Night Baseball Comes to St. Louis

Most people associate the history of night baseball with a few isolated incidents, Larry MacPhail in 1935, Johnny Vander Meer’s double-no-hitter in 1938, Wrigley Field in 1988.

But the story is a complex one, going all the way back to the first night game in 1880, just a few months after Edison perfected the incandescent bulb. All through the nineteenth century tentative experiments occurred and St. Louis was a part of that grand tradition.

Chris Von der Ahe was a German-born St. Louis saloon keeper whose knowledge of baseball was practically non-existent. This, however, did not stop him from bank-rolling the St. Louis Browns franchise when the American Association formed in 1882. Ignorance, then as now,was no barrier to baseball success and the Browns were the Association’s powerhouse in the 1880s.

After 1891, the American Association disappeared, but the Browns were one of four of its franchises to survive, being absorbed into an expanded 12-team National League. While Chris’ Brown Stockings survived, they hardly prospered. Von der Ahe attempted to reverse the franchise’s rapidly-fading fortunes by sponsoring nighttime horse racing (“Electric Light Racing”) at his 10,000-seat Sportsman’s Park. The field was rented out for that purpose for $10,000 per annum to promoter Fred Foster. Each night at 8 (save Sundays) five races went off, with a “Concert Every Evening before the Racing commences.”

Now this was not the only popular attraction at Sportsman’s Park. There was an amusement park, a honky-tonk, a “wine room” — even Wild West shows featuring none other than Buffalo Bill Cody and Chief Sitting Bull — all this plus a ballgame for just fifty cents. The Sporting News was aghast, damning such goings-on as “the Prostitution of a Ball Park.” It was during this period that an unexpected incident occurred at Von der Abe’s emporium.

“Der Boss President” set records for going through managers that George Steinbrenner could only dream of, and in 1898 he outdid even himself by hiring an umpire, the famous Tim (“You can’t beat the hours”) Hurst, to pilot the Browns.

In March 1902, Hurst recalled the episode for the same Sporting News: “One of the funniest things I ever saw on a ball field took place when Chris Von der Ahe had the ponies over in St. Louis. It was getting dark one afternoon . . . and the fans were yelling at (umpire) Bob Emslie, burning matches and setting fire to newspapers to get his attention to the fact that it was getting dark. Bob kept `em at it when all of a sudden there was ablaze of light all around the track which surrounded the field. Chris had turned the switch and the game was finished by electric light.” But he never did it again.

Night baseball did not take off until 1930, but then it spread like wildfire throughout the minors. The majors were a different story, however, although the Cards showed a very early interest-and with a little cooperation from the Browns might have been the first big league team to lead the way.

Their interest was peaked in May 1930 when the Kansas City Monarchs stopped off for two arc-lit tilts. Half a dozen Cardinal players turned out to watch. The St. Louis Negro National League team, the Stars, installed permanent lights at the home park later that summer, playing their first night game on September 2, 1930. On that same night the Cardinals were getting their first experience playing under the lights in an exhibition game at Indianapolis. The first night game at Sportsman’s Park occurred on September 22, 1932, when the Redbirds played Grover Cleveland Alexander and the House of David under portable arcs. That afternoon the Cards had drawn a miniscule 450 crowd versus the Reds. Against the barnstormers they attracted 9,000 customers who paid a total of $9,273 at the gate.

“Singing Sam” Breadon was a Greenwich Village lad who moved West and made a fortune in St. Louis selling cars. He was immediately taken by the idea of night ball-and by the potential profits. At Houston, where he owned Buffalo Stadium, he immediately installed lights, something he could not accomplish at Sportsman’s Park, which was owned by the rival Browns. The following year, however, Breadon suggested to Browns’ owner Phil Ball that they jointly purchase a system, sharing costs equally. “It makes every day a Sunday,” contended Singing Sam.

The Browns should have been just as interested as Breadon. Their attendance was abysmal, having been the worst in the majors for four years in a row. Yet the American Leaguers turned the proposition down. Breadon then offered to foot the whole bill himself. Even that situation was somewhat complicated. The park was technically owned by the Dodier Realty and Investment Company, a Ball-controlled operation. Dodier would have to do the actual installation with Breadon footing the bill. Ball, an engineer, laid out certain conditions. First, he would not allow standards or towers on the playing field itself; lights would have to be mounted above the grandstand. Doing this would involve greater expense to the Cards. The suspicion existed that this plan was created merely to add additional cost to the scheme.

Beyond that the Cards and Browns tangled over who would own the lights. The Dodier Co.? The Cards? If the Redbirds moved out of Sportsman’s Park (there was a very serious proposal to this end during and just after the Second World War), would Breadon be free to take them along? The wrangling continued. Would the lamps be used for non-diamond events such as boxing or wrestling? Breadon was firmly opposed to that.

Breadon offered the Browns the use of his system, but the Brownies demurred. “We’re not interested in lights.” Browns Vice-President J. L. McEvoy tersely commented, “and I have no idea what the company owning the park will do even if approached . . . by the Cardinals.”

Ultimately, the deal just fell apart.

Throughout the 1930s, the Browns and the Cards battled back and forth on who would pay for Sportsman’s Park’s lights. On November 17, 1936 the two teams finally came to an agreement — no doubt helping matters was the fact that the new Brownies boss, Donald Barnes, had just come over from the Cards’ employ.

Harmony lasted until January. On January 14 Sam Breadon announced the Redbirds would play their first arc-lit tilt on May 24 or 25. Three days later Barnes summoned the Mound City press corps to blast him for allegedly violating a verbal agreement that neither club would have night baseball until June.

He now insisted that if the Cards wanted lights they could pay for them all themselves. “It’s up to Mr. Breadon now to install the equipment,” fumed Barnes. “It’s in our agreement as co-tenants of the park and in the lease, that either the Browns or the Cardinals can spend their money for the mazdas and the other side can rent them.”

Good-bye harmony. Hello darkness.

In 1938 after Cincinnati and Brooklyn had hit the jackpot with their systems, Breadon started agitating again. Barnes again hemmed and hawed, stuttering that the money would be wiser spent on better players for the woeful Brownies. The St Louis-based Sporting News found Barnes’ reasoning frustrating, noting that the $50-100,000 the system would cost would hardly propel the Browns into competition for talent with such free-spenders as Tom Yawkey or Phil Wrigley.

“When any minor-league club can install lights,” seethed the Bible of Baseball, it would seem two major league clubs could get together on the cost of a system, especially when the cost may be amortized over ten years. We wonder if the delay in installing the lights is due to the reports again circulating that one or the other St. Louis franchises will be moved?”

Ultimately, the two clubs got their act together and split the tab. Sportsman’s Park received its nocturnal baptism on May 24, 1940, the very same night as the Polo Grounds debut. Bob Feller and the Indians were the opponents. The young Iowan not only fanned nine Brownies, but also chipped in with his first Major League home run as the Tribe triumphed, 3-2. Only one error was recorded and that was on a hard-hit ball.

The paid crowd was a huge one for the St. Louis Americans: 24,827 (25,562 total) — their third largest ever. How bad was Browns attendance? For the entire 1939 season they had drawn a pathetic 109,159. In 1938 the Cleveland Indians had drawn just 8,998 for all eleven games they played in the Mound City. One game, with Bob Feller on the hill, drew 598 fans.

With their usual flair, the impoverished Browns ownership provided none of the usual trappings; no fireworks, no marching bands, or like hoopla. The most noticeable special event was the company caps worn by the several hundred employees of the Johnson-Shinkle-Stephens Shoe Company present.

Judge Landis attended, having flown in from Chicago for the occasion. He felt the crowd might have been more sizable save for threatening weather in the outlying areas.

“St. Louis is an ideal town for night ball,” analyzed A. L. President Will Harridge, “especially when the weather gets hot. Them are no beaches, lakes or other cooling diversions to detract from night baseball attractions. As for me I am a nighter.” Hardly a statement the Chamber of Commerce would want to reprint.

The Cardinals June 4, 1940 arc-lit debut was hardly as dramatic as Vander Meer’s double-no-hitter, but it did have its results — the firing of manager Ray Blades. Over 20,000 fans turned out to see the game. The club first announced the attendance as 23,500, then changed the figure to 25.300, but the press was openly skeptical of both figures. However many turned out to see the seventh-place Cards, what they saw they did not like. The Redbirds suffered a 10-1 pasting from Leo Durocher’s visiting Dodgers, and the crowd went crazy. Hundreds of empty bottles poured down onto left and center field. Patrons literally held their noses over quality of play.

It was a mess. The Brooklyns (helped by a normally light-hitting second baseman Pete Coscarart’s three-run homer) knocked out righthander Mort Cooper in the first as the Bums scored five times. In the second frame, right fielder Pepper Martin was tossed out of a game for the first time in his eleven-year major league career. (He was replaced by a young whippersnapper named Enos Slaughter.) Umpire Bill Stewart reversed partner George Magerkurth’s decisions not once but twice in the seventh, first on a pop bunt, second on a double by Brooklyn’s Babe Phelps. The crowd exploded with a shower of bottles, and the game was delayed for seven minutes.

Breadon was so distressed that he fired Blades after one more game, replacing him on an interim basis with veteran coach Mike Gonzales and then with Billy Southworth. The Redbirds turned their fortunes around, finishing third for the season and beginning a dynasty for the early 1940s.

Nineteen-fifty saw the first night season opener in Major League history. The site was Sportsman’s Park. Cardinal owner Fred Saigh successfully petitioned the National League for permission and got it despite the opposition of the visiting Pirates. On April 18, 1950 a crowd of 20,871 (the previous Card record for an opener was 20,754 back in 1928) turned out with one thing in mind — to boo the tar out of weak-hitting Redbirds catcher Joe Garagiola. (He evidently was as bad as he made himself out to be.) Garagiola shrugged off the criticism (“No, they don’t bother me anymore, even if I hit only .120 this year.”). But actions speak louder than words, and he responded with three sharply hit singles including a sixth-inning knock that drove in the winning tally. A couple of guys named Musial and Schoendienst helped too, chipping in with four-baggers.

Conditions were hardly perfect. Temperatures plunged before game-time, holding the crowd down. A harsh wind blew out to right, increasing the wind-chill factor, and in the seventh it began to drizzle. Topping it off were field conditions. A soccer league had demolished the turf of the Sportsman’s Park outfield. It was the first night opening game in big league history and probably the first major league game, sarcastically noted Post-Dispatch sports editor J. Roy Stockton,”played on a grass infield with a skinned outfield.”

So that’s the history of arc-lit ball in the Mound City. As Casey Stengel (a native Missourian) used to say: “You could look it up.”