line count had reached 13.

Third year law students are nothing if not organized, at least more so than the average collegian. With the past year's group to draw upon, manning the seventeen or so eight-hour shifts that got us to Sunday was easily accomplished. We worked in pairs, and no one suffered more than a single assignment, although many, including dates, voluntarily supported running mates in a variety of ways.

As the University of Missouri Athletic Department had never contemplated such a situation, it had no formulated polices other than the four ticket limit. The number of student ID cards a single place-holder could represent remained untrodden turf. The atmosphere at Faurot which had begun with some nervous camaraderie, darkened. As the days passed and the line lengthened, the sense of anxiety rose in direct proportion to one's position. Even in what was now dubbed the Mulberry Block, concern about the number of tickets the first group sought was expressed frequently.

Students roamed the column seeking information with which to guesstimate the likely location from which they would be viewing the 1975 Tigers. Our past history increased the unease. Rumors put the number of our 1974 seats at over 300, which none of us would confirm or deny.

In truth, we had no idea how many would be joining for the '75 season. The phone at Mulberry Hill rang constantly to the dismay of our party line partners and Walter Lamkin, awaiting an offer from Tate Hall for a spot in the Law Class of '78.

It was not until after orientation on Friday the 22nd that the waiting list limbo ended and Walter and a couple of other group members finally danced under the bar. It was a decision that the school may have regretted two months later when he was one of those whose interviews ABC aired during Mizzou-Nebraska half-time show. They provided the catalyst for the remake of Mizzou, especially the football program.

Most callers were alumni, including nearly all Order of the Mulberry honorees, wanting in on the action - and cheap seats. Remaining students from the previous year's block re-upped to a man, as did the smattering from The Cape, other SEMO points and a few Westminster grads. New were our Summer roommate's Kansas City paesanos who promised more diversity, and the core of the Harpo's/Harvest Moon crew who scooted in after discovering our pole plus one position [Others?]. On Thursday the 21st the best guess put the number at 260, increased to 350 for date tickets. The unprecedented scope brought the added worry of ensuring enough valid IDs to cover the demands of the undocumented.

About the time the latest law students were racing to Tate to fill out their admissions paperwork, it was clear we had lost control of the process as calls and visitors continued pouring in. We spent the day and week-end spreading the word to all potential members that they must appear in person with cash and ID card at the stadium on Sunday night the 24th if they expected to have seats in the block. We exempted St. Louis, KC and Jeff City working stiffs from the requirement, but many chose to come, anticipating what became a major week-end party. Those who made it to their job sometime Monday represented the best of the "Show Me" work ethic.

Festivities that had started at The Hill Saturday, slowed for eggs benedict the next morning, and then rekindled at Faurot early Sunday afternoon where they rocked through the night. The relatively scraggly column of about 200 placeholders during the week exploded to over 3,000 celebrants of the Fall semester ritual. Our contingent including some hold-over girlfriends from the previous year numbered more than 200 of Columbia's most notorious names.

Between swigs, that evening we honed the estimate and counted IDs. Many out-of-date ones still in recent graduates' wallets were validated with a small triangle file that with two piercings produced a six pointed star indistinguishable from those punched at the Jesse Hall Bursar's office in the previous days. By Midnight we had the assets to support the group ticket purchase of 500 plus.

As I recall, the Athletic Department showed surprising agility for a bureaucracy, and opened the ticket window an hour early on Monday 25 August. We stood next to the booth, listening in misery as Group One members individually selected their seats. When their tally of prime real estate midway up the bleachers between the 50 and 40 yard lines did not reach 100, we knew we would be sitting pretty.

The woman then turned to me and said, "We're ready for you." She asked about how many tickets we intended to buy, and was stunned by the answer. We then examined the seating chart and designated the area in sections LL and KK shown in black on the chart.

The current rate for this area is $879 per seat for the season or about $150 per game. In 1975 the ticket price per game was $4 for students and $7 for all others.

Recalling the ordeal with the first group, the sales lady called in back-up. But, with Soup Nazi precision the block managers marched our members forward, ID card at the ready. When addressed, the buyer slid it under the cage followed by $80 (5 home games x ~$4 x 4 tickets). Those of us at the window provided participants who had intended on purchasing fewer than four with the cash necessary to acquire the extras. As they moved away from the booth we retrieved the additional ones for distribution to those who could not be present.

The speed with which the process completed, streamlined by the fact that no one had to study the seating chart, surprised all. The end reminded me of the pit scene in "Trading Places" when Akroyd and Murphy turn to look at the final OJ price on the trading board. The ticket lady asked, "Is that it?"

I responded, "How Many?"

Shaking her head in near disbelief she said, "564," the largest group purchase of season tickets in MIZZOU history, a record that still stands. The total quickly reverberated down the column, which saw the tail melt away as those at the rear opted to take their chances in the lottery.

Was it worth the effort? Was there ever a better way to spend a Fall Saturday afternoon when winning was always a possibility?

Two weeks later the Tigers opened the season by beating Alabama in Tuscaloosa. Was there ever a more roller-coaster of a season?