Six years later I pitched a game at Old Colt Stadium in Houston on my 18th birthday. We could all see the Astrodome across the parking lot, the steel beams and the arching roof structure. I don’t think any of us could have imagined what it would look like when we got back from spring training the next year.

Our team bus pulled into the Astrodome parking lot under the veil of darkness on April 7, 1965. The roof was aglow. We really couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the outside walls until the next day. But of course, the inside was the thing anyway. We entered the stadium and walked across the concourse into the box seats. It was breathtaking. The colors of the theater-style seats on each level were eye-popping. The scoreboard was gigantic. The grass was green, the dirt brown, and the field was chalked brilliant white. Although jaws dropped, it must have been at least a minute before anyone said anything. Wow!

Dodger Stadium was a relic; it was Old Colt Stadium. We were in the 21st century.

I pitched in an intrasquad game the next day and gave up a bunch of runs because the glare of the sun through the Lucite panels of the roof made it impossible for fielders to track fly balls. The next night we hosted the Yankees and Mickey Mantle hit the first home run, off Turk Farrell. Little did we know at the time, a home run to center field (or in any other direction) would be quite an accomplishment in the Dome. 

Attendance was good for the first few years as people (not all of them baseball fans), came to Houston from the four corners of the earth to see what Astros owner Roy Hofheinz proclaimed to be the Eighth Wonder of the World. Indeed, he had been inspired by the Colosseum in Rome and had returned from an excursion to Europe with many architectural elements and other furnishings that he would use to embellish the Astrodome Club, the Domeskeller behind the outfield wall, and the Sky Boxes high atop the upper deck.

As you will learn, many historic events formed a timeline of the Astrodome’s history. And if efforts to restore the building are successful, there may be more to come. But what I find ironic is that, in a way, the Astrodome in Houston led businessmen and politicians in many other cities right down the primrose path.

Once it was clear that grass would not grow inside, Astroturf was invented to replace it. It was yet another wonder. Who could fail to notice that both football and baseball could be played in the same stadium without the necessity of mowing the lawn. Soon there were convertible multipurpose stadiums with Astroturf in St. Louis, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, and Philadelphia. A few other cities built convertible bowls with natural grass. But after 20 years or so, it became obvious that these venues were not ideal for football or baseball. And they were anything but charming. Camden Yards was built to bring back the feel of the “old ballpark.” Then a succession of retro-style fields began replacing the big bowls. When the 21st century actually arrived, the Astros moved out of the Astrodome and into Enron Field, a retro park, in downtown Houston.

Looking back, the Astrodome’s place in baseball history is similar to that of Shibe Park in Philadelphia, which started the trend of big baseball-only stadiums in 1909. After that, nine new ballparks were built in the next six years for major-league teams. Among them, only Fenway Park and Wrigley Field remain. I got to play at Wrigley and in Crosley Field, Sportsman’s Park, Forbes Field, and Connie Mack Stadium. And though I missed the Polo Grounds by a year, I feel the progress of baseball and its environs in my bones.

Most of my career (35 years over three different intervals) was spent with the Houston Astros. During the years I served as general manager or president of baseball operations, there were many thrilling games and notable accomplishments. The first divisional championship in 1980 followed by the exciting playoff series with the Phillies, and the winning of the National League pennant in 2005, which led to the first World Series in Texas, certainly stand out and will live forever among my cherished memories. Many particular games and individual performances by Astro players also come to mind when recalling past events that left an indelible mark.

But wins on the field are often short-lived. There is always another game to play or another season that follows. The joy of winning is often offset at some future point by disappointment. In my memory bank, however, there is one event of a more lasting nature: the opening of the Astrodome in April 1965.

Actually, my association with the Astrodome began when it was not much more than a hole in the ground in 1963. I had achieved my boyhood dream of a job with a major-league baseball team when I joined the Cincinnati Reds in 1958. In the fall of 1960 Houston was awarded an expansion franchise in the National League, and Gabe Paul, who had been my boss as general manager of the Reds, asked me to accompany him to Houston when he accepted a similar position as GM of the fledgling franchise. By 1963, Gabe had left and become president of the Cleveland Indians. I was on the verge of joining him in Cleveland when Judge Roy Hofheinz summoned me to his office.

Judge Hofheinz and R.E. “Bob” Smith were the principal owners of the Houston Sports Association (“HSA”), the corporate entity that operated the ballclub (known as the Colt .45s at that time and renamed Astros just before the opening of the Astrodome). It was Hofheinz who conceived of the then unheard-of idea of building a multipurpose stadium that would be covered and air-conditioned so as to comfort and shelter baseball fans from Houston’s hot and humid atmosphere and provide a venue that would host trade shows, conventions, and other sport and entertainment attractions throughout the year regardless of the elements. The Judge was clearly the visionary who came up with the idea and the master salesman, promoter, and politician who pushed the project, overcame the skeptics and other obstacles, and made it a reality.

When I met with the Judge that day in early April 1963, I had no idea what he had in mind. Like all others with the team, I had become fascinated and somewhat mesmerized listening to his oratory about what would become the world’s first air-conditioned, covered stadium, but up until that time the emphasis had been centered on raising public support and public funding. The site itself was a big hole that had been excavated and then sat dormant until a second bond issue was passed.

I was aware that construction contracts had been awarded and that there was now activity at the job site, but I was completely surprised when the Judge asked me to abandon my plans to leave and to instead stay on and serve as the liaison and project manager for the HSA during the construction period. My five years of baseball experience in Cincinnati and Houston had all been related to player development and player evaluation. I professed this to the Judge and reminded him that I was not an architect or engineer. He obviously knew this and proceeded to sell me on the idea that I could do it and that I should do it.

After some reflection it seemed to me to be an exciting challenge and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become involved in such a unique project. How right I was and how thankful I   am that I acceded to the Judge’s request.

I did sense, though, that I was faced with a “sink or swim” situation so I quickly became immersed in the raft of architectural, structural , mechanical, and electrical drawings, the hundreds of pages of job specifications and other documents related to the building of what was to become known as the Astrodome. There is no greater way to learn than when faced with necessity. Thus began a fascinating journey for the next 2½ years.

The construction of the Astrodome was a superb team effort. An extraordinary group of architects and engineers, most of whom were Houston firms, designed the building and its innovative features. There was obviously no similar air-conditioned, covered stadium or buildings of this magnitude to serve as a model. Consequently, there were no script or existing blueprints to guide the designers in the initial design or in coping with issues or problems that might arise in the actual construction stage.

The general contractor and the subcontractors and their suppliers all seemed to recognize what was at hand – the opportunity to participate in a historic endeavor and to add their name to what would become known as “The Eighth Wonder of the World.” Job-site issues were usually quickly resolved, and demanding schedules were met.

Many sports teams played in the Astrodome in the ensuing years but none had a more profound effect than the first team that was on the site – the professionals who built this majestic stadium that went on to serve as a model for stadiums worldwide. Air-conditioned, covered stadiums with upholstered seats and unobstructed sight lines, entertaining video displays, restaurants and clubs, luxurious suites, and other amenities are the norm today, but who knows when they might have come about if not for Judge Hofheinz’s novel concept and those who carried out his vision.

I obviously have a lot of memories of the process and those who were involved. Recollections of the many great events that took place in The Dome are too numerous to catalog or to rate in any order of significance without doing an injustice to others equally deserving.

For me, however, the one most memorable event in my professional life occurred in the early morning hours on April 9, 1965, a few short hours before the first public event – the exhibition game with the Yankees –when I stood in the center of the field in a silent stadium with the house lights on and marveled at what had been accomplished.

TAL SMITH has been a SABR member since 1982. He spent 54 years working in Major League Baseball front offices. In three separate stints with the Houston Colt .45s/Astros that spanned a total of 35 years, he held positions as the franchise’s Farm System Director, Vice-President of Player Personnel, General Manager, and President of Baseball Operations. As an assistant to Judge Roy Hofheinz, the president of the Houston Sports Association, Tal helped to oversee the construction of the Astrodome and later was responsible for finding the stadium’s synthetic playing surface that came to be known as AstroTurf. As General Manager, he assembled the Astros’ first playoff team, for which he was recognized as The Sporting News’ Major League Executive of the Year in 1980. Tal and his wife, Jonnie, reside in Houston; they have two children, Valerie and Randy. Randy followed in his father’s footsteps and, at age 29, became the youngest general manager in MLB history when he took the reins for the San Diego Padres in 1993.

By 2015, on the 50th anniversary of its opening, the Astrodome had not aged gracefully. Since it had been vacated by its longtime tenants the Houston Oilers (who became the Tennessee Titans) in 1996 and the Houston Astros in 1999, the Astrodome had outlived its usefulness as a sports facility.

Since the Houston Astros played their last game in the Astrodome on October 9, 1999, the stadium’s most notable use was as an emergency refuge for some 25,000 evacuees from New Orleans who had been displaced by Hurricane Katrina in 2005.3

On its half-century anniversary, the structure that once captured the public’s imagination for its innovation presented itself as a dingy, outdated, and unused structure. Placed in the shadow of the much newer, larger, and boxier NRG Stadium (home of the Houston Texans), the Astrodome sat much like an abandoned puppy that is desperately looking, praying, and hoping for someone to care for it before it is too late.

As regional officials discussed plans for its future, or its lack thereof, the Astrodome was still very much in the public consciousness. For many Houstonians it served as a cultural icon of a bygone era, as was evidenced by the sale of Astrodome seats and other surviving memorabilia in 2013, 2014, and 2015 that netted around $1 million each time. There have also been successful sales of patches of Astroturf and furniture from the stadium’s luxury suites.4

In an attempt to continue to raise awareness and support for the preservation of the Astrodome, Houston Arts & Media in January 2016 announced the “Our Astrodome Art Contest,” through which children and adults could submit their best “artistic and imaginative representations of the 8th Wonder of the World.” The contest was part of a growing movement to garner support to save and repurpose the Astrodome. Positioning the Astrodome alongside the Alamo as the two defining architectural icons of Texas, Houston Arts & Media hoped to turn the conversation about the Astrodome away from its state of abandonment and toward both the significance of its past and the possibilities for its future.5  

To many citizens who arrived in Houston – whether by birth or by choice – after the novelty of the Astrodome had worn off, the dilapidated arena was an eyesore to which they had no attachment. Those who opposed the Dome’s preservation believed it should be razed to make room for additional parking for fans who attend Houston Texans games and the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. 

The potential destruction of the Astrodome loomed as a sad fate for the first sports venue that rendered the outdoor elements completely inconsequential. Mosquitos, rainouts, and heat exhaustion were rendered moot6  and made attending a baseball game much more enjoyable than it had been at its predecessor, Colt Stadium, which had been the home of the Colt 45s (later renamed the Astros) from 1962 to 1964. Former Astros great Jimmy Wynn emphasized the importance of the Astrodome when he said, “If it wasn’t for Judge Hofheinz getting this built, baseball wouldn’t have survived in Houston, the heat and the humidity was just too much.”7 

Beyond its significance to baseball in the subtropical climate of the Gulf of Mexico, Los Angeles Times architecture critic Christopher Hawthorne has noted that the Astrodome is a monument to the “American confidence and Texas swagger of the 1960s” as it perfectly captured this place in time.8 Such a statement about the impact and value of the Astrodome raises the question of what the future of the Astrodome is to be.

Except for the Texas-sized rats that called it home, the Astrodome has sat vacant since 2008, when it was closed to the public due to a litany of code violations.9 Since that time various proposals to repurpose the Dome – from a shopping mall to an amusement park and everything in between – have been debated and rejected. All the while, the stadium continued to deteriorate to the point that demolition seemed imminent, so much so that proponents of its preservation got it added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2014, for its architectural and cultural significance, in an attempt to eliminate destruction as a viable option; however, while such designation allowed Harris County to gain state and federal tax credits, it did not automatically save the Astrodome from demolition.10

Many observers believe that the Astrodome’s demolition would be “a failure of civic imagination”11 and a counterintuitive move for the largest major city without any zoning restrictions, one that thrives on reimagining itself through innovation. As of 2016 the Astrodome existed as a ward of Harris County, which owned the structure, and its fate rested largely with four Harris County commissioners and Harris County Judge Ed Emmett,12 who said he saw the stadium as a sound structure that has already been paid for by the county and that he believed a solid and mutually advantageous plan should be developed for all parties that had an interest in the Dome’s fate. As of 2016, however, Emmett was unable to garner unanimous support for any proposal from Harris County’s commissioners, the public, or the major tenants of the NRG Complex (the Houston Texans, the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, and the Offshore Technology Conference).

If the Astrodome was to survive, officials had to imagine new possibilities for it to keep it in touch with the newer, younger population of Houston. The value of repurposing the city’s icon would be not only to breathe life into the Dome but also to once again put Houston at the forefront of architectural innovation.13 The primary roadblock to accomplishing this feat was that Houston has a “history problem.”14 The city’s diverse population has a tendency to look forward, without an appreciation for a past in which it had no part; it considered the building to be too old to be useful but too new to be worthy of historic preservation.

Another roadblock was the lack of a shared vision for the future of the Astrodome. After a failed 2013 referendum to repurpose the Astrodome, the Houston Texans and the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo commissioned a study to find another option for a resolution of what could be done with it.15 

The resulting NRG Astrodome proposal, which had an estimated total project cost of $66 million, called for the removal of the entire Astrodome structure except for the giant drive-through concrete pillars encapsulating the outdoor perimeter of the Astrodome. The proposal would have freed up approximately 8.8 acres of open space and created 385,000 square feet of usable green space within the concrete pillars. The proposal followed the precedent of Houston’s  Discovery Green, an enormously popular and successful repurposing of urban green space located downtown near Minute Maid Park, the successor to the Astrodome as the home of the Houston Astros. The proposal would have also opened up the flow of traffic around the Astrodome and would have created a pedestrian thoroughfare to an open area that could have been used for outdoor activities and programmable space. A 25,000-square-foot Astrodome replica, an Astrodome Hall of Fame, and a restaurant would have been located at the center of the area.16 In the end, the removal of the Astrodome as central to the plan left the proposal as nothing more than another interesting idea that was rejected.

The latest idea as of this writing was to repurpose the structure into an indoor multi-use park and to continue to make the Astrodome a place for traditional outdoor activities in a climate-controlled arena, a plan for its future similar to Judge Roy Hofheinz’s initial vision of bringing baseball indoors.17 Though the new proposal was certainly plausible, Emmett readily admitted that  “the worst thing you can [do] is repurpose and then have the repurposing fail.”18 To this end, due diligence was paid to determine the feasibility and benefit of such a project, including a study from the Urban Land Institute and a visit to Tropical Islands resort in Krausnick, Germany.

In March 2015 the Urban Land Institute, an advisory panel of experts in real estate, land-use planning, and development, released its recommendations for the Astrodome at the behest of the Harris County Commissioners Court.19 First and foremost, the group reached the unanimous decision that the Astrodome should be conserved and repurposed for civic use.20 In very general terms, the institute’s proposal planned to keep about 100,000 square feet of green space in the center of the Astrodome, with areas for events around the sides of the structure. The plan also called for about 1,500 parking spaces on the dome’s lower level.21

What the actual park might look like if that plan was followed was anyone’s guess, but it could include observation decks, trails, exercise facilities, and space for festivals. According to Todd Mead, a panel member and senior associate at PWP Landscape Architecture in Berkeley, California, the proposal is “built upon the idea of a park that’s indoors that makes an outdoor connection and a civic contribution as well.”22 Another possibility could be to add adventure elements which could “include zip lines – allowing adventuresome folks to speed down the equivalent of an 18-story building from the upper levels inside the Dome.”23

In addition to soliciting the Urban Land Institute’s ideas, Houston city and county officials visited the Tropical Islands, a domed facility near Berlin, to explore an alternative proposal for the Astrodome.24 Built in 2000 on an old Luftwaffe airfield, the dome was to serve as an airship hangar for the German company CargoLifter AG; however, in 2002, the company went insolvent and the dome closed. The facility was turned into an indoor rainforest with more than 50,000 plants, water, and beach, accommodations for 6,000 visitors, a hot-air balloon and an adventure park.

The final obstacle to the preservation of the Astrodome was funding, a major sticking point as evidenced by a failed bond referendum in 2013 in which 53.5 percent of voters said no to the $200 million initiative to repurpose the Astrodome with public monies.25 Emmett then presented the idea of developing a public-private partnership that would be overseen by a conservancy, which would allow for the collection of funds from a variety of sources and would thus negate the need for taxpayer funds.26 Historic tax credits, philanthropic donations, and the creation of tax-increment reinvestment zones would likely alleviate the need to call for a bond referendum on the Astrodome,27 which it was thought might give this idea the traction it needed to finally put the Astrodome toward the path of revitalization.

Houston preservationist James Glassman has called the Astrodome “the physical manifestation of Houston’s soul.”28 It is the architectural landmark of Houston, but it is currently relegated to a purgatory of neglect and limbo in which its glorious past has been lost.

Though the Astrodome deserves a better fate than its current state of existence, it remained unknown as of the writing of this article whether the “Eighth Wonder of the World” would once again become a structure of innovation that captures the public’s imagination or whether it would be bulldozed and turned into just another parking lot.

Notes

1 Richard Justice, “Astrodome Remembered as Baseball Innovation,”MLB.com, April 18, 2015.

2 Nate Berg, “Houston’s Astrodome: ‘the Eighth Wonder of the World’ – a History of Cities in 50 Buildings, Day 12,” The Guardian, April 9, 2015.

3 Wayne Chandler, “Astrodome,” Texas State Historical Association, June 9, 2010.

4 Mike Acosta, “Astroturf: Then, Now and Possibly Again.” Our Astrodome, 2015.

5 Craig Hlavaty, “Astrodome Art Contest Announced for Artistic Houstonians,” Chron.com, Houston Chronicle.

6 Jeré Longman, “Dirty and Dated, but Irreplaceable,” New York Times, May 26, 2013.

7 Justice.

8 Christopher Hawthorne, “Why the Astrodome Is Worth Saving,” Los Angeles Times, November 5, 2013.

9 Ibid.

10 “Astrodome Named Historic Place,” Associated Press, January 31, 2014.

11 Longman.

12 “About Our Astrodome,” Our Astrodome, 2015.

13 “About Our Astrodome.”

14 Berg.

15 “Statement Regarding NRG Astrodome Proposal,” Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, July 10, 2014.

16 “Astrodome Site Study,” NRG, February 2014.

17 Emmett.

18 Marcelino Benito, “Could a German Tropical Paradise Help Save the Astrodome?” KHOU, May 3, 2015.

19 Houston Astrodome, Urban Land Institute.

20 Pat Hernandez, “Urban Land Institute Proposes Astrodome Plan,” Houston Public Media, December 19, 2014.

21 Craig Hlavaty, “New Urban Land Institute Plan for Astrodome Calls for Multi-Usage, Parking Below,” Chron.com, Houston Chronicle, March 23, 2015.

22 Ralph Bivins, “Visions of a New Life for Houston’s Historic Astrodome,” Urban Land, January 29, 2015.

23 Ibid.

24 Benito.

25 Berg.

26 Gabrielle Banks, “A New Plan Emerges to Save the Astrodome,” Houston Chronicle, July 28, 2015.

27 Hlavaty, “New Urban.”

28 Longman.

Following is a detailed review of the nonbaseball athletic history of the Astrodome, focusing on the more mainstream sports played under the roof.

Football

As a home for football, the Astrodome and other fixed-roof, multipurpose stadiums generally had two major advantages and two major disadvantages. The advantages were protection from harsh weather and, specifically for the home team, amplification of crowd noise. For players a disadvantage was the absence of natural sunlight. This required artificial turf, which could be punishingly hard in addition to presenting other injury hazards, such as players’ cleats getting caught and nasty rug burns. Of Astroturf, “The former trainer for the Houston Oilers claims the stuff was ‘a definite factor’ in the team’s losing four of its best players to knee injuries last season.”3 For fans the disadvantage involved sight lines and viewing angles. With most of the action in a baseball game taking place in a diamond-shaped area, and football being played on a rectangle, seat locations that were good for viewing one of the sports usually were not good for viewing the other. The Astrodome sought to mitigate this problem somewhat through the use of movable seating sections in the lower deck.4

Houston Oilers

The NFL’s Houston Oilers were a 29-year tenant of the Astrodome (1968-1996). The Oilers originally played in the 1960s American Football League, which eventually merged with the older NFL. Although the Astrodome was available for the Oilers in 1965, the team did not actually move in for another three years. Contract disputes delayed the Oilers’ debut at the Dome: “Originally scheduled to play at the brand new Harris County Domed Stadium, the Oilers at the last minute decide[d] to play at Rice Stadium,5 when they reject[ed] terms of the lease. Without the Oilers using the new stadium it would be renamed the Astrodome.”6

A November 20, 1978, contest at the Dome between the Miami Dolphins and Oilers was voted in a 2002 fan survey as one of the all-time greatest NFL Monday Night Football games. Bum Phillips, the Oilers’ coach in the latter half of the 1970s, recalled, “No one had ever taken the pro game to [the same enthusiasm of] the college level, where [all the fans] had pompoms and stuff like that.”7 In this game (and many others), Oilers running back Earl Campbell amazed observers by bowling over opposing players, his jersey often in tatters from defenders grabbing at him in unsuccessful attempts to tackle him. During the Oilers’ Astrodome years, their best playoff finishes were trips to the American Football Conference championship game (the qualifying game to get to the Super Bowl) after the 1978 and 1979 regular seasons. Both games were played in Pittsburgh, with the host Steelers winning each time.

Toward the end of the Oilers’ time in Houston, owner Bud Adams vigorously lobbied for improvements to the Astrodome’s football facilities and threatened to move the team to other cities. In September 1988 the Dome’s large animation scoreboard in the outfield was decommissioned and removed to increase football seating capacity by roughly 12,000 (from 50,594 to 62,439). According to the Astrodome’s application form for the National Register of Historic Places (2013), the removed scoreboard area “stretched 474 feet across the centerfield wall behind pavilion seats, and measured more than four stories high. Weighing 300 tons and requiring 1,200 miles of wiring, the sign encompassed more than half an acre.”8

The increased capacity did little to stabilize the Oilers’ status in Houston. A variety of developments led to fan discontentment to Adams’s decision to move the team to Nashville, Tennessee. On January 3, 1993, Houston blew a 35-3 lead in a playoff game at Buffalo, demoralizing much of the Oilers’ fan base.9 Further, as a sign of how poor the Dome’s football playing conditions had become, a 1995 preseason exhibition game between the Oilers and San Diego Chargers was canceled when the Astroturf field was ruled unfit for play.10

In 1993 Adams had begun campaigning for a new stadium to be built mostly with taxpayer dollars. Houston Mayor Bob Lanier refused to support the use of city tax funds for that purpose, nor did Adams find much support among the media, other sports owners, or other major players in the city.

As a result, Adams looked to Nashville, which along with the state of Tennessee was wooing him.11 His eventual deal with Nashville, reached in November 1995, involved construction of a new stadium at a total cost of nearly $300 million – none borne by Adams – and a 30-year commitment12 by the Oilers (later renamed the Tennessee Titans) to play in it. When it opened in 1999, the stadium seated 67,000 and included 120 luxury boxes. Adams also received a $28 million relocation fee and 100 percent of stadium revenue. (A few years after the Oilers left, Houston got a new football stadium built with extensive public funds.)

Other Professional Football Leagues

American sports have always featured upstart professional leagues attempting to compete (or at least coexist) with their more established counterparts. The American Football League was just one example. The 1970s and early 1980s were very active times for new leagues. Two had franchises in Houston: the World Football League (1974 and part of ’75) and the United States Football League (1983-1985). With the WFL, finances were so bad that franchises were locating to new cities literally on a week-to-week basis. The USFL also had financial difficulties. It won an antitrust lawsuit against the NFL in 1986, but the $1 damage award (tripled to $3 under antitrust law)13 obviously could not sustain the league.

The Astrodome hosted a team in each of these leagues. The Houston Texans of the WFL skipped town after only 11 games of the 20-game 1974 season, moving in midseason to become the Shreveport Steamer. The Houston Gamblers played during the USFL’s final two seasons. Despite the Gamblers’ brief existence, several big names were associated with the franchise. Quarterback Jim Kelly began his professional career with the team before going on to a Hall of Fame career with the Buffalo Bills of the NFL. Jack Pardee, a longtime NFL player and coach, was a head coach of the Gamblers; he later became a Houston coaching mainstay, leading the University of Houston from 1987 to 1989 and the Oilers from 1990 to 1994. Two assistant coaches for the Gamblers were Darrel “Mouse” Davis, known for the “Run and Shoot” offense, and John Jenkins, later a University of Houston head coach.

University of Houston

The University of Houston Cougars had a long run in the Astrodome (1965-1997), moving there from Rice Stadium. One highlight of the Cougars’ Dome tenure was a nationally televised Monday night game on September 12, 1977, in which the Cougars defeated UCLA, 17-13. From 1995 to 1997 the Cougars gradually increased the number of games played on-campus at Robertson Stadium, then moved there full time in 1998. The university’s new athletic director wanted its football games to have a campus atmosphere.14

In addition, Houston had not drawn well at the Dome. In 1989, despite a 9-2 record and an offense that averaged over 50 points per game – earning quarterback Andre Ware the Heisman Trophy – the Cougars’ average home attendance was only around 28,000. In their final year at the Astrodome, it was below 20,000.15

The phasing out of the University of Houston’s Astrodome tenure coincided with the demise of the Southwest Conference, of which the school was a member from 1976 to 1995. Well before officially disbanding, many of its schools, including the University of Houston, got in trouble with the NCAA, which may well have been a major factor in the Cougars’ failure to build more of a following.

After the Southwest Conference folded, Houston landed in Conference USA, so instead of getting to play annual games against prominent in-state rivals Texas and Texas A&M, the Cougars instead played a conference schedule against distant schools like Memphis. Cincinnati, and Tulane. These new opponents presumably carried relatively little interest to football fans in the Houston area. 

A college football bowl game, the Astro-Bluebonnet Bowl was played in the Astrodome from 1968 to 1984, and in 1987.

Basketball

College basketball’s “Game of the Century,” a 71-69 win for the University of Houston Cougars over the UCLA Bruins, was played in the Astrodome on January 20, 1968. Houston and UCLA had played in the previous year’s Final Four (a 73-58 Bruins win) and Cougars coach Guy V. Lewis dreamed up the idea of a rematch in the Astrodome. The floor for the game was shipped from the Los Angeles Sports Arena and placed in the middle of the vast Astrodome floor. The list of superlatives associated with the game is extensive: a record basketball crowd at the time (52,693), first nighttime national telecast of a regular-season college basketball game, a battle of two legendary coaches (Lewis and UCLA’s John Wooden) and two legendary big men (UCLA’s Lew Alcindor, later known as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and the University of Houston’s Elvin Hayes), both teams undefeated coming in, and play-by-play of the national telecast being done by an up-and-coming broadcasting star, 33-year-old Dick Enberg.16 

UCLA had a more successful experience in the Astrodome in 1971. The NCAA Final Four was held there, with the Bruins capturing the national championship. The 1971 Final Four presaged a later trend of the Final Four regularly being held in football/baseball-sized domed stadiums. The small size of a basketball court (94 x 50 feet), compared with a 100-yard-long football field, makes a game very difficult to view from the upper decks of a stadium. However, the novelty of basketball in a dome and the ability to sell more tickets than in a conventional arena kept domed stadiums viable as hoop hosts.

The Astrodome also played a limited hosting role for NBA basketball. In the Rockets’ first season in Houston (1971-72) after they moved from San Diego, the team played eight home games at the Astrodome (along with six at the adjoining Astrohall exhibition center, 21 at Hofheinz Pavilion on the University of Houston campus, and the remaining six games spread between El Paso, San Antonio, and Waco).17

The NBA held its annual All-Star Game at the Astrodome on February 12, 1989, with a crowd of 44,735 attending. On this day, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar came full circle, playing in his final All-Star Game near the end of his illustrious 20-year NBA career in the same building in which he had played for UCLA in the 1968 Game of the Century. 

One additional piece of US pro basketball history, fascinating though obscure, is tied to the Astrodome. The American Basketball Association, which lasted from the 1967-68 season to 1975-76, was a rival to the NBA before folding and having four of its teams absorbed into the older league.18 On May 28, 1971, a so-called “Supergame” was held at the Astrodome, pitting all-star teams from the NBA and ABA against each other. Attendance was 16,364. According to blogger David Friedman:

The game used NBA rules in the first half (24-second shot clock, no three-point shot19)    and ABA rules in the second half (30-second shot clock, three-point shot). Walt Frazier came off the bench to make seven of his eight field-goal attempts in the first half and the NBA led 66-64 after Elvin Hayes’ first half-buzzer beater. The game went back and       forth until the NBA took a 108-98 lead in the fourth quarter. [Rick] Barry and Charlie Scott rallied the ABA to within a point with 47 seconds left, but Oscar Robertson drained two free throws to put the NBA up 123-120 with 32 seconds left. Frazier closed out the scoring with two more free throws at the 11-second mark. Frazier finished with a game- high 26 points and won a car as the game MVP.20

Tennis

Situated historically within the Women’s Rights Movement of the 1960s and ’70s, the September 20, 1973, Billie Jean King-Bobby Riggs tennis match at the Dome drew great international attention. A crowd of 30,472 attended; estimates of the television audience have ranged from 50 million viewers worldwide to 50 million in the United States and 90 million worldwide. The 55-year-old Riggs, who won the Wimbledon and US Open singles titles in 1939 and won again at the US Open in 1941, created a classic male-chauvinist persona (whatever his private attitudes actually were). If a male player as far removed from his prime as Riggs could defeat a top female player in her prime (King was 29), the implication would be that women’s tennis just wasn’t very good. Prior to playing King, Riggs had defeated another leading women’s player, Margaret Court, 6-2, 6-1, on May 13, 1973, in a much more low-key setting.

King later described the high stakes of the match: “I thought it would set us back 50 years if I didn’t win that match. … It would ruin the women’s tour and affect all women’s self esteem.”21 King and Riggs opted to play a three-out-of-five-sets match, presumably so that each could showcase his/her endurance. This decision is noteworthy because even today, more than 40 years after the King-Riggs match, major women’s championships still use a two-out-of-three format. King showed considerably greater fitness than Riggs, garnering a straight-sets victory, 6-4, 6-3, 6-3.

Soccer

Two soccer teams, the Houston Stars of the United Soccer Association (1967-1968) and Houston Hurricane of the NASL (1978-1980) called the Astrodome home during their brief runs. A recent history of soccer in Houston said the Stars led the league in attendance with an average attendance of over 19,000.22

“The Superstars”

A made-for-television sports franchise in the 1970s was ABC’s The Superstars. Superstar competitions pitted athletes from different sports against one another in several events, including swimming, running, tennis, and weightlifting. Athletes received points based on their performance in each event (10 for first place, 7 for second, etc.). Contestants could not compete in their own sport. Most of the Superstar programs featured competitions between men, but women also competed. There were also “Superteam” and “Celebrity Superteam” battles.

In 1975, the first year women competed, the Astrodome hosted the two semifinal competitions (covered by Sports Illustrated23). The final round was held at the main Superstars complex in Florida. Events contested in Houston included tennis, softball throwing, basketball shooting, swimming, rowing (held at Lake Conroe), bicycling, bowling, obstacle course, 60-yard dash, and one-fifth-mile run (because there wasn’t enough space in the Dome for a traditional quarter-mile oval).

Top finishers at the Astrodome included  diver Micki King, speed skater Dianne Holum, and softball player Joan Joyce (first semifinal); and volleyball player Mary Jo Peppler, basketball player Karen Logan, and former Olympic sprinter Wyomia Tyus (second semifinal). Peppler went on to win the overall title in Florida. Billie Jean King took fifth in the second semifinal group and qualified for the finals, but she did not compete.24

Rodeo

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, which was founded in 1931 and as of 2016 was held at NRG (formerly Reliant) Stadium, took place in the Astrodome from 1966 to 2002.25 Rodeo competitions are sanctioned by the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association. Contested events include bull riding, saddle bronc riding, calf roping, steer wrestling, and an all-around title.26 The annual event also features other festivities such as popular musical performers and a barbecue contest.

Conclusion

During its first decade (1965-1975), the Astrodome hosted an array of sporting events whose breadth and importance arguably have not been equaled by any other US sports venue within a 10-year period. The Astrodome was the only football-and-baseball-sized domed stadium during this decade. Novelty and uniqueness were probably the main reasons for the Astrodome attracting the events it did, rather than the quality of the viewing experience (especially from the upper decks).

Once the Superdome opened in 1975 for the NFL’s New Orleans Saints, it too began to attract major sporting events outside of its primary sport, including the basketball Final Four and prizefighting. At this point, the Astrodome’s uniqueness was lost.

The Astrodome’s precedent of hosting a major basketball game in a baseball/football-sized stadium has stood the test of time in some ways, but not others. The men’s basketball Final Four has consistently been held in domed stadiums rather than conventional arenas since the 1990s. However, every NBA team that once used a dome as a full-time home (e.g., the Detroit Pistons in the Pontiac Silverdome from 1978-1988) has abandoned the concept.

Some seemingly good news for the Astrodome’s legacy is that its application to the National Register of Historic Places was approved in 2014. Such a designation may be less important than it seems, however. National Register status does not prevent the demolition of a building.27 Further, there are 1.5 million structures in the Register, hardly making it an exclusive club.

One can find positive and negative aspects of the Astrodome’s nonbaseball activities. The college basketball Game of the Century and the King-Riggs tennis match were glamorous, exciting, and historic events that enhanced the Dome’s reputation. However, the physical facilities left much to be desired for athletes and spectators alike.

Notes

1 These stadiums include Atlanta-Fulton County (opened in 1965), Busch II (St. Louis, 1966), Oakland-Alameda County (1966), RFK (Washington, 1961), Riverfront/Cinergy (Cincinnati, 1970), Shea (New York, 1964), Three Rivers (Pittsburgh, 1970), and Veterans (Philadelphia, 1971). Years are from ballparks.com.

2 Brock Bordelon, “Ode to the Astrodome,” Astros Daily. astrosdaily.com/history/odetodome/.

3 Kenneth Denlinger, “Artificial Turf Brings Cheers – And Groans,” St. Petersburg Times, September 28, 1971.

4 Louis O. Bass, “Unusual Dome Awaits Baseball Season in Houston,” Civil Engineering: The Magazine of the American Society of Civil Engineers (January 1965). columbia.edu/cu/gsapp/BT/DOMES/HOUSTON/h-unusua.html.

5 The history of football in Houston during the Astrodome years cannot fully be understood without reference to Rice Stadium (on the Rice University campus), three miles away. Even though the annual enrollment at Rice, an academically elite institution, has typically been only a few thousand, the school erected a 70,000-seat stadium in 1950. Designed specifically for football, the stadium has a number of positive features, including a high percentage of seats between the goal lines. In fact, when Houston was awarded Super Bowl VIII (1974), it was held at Rice Stadium, rather than the city’s regular NFL home, the Astrodome. In the author’s view (developed while living in Houston from 1989 to 1991), Rice’s location in a residential neighborhood precluded greater use of the stadium for high-attendance (e.g., NFL) games, due to concerns over noise, traffic, and other disturbances. The university’s own team does not draw well.  According to one recent estimate, Rice University’s home games draw between 13,000 and 20,000 fans (The Pecan Park Eagle, Rice Stadium Dreams, http://bill37mccurdy.com/2011/08/26/rice-stadium-dreams/). 

6 Sports E-cyclopedia. Houston Oilers. sportsecyclopedia.com/nfl/tenhou/houoilers.html.

7 Mike Diegnan, “MNF’s Greatest Games: Miami-Houston 1978,” ESPN.com, December 4, 2002. espn.go.com/abcsports/mnf/s/greatestgames/miamihouston1978.html.

8 National Register of Historic Places, Registration form for Houston Astrodome (2013). nps.gov/nr/feature/places/pdfs/13001099.pdf.

9 One of the author’s friends who lived in Houston at the time told him that, after the loss to Buffalo, some of her neighbors went out into the street and publicly burned their Oilers’ paraphernalia!

10 Associated Press, “Astrodome Game Off Because of Rug,” Los Angeles Times, August 20, 1995. articles.latimes.com/1995-08-20/sports/sp-37194_1_exhibition-game.

11 Raymond J. Keating, “The NFL Oilers: A Case Study in Corporate Welfare: How Houston’s Struggle Against Stadium Subsidies Failed,” The Freeman, Foundation for Economic Education (April 1, 1998). fee.org/freeman/the-nfl-oilers-a-case-study-in-corporate-welfare/.

12 John Glennon, “Former Mayor Recalls Bud Adams’ Decision to Move Team to Nashville,” The Tennessean, October 21, 2013. archive.tennessean.com/article/DN/20131021/SPORTS01/310210071/Former-mayor-recalls-Bud-Adams-decision-move-team-Nashville.

13 Paul Domowitch, “USFL Dealt Crippling Blow[;] Jury Awards $3 In Antitrust Suit,” Philadelphia Daily News. July 30, 1986. articles.philly.com/1986-07-30/sports/26099171_1_usfl-attorney-harvey-myerson-damage-award-nfl-attorney.

14 James Beltran, “Next Season’s Home Games to Be Played at Robertson,” Daily Cougar. archive.thedailycougar.com/vol63/86/News1/862698/862698.html.

15 University of Houston 2015 Football Media Guide. grfx.cstv.com/photos/schools/hou/sports/m-footbl/auto_pdf/2015-16/misc_non_event/15mediaguide.pdf.

16 Eddie Einhorn (with Ron Rapoport), How March Became Madness: How the NCAA Tournament Became the Greatest Sporting Event in America (Chicago: Triumph, 2006). Einhorn produced the television broadcast of the UCLA-Houston “Game of the Century,” and his book provides extensive interviews with many of the principals from the game. The book also comes with a DVD of the second half of the UCLA-Houston basketball game (the only footage that exists of the original broadcast). 

17 Houston Rockets 2008-09 Media Guide. nba.com/media/rockets/MediaGuide0809_page173.212.pdf.

18 These teams were the Denver Nuggets, Indiana Pacers, San Antonio Spurs, and the then-New York Nets.

19 The NBA adopted the three-point shot in 1979-80.

20 David Friedman, “Supergames I & II: The 1971 and 1972 NBA-ABA All-Star Games,” 20-Second Time-Out Blog (February 23, 2009). 20secondtimeout.blogspot.com/2009/02/abas-unsung-heroes.html. One more Supergame was played the next year at Nassau Coliseum on Long Island, New York.

21 Larry Schwartz, “Billie Jean Won for All Women.” espn.go.com/sportscentury/features/00016060.html.

22 “A Soccer History of Houston.” U.S. National Soccer Players. ussoccerplayers.com/a-soccer-history-of-houst.

23 Curry Kirkpatrick, “There Is Nothing Like a Dame,” Sports Illustrated, January 6, 1975. si.com/vault/1975/01/06/616978/there-is-nothing-like-a-dame.

24 An excellent historical website on the competition exists, known as “The Superstars.org.” Within the larger website, pages detailing the Astrodome event are thesuperstars.org/comp/75wpr1.html and thesuperstars.org/comp/75wpr2.html.

25 “Looking Back at the History of the Rodeo,” Houston Chronicle, February 13, 2015. chron.com/entertainment/rodeo/article/Looking-back-at-the-history-of-the-rodeo-6070965.php.

26 “Several World Titlists Win Big Bucks at Houston Rodeo,” Livestock Weekly, March 19, 1998. livestockweekly.com/papers/98/03/19/whlprca.asp.

27 Associated Press, “Astrodome Named Historic Place,” ESPN.com, January 31, 2014. espn.go.com/mlb/story/_/id/10385397/houston-astrodome-added-national-register-historic-places.

They didn’t call the new climate-controlled covered venue the Astrodome when construction started. They simply called it “the dome” – the short version of its full legal name, the Harris County Domed Stadium.

No matter. It still looked like a landing of the galaxy’s largest alien flying saucer or some architect’s Salvador Dali-like view of the future by the time of its early 1965 completion.

It also is notable, whether it is attributed to destiny or coincidence that the sci-fi alien space invader films and the new Houston Astrodome both came into being as the separate market products of promoters with similar but different objectives.

Those old space invader movies for the summer night drive-ins always bore two goals: (1) to be as convincing as possible that earthlings needed to live in fear of alien invaders who may come here sometime soon to either enslave or exterminate us; and (2) to make the threat of an alien invasion sufficiently credible as to promote bodily closeness between all the teenage couples who came there in cars to watch these fairly predictable plots unfold.

The Astrodome, on the other hand, came into being to promote something else – something straight out of tomorrow’s science fiction imagery – and that was the idea that it would soon be possible to play baseball indoors and in air-conditioned comfort. This discovery would also bring customers together under one roof, but not out of fear and trepidation.

The reward of the Astrodome’s presence, at a site near two of Houston’s oldest (but then fading) drive-in theater glories, the South Main and Trail, would be everyone’s easy, but abruptly dramatic, entry into the world of tomorrow – one where shared comfort would be as much the major attraction as the game or featured event itself. Whereas the drive-in movie theater once offered people the chance to view a usually indoor event presented outdoors, the Astrodome inversely now trumpeted a tomorrow in which panoramic sporting events, and all other major presentations on that colossal scale, could be watched in the comfort of a climate-controlled enclosure.

For Houstonians in the spring of 1965, much of the “tomorrow land” marketing aspects of this neo-sacred architectural coming all seemed to arrive almost at the last minute. By this time, we locals had traveled at least 10 years from the earliest whispers of an indoor baseball park as the answer to hot and humid Houston’s desire for big-league status.

Now, as Houston waited through the last offseason prior to the grand opening of tomorrow, there came upon us an abrupt nickname change in the marketing plan for the team’s identity. It was a surprising change, but it also made perfect sense, given the great notion of the future that already had been sold to us about watching baseball indoors.

Our new Houston National League club had spent the first three seasons (1962-64) of its new big-league life celebrating a wild, but predictably Western mode shoot-’em-up identity as the Colt .45s, playing in a temporary uncovered venue called Colt Stadium – a place that had been conveniently thrown together on the same new parking-lot area where the fabulous Harris County Domed Stadium arose slowly before our coveting eyes and sweaty faces – from the world’s biggest hole-in-the-ground.

What’s in a name?

Sometimes nothing. Sometimes everything. In either case, the new Houston landmark really didn’t have a stadium name with any panache, whether it mattered a hill of beans or not.

Perhaps Judge Roy Hofheinz, president of the Houston Sports Association, owner of the MLB franchise, first thought that his Colt .45s could keep on losing those big-league shootouts with all of the Gary Cooper and John Wayne-level clubs of the National League and still draw more fans once the action moved into his enclosed and completely comfortable new mega-arena.

Who really knows the true complete story on the name change, but something happened – and it apparently had nothing to do with the sudden appearance of a John Hamm-like character and the crew from cable television’s recent Mad Men series showing up to “rethink” and “rebrand” the campaign.

It simply is pure rascally fun to speculate.

Judge Hofheinz enjoyed dining at Alfred’s, a great kosher deli fairly near the new stadium on Stella Link Drive. That’s a fact we may state from some personal observation over time, even if we were never so elevated in stature as to be on speaking terms with Houston’s “wizard of awes.” Perhaps it is less romantic to consider that the Judge’s awakening to the need for a new, zippier stadium name and Houston club identity may have hatched in the wake of a lunch fare that built its muses into a fully loaded pastrami on rye.

Whimsy aside, we don’t really know that much about Judge Hofheinz’s deli habits, but the possibility of gastric influence on the team name change is simply too amusing a possibility to ignore. We saw him downing what appeared to be Alfred’s pastrami once, but it could have been something else. Alfred served a lot of good stuff that could alter one’s view of the future, particularly the near future.

All we know for fairly sure is that, sometime after the gates closed on Colt Stadium (i.e., “the skillet”) in 1964 and before Christmas of that same year, Judge Hofheinz apparently went through an auspicious change of heart, mind, and vision about the identity of the club, its new indoor home, and its shared use with other sporting and entertainment enterprises.

The new domed stadium belonged to Harris County, Texas, but the Houston MLB franchise had been the driving force behind its creation as the soon-to-be principal tenant.

Getting that special brand name, “The Astrodome,” proved itself to be a move that preceded an incredible roll of time and events into history.

Christmas 1964: What’s an Astro? And what’s an Astrodome?

Very few presumed that the new “Astros” had been named for “Astro,” the family dog on the then-popular Jetsons cartoon TV series about future family life in the space age.1 And most of us presumed it to be pretty much of a marketing homage to NASA, the astronauts who now lived among us, and the growing local reputation of Houston as “Space City, USA!”

The domed stadium’s new public face as the “Astrodome” itself soon found an eloquent explanation in its official name-change introduction in a speech in behalf of all the other new tenants by University of Houston President Phillip Hoffman.

“The dictionary describes an astrodome as – ‘a transparent domed-shaped projection above an airplane from which navigators view the stars,’ ” Hoffman said. “The Astrodome here will be a domed-shape projection above the ground from within which the spectators can view the stars or rodeos, football teams, and baseball teams.”2

That same news article notes that the official name remains the “Harris County Domed Stadium,” even as all new business reference to the place now shifted totally to its brilliantly fresh identity as the Astrodome.3

If there were ever a time to establish major-league baseball as the predominant domed-stadium tenant, this was it, the time from Christmas 1964 to Opening Day in April 1965.

There is no question in hindsight. Many factors converged into the two big tethered name changes:

(1) It was time for the Houston club to do a 180-degree turn from its Western past and to capitalize upon its growing identity as the headquarters of NASA and the dynamic face of tomorrow.

(2) A change at this time, in these special ways, gave Judge Hofheinz and his ballclub the ability to market their “Astros” as the team of tomorrow, now playing in baseball’s home of tomorrow.

(3) For Hofheinz, the swift change to “Astros” eliminated the nettlesome ongoing threat from the Colt Manufacturing Company that they might choose to sue him and the ballclub for copyright violations for never having obtained a working agreement to brand the team the Colt .45s.

It is interesting to note, too, that after the news broke about the change of the Houston baseball team’s name from Colt .45s to Astros, an unidentified “young student from Chicago’s Teachers College” included this quote among several other remarks that he or she wrote to the club in conjunction with a ticket order:

“The new home of the Astros must stand with architectural structures as one of the wonders of the world.”4

Thanks to this anonymous soul, an unforgettable greeting to the entire planet was about to rainbow its way into the skies over Houston:

“Welcome to the Astrodome, the Eighth Wonder of the World.”

It became a greeting that comforted people with the idea that their initially awestruck sightings of the place were normal. How could they not be? A first sighting of the Astrodome was “amazing” back in a time in which that once rarefied adjective was not simply handed out to every mild stimulation people encountered daily, starting with their first sip of coffee in the morning.

Frame the moment in your minds, disbelievers, and welcome back to the future! – “Behold the Astrodome, The Eighth Wonder of the World.”

Amazing? Yes. Yes, it is!

“Wonder of the World” or not, the practical question lingered: Could this new wonderland handle a high fly ball most of the time without evoking some kind of ground rule governing balls that hit the interior exposed underside of the roof?

The suspicion was helped along by the fact that the entirety of the mighty Astrodome was not totally evident from any of our first-time sightings from the parking area. Half of the beast laid buried underground.

Without information about the enormously deep underground base of the playing field, the still-imposing structure that new visitors saw from their exterior ground-level approach did not appear tall enough to handle fly balls from what appeared to be its ground-level base.

Of course, it wasn’t tall enough, if that first uninformed look was the whole of it. We had to know the “hole of it” to understand that any home run hit in this shimmering structure from the future was going to have to start its ascent from 30 feet deeper in this hallowed Texas area of Mother Earth.

Hardly any of us knew that singularly important fact at first sighting. As the result, we got stuck on the question that haunted us from the very first time we heard of the plan to build the world’s first enclosed, air-conditioned venue.

If a ball is headed to the moon, how could they possibly build a ballpark with a roof on the top?

As kids who grew up on baseball as played by the Double-A Texas League Houston Buffs in traditional old Buff Stadium, we knew too much about the game of baseball to be sucked in by that kind of ballyhoo. Why, some of those of high fly balls in Buff Stadium seemed to have traveled halfway to the moon before they began their stratospheric descents to earth. That’s why they called them moon shots.

The Visual Problem for Outfielders

As things turned out, it wasn’t batted balls hitting the roof that was the problem in the first year of Astrodome baseball. It was the fact that during day games fly balls were hiding from bewildered outfielders in the clear pane grid panel. They just couldn’t pick up the flight of the ball in the gridded gray girders and clear pane mix of light that was the new mother ship’s way-up-there background.

The solution produced a chain of natural events that would alter how all future team sport games soon would be played, indoors or outdoors, pretty much forever. 

They painted the Astrodome roof to improve the ball-in-flight sightlines of the fielders. Painting the clear light panes killed the playing field grass, of course; so the Astros spent the rest of the first season painting the grass green while they looked hard for a permanent solution.

When the highly rated San Antonio high-school running back Warren McVea signed to play football for the University of Houston in 1965 as the first black to integrate NCAA-level college football in the state of Texas, the kid known as Wondrous Warren was a natural marketing complement to the “Eighth Wonder” stadium that planned to house the UH Cougars home games, starting in the fall of that same first season of 1965.

Sadly, the baseball problems with the dying grass turf flowed directly into the football season and they became a big reason for Warren McVea’s poor footage start at UH in September 1965. The decline in the field’s playing surface into a slippery sandlot of dirt and dead grass hurt all the players, but especially the running backs. The problem had to be solved before it made a farce of the whole Astrodome concept as the playing field venue of the future.

The permanent solution turned out to be the 1966 installation of an artificial turf manufactured by Monsanto. Christened into the market as Astroturf, it soon was being installed in professional and amateur fields as the economic solution to natural grass maintenance.

Astroturf was installed in the Astrodome in strips that zipped together. As workers installed the new Astroturf infield prior to the start of he 1966 season, Houston writing sage and icon Mickey Herskowitz suddenly remarked, as he watched, “This is wonderful. Now Houston has the only field in the big leagues with its own built-in infield fly.”5

There has never been any doubt in my mind that Mickey Herskowitz is the author of one of baseball’s wittiest quips of all time. It’s been with me since my recollections of first reading it in his Houston Post column – and it’s been reinforced over the years by hearing Mickey flip into his oral storytelling mode to describe how it happened:

“I was sitting there – just watching the turf crew zip in the new infield sections when, all of a sudden, there it was, rattling out of my brain and falling off my tongue,” Herskowitz has said, fast on his way to expressing the killer punch line: “Now Houston has the only field in the big leagues with its own built-in infield fly.”

Word gets around – especially the expression of brilliantly funny thought.

In a column he wrote for the Amarillo Daily News on March 29, 1966, Frank A. Godsoe attributed the quote to Vin Scully of the Los Angeles Dodgers. According to Godsoe, Vin Scully shared the following clever line about the Astroturf and the Astroturf installation: “This is the only ballpark in the world,” he crooned, “that has a built-in infield fly.” 6

Sometimes great minds do independently drink from the same rivers of imagination, and sometimes too, people do innocently use free-floating ideas without attribution to source because these thoughts seem to be orphans of some unidentified person’s brainstorm. In September 2015, I decided to contact Vin Scully directly and ask him about the Godsoe attribution he received for the long ago “built in infield fly.”7

On the same day, Vin Scully emailed his brief but firm answer back to me through his Los Angeles Dodgers staff. Scully said that he didn’t even remember his usage of the famous quote in the cited instance, adding his clearly expressed wishes that we should “please credit Mickey (Herskowitz)” with its origin.

Thank you, Vin Scully, for your legendary forthrightness. And so we shall, right here and now, but as we always have, but now with even greater legitimacy, credit writer Mickey Herskowitz with one of the best lines in baseball history.

Texas fiction author Larry McMurtry, of Lonesome Dove and The Last Picture Show fame, enjoyed playfully bantering in the Texas Observer about his cynicism regarding the Astrodome’s expensive comfort aims. His description of the place was nothing less than a caricature of his view that this striking new face of the future was little more than a costly war against perspiration.

McMurtry’s 1965 critique of the covered stadium as a waste of public funds, relative to other community needs, wasted no words or time on subtlety. McMurtry wrote, “The huge white dome poked soothingly above the summer heat-haze like the working end of a gigantic end of a rub-on deodorant.”8

Ironically, the Astrodome would survive over time to personify one of McMurtry’s favorite themes, the abandonment of that which was once deemed valuable. The Dome would make it to 2015 as its own poignant version of the The Last Picture Show.

About the later rival construction in Irving, Texas (near Dallas), of Texas Stadium, a venue that included a roof with an open sunroof, Mickey Herskowitz again waxed philosophically: “Now Dallas has tried to follow Houston, but they have ended up building a Half-Astrodome for themselves.”9

That being said, we weren’t worried about anything that Dallas or New Orleans might do in the short time that followed the opening of our Houston Astrodome. We were first – and the Astrodome stood strong as the symbol of all our tomorrow’s dreams coming true.

Simply put, the Astrodome sprang to life at just the right time for those of us who made up Houston’s ambitious young adult population. The Dome became our tangible template for that elusive but attractive future we visualized as ours in the land of opportunity in a growing, bigger, better world that Houston was now on its way to becoming, big league and all.

Moreover, those of us original Astrodome fans who have made it this far into the 21st century with our young-adult-to-senior bond with the Astrodome would also live to see how time, age, and change in the 21st century culture would come to ambivalently view the value of the aging architectural dark star from yesterday’s Houston future.

For some of us, the Astrodome had become a valued historic Houston architectural landmark on a level with the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

For others, many of whom were now taxpayers who had moved to Houston after the Dome’s last season as home to the Houston Astros in 1999, this world-class contribution to architectural history had become nothing more than a financial burden that needed to be demolished.

Deep in the Heart of Houston

Following quickly on the heels of the new Astros/Astrodome name evolutions, the big times in the new music hall of sports and special events took off with all the speed of a shooting star hurtling through space.

The stars at night were big and bright, right from the start in Texas. Baseball, of course, led off the stellar new indoor-world lineup of firsts on April 9, 1965, with a 2-1 preseason win by the brand-newly named Houston Astros over Mickey Mantle and the New York Yankees before a packed house crowd that included President Lyndon B. Johnson.  Mantle claimed the Dome’s first home run with a mighty center-field blow that would also stand as the Astrodome’s first hit, run, and RBI – and the Yankees’ only tally of the night. With the score tied at 1-1 in the ninth, Astros pinch-hitter Nellie Fox singled over short, scoring Jimmy Wynn from second base with the first exhibition-game-winning run in Astrodome history.8 A few days later, Dick Allen of Philadelphia would get the first official home run in the Astrodome on Opening Day, April 12, 1965, in a 2-0 win by the Phillies over the Astros.10

On September 11, 1965, the Houston Cougars hosted the first football game ever played in the Dome against the Tulsa Golden Hurricanes.11 The game also drew notice as the first appearance by UH’s Warren McVea, the first black running back to ever play for a major college football team from the South. The Cougars lost 14-0 that day on a field of dead grass and swirling dirt that was far more conducive to slipping and sliding than it was to quick cuts and gliding. McVea went on to a landmark career as the most elusive runner in Cougar history. His running sleight-of-hand-foot-and-eye work against third-ranked Michigan State in East Lansing, Michigan, in 1967 led the Cougars to a 37-7 win that vaulted UH into the college football big time. In the process, it obliquely elevated Coach Bill Yeoman into light as a civil-rights leader on the major-college football level. And that would become a reputation that Yeoman may have tried to shed because of his apparent-to-everyone-around-him belief that he was more of an accidental tourist on the right side of this rocky civil-rights road to profound change. Those of us who got to know him, even slightly from the fringe as UH alumni who only saw him at games or UH luncheons, felt an earnest truth about the man. Bill Yeoman was, and is, a man without a racially or ethnically biased bone in his body or soul. In fact, Yeoman eloquently once stated his position when the subject of prejudice arose. He said that his only prejudice in life was against bad football players.

On December 17, 1965, Judy Garland became the first really big star to perform in a show at the Astrodome.12 – How appropriate! – Who else but Judy Garland, little Dorothy Gale from Kansas herself, could possibly have been the first person to have found the Astrodome at the end of this magical rainbow from a somewhere place called tomorrow? Almost prophetically, “Over the Rainbow” was one of Judy’s songs that long-ago night.

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, an annual two-week Western cultural roots event in Houston, one with a history going deep into the early years of the 20th century, got its first start in the Astrodome in February 1966. Over the years, the biggest stars in music from a variety of our American musical genres provided the musical entertainment at each daily performance. Elvis Presley later performed six times at the rodeo in February-March of 1970, returning for a one-night-sellout seventh performance on March 3, 1974, that broke all previous attendance records.13

On November 14, 1966, Muhammad Ali defended his heavyweight boxing championship of the world by knocking out Houstonian Cleveland Williams in the third round of a scheduled 15-rounder.14 Although it was not so named, it could have been called the original “rope-a-dope” match, but, in this case, so designated in honor of those who paid good money to watch an event that didn’t last nine minutes.

On January 20, 1968, the college basketball “Game of the Century” between the two top college teams in the land, UCLA and UH, drew an amazing record crowd of 52,693 to the Astrodome.15  It was a titanic encounter of future Hall of Fame coaches and players as UH’s coach Guy Lewis and star center Elvin Hayes squared off against coach John Wooden and star center Lew Alcindor (later better known as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) and their powerful companions from UCLA. The UH Cougars won the game, 71-69, behind the energy and power of Elvin Hayes’ 39 points, but the real winner was college basketball as a new money game in televised sports. Moreover, it was another contribution to the momentum of an age in which networks like ESPN would later help the fans use 24/7 sports programming to feed a growing obsessive-compulsive use of sports as the cure for tedium and boredom in everyday life.

By 1970, movie producer/director Robert Altman used the Astrodome as the setting for Brewster McCloud, a film about an eccentric young man who made his home in the almost endless supply of nooks and crannies and other easy hiding places of the Dome. What the movie lacked in depth found compensation in its theatrical contribution to the idea that the Astrodome personified the model for a kind of magical setting in which greater things beyond the ordinary were expected.

Speaking of such, after Elvis left the building on the heels of his first six rocking performances in 1970, but before he could return as a crowd energizer in 1974, the much ballyhooed “Battle of the Sexes” took place on September 20, 1973, in a tennis match that pitted prominent female star Billie Jean King against over-the-hill male star and consummate gate hustler Bobby Riggs. King defeated Riggs handily in three straight sets. Although it was more of a publicity stunt than a competitive match, the event is credited with drawing attention to the abilities of female athletes and as a booster to all kinds of women’s sports.16

On September 9, 1968, after three years of stalled lease negotiations, the Houston Oilers lost to the Kansas City Chiefs, 26-21, in the technically second regular-season NFL game ever played in an indoor venue. The 1932 NFL championship game was played indoors at Chicago Stadium due to bad weather.

The Oilers called the Astrodome home through 1996, their last year in Houston before their move to Tennessee.17

Everything … bloodless bullfights, the 1989 NBA All-Star Game, the 1968 and 1986 MLB All-Star Games, the 1980 and 1986 National League Championship Series and a few MLB Divisional Series Games … these all took place in the Astrodome.18

On June 15, 1976, the only “rainout” in Astrodome history even canceled a game between the Astros and the Pittsburgh Pirates due to heavy flooding that made it impossible for fans to reach the ballpark.19

In the end, and after her splendid day in the sun had long ago disappeared into darkness, the Astrodome achieved a service to humanity that elevated her importance to another level of merit. As you may well remember, in September 2005, the Astrodome became the survival shelter for thousands of New Orleanians who had been forced from their homes by Hurricane Katrina.20

God Bless you for being there, old girl! And if that statement of gender partiality strikes you as this writer’s personal anthropomorphic projection of bias, perhaps you are correct. I do tend to perceive the appearance of strong character, patient loyalty, and dedication to service beyond personal gain as primarily a feminine spiritual profile – and one that may not be as obvious, or as frequently present, in most of us males.

Foamer Homers21

On a minor and far more frivolous historical note, it took nine years, but the Astros also came up with a way to mix beer sales into the joy of Astrodome baseball. Starting Tuesday, June 4, 1974, in a series played against the Montreal Expos, the Astros decided it was time to give the legal-aged world “foamers” as part of their baseball-fan experience. They installed a digital clock on the outfield wall that turned orange whenever the clock reached an even number of minutes in time, such as 7:48 or 8:12.

Any time an Astros batter happened to hit a home run while the clockwork orange rule was in effect, everyone of legal age (18 years or older) was entitled to a “foamer,” the club’s cute word for one free beer per customer. The foamer deal closed after eight innings, but that proved to be only a minor ceiling on a promotional program that proved quite popular with beer-drinking fans for about three seasons.

Like all things promotional, it ran its course as an assumed or measurable boost to attendance as the Astros grew from free beer to winning baseball as their best hope for long-range success.

Foamer homers were Astrodome history lite, but they were history with a categorical head of its own, all the same.

The Long Road Trip of 1992

Overt politics finally played the big house when the 1992 Republican Convention was held at the Astrodome and nominated George H.W. Bush as their candidate for president of the United States. The convention imposed an unusual unconditional hardship upon the Astros’ schedule.

To free the Republicans for an extended use of the Astrodome, the Astros were forced to go on a 26-game road trip from July 27 through August 23. It was the longest road trip for any big-league club since the notoriously bad 1899 Cleveland Spiders had to play out a 50-game road trip to defend themselves from the angry fan mobs and empty seats at home.22

In Houston, the search for new events and new records never stopped over the 35 years of the Astros’ residential leadership (1965-1999), but after baseball moved to a new house downtown in 2000, the grand old 1965 girl of tomorrow seemed to be totally ignored as a future Houston issue in the stampede to move on without a real plan for the old venue beyond that then unmentionable word – demolition.

Mad Dogs and After-Midnight Field Goals

Here’s where all the participatory history of the Astrodome gets downright personal, if only on a humble but limited plane.

In the summer of 1979, and as a ferociously loyal UH alumnus, the muses and I convinced the Athletic Department at the University of Houston of two unmet football-marketing needs:

• UH needed a ferocious canine mascot to help our live Cougar Shasta mascot on the home-game sidelines as the symbol of our then famous “Mad Dog Defense.”
• UH needed to build some traditions. We suggested they retire the No. 1 from player jerseys after 1979, but also start selling the actual No. 1 game jerseys to fans posthaste. This was still in the monogrammed T-shirt time when no one could buy the actual jerseys of any team in any sport.

UH officials bought both ideas at our first meeting. The “Mad Dog Defense” idea sold itself. I showed up at the UH proposal meeting with my English bulldog, Babe McCurdy. Babe’s face and her two underbite-driven fangs did the rest.

All 1979-80 UH Cougar Astrodome Games, Plus 1980 Cotton Bowl

The No. 1 UH red jersey was a big seller at UH. The bug in the brew was that UH never clinched the part of the plan that called for the retirement of No. 1 to honor the fans because of the program’s need to seemingly always give that number to a new hotshot recruit who simply couldn’t commit without it.

Mad Dog Babe, however, was a big success, even getting her name and picture placed in the school’s 1980 yearbook, The Houstonian, where she also encountered the error of editorial gender bias that any canine of ferocity most certainly had to be male. The UH year book referred to her as “he.”23

What did Mad Dog Babe do at the Astrodome?

We know what you’re thinking. Yes, she did that too, but her planned performances were worth it to her loyal handler, her team, and to all who saw her perform, or became radical enough as fans to wear her “Mad Dog Defense” red tee shirts, shirts that included an artistic impression of Babe’s face in the middle of the lettering, to Cougar games at the Astrodome.

Oh, yes, it was a team effort. Babe and her trainer/handler could not have done it as easily without the help of her two separate year high school age “Astrodome Showtime” sideline assistants. Mike Hoyt served as the Mad Dog’s helper in 1979; Ryan Kirtley performed the same faithful sideline duty in 1980.  They were both great kids who loved and took good care of Babe during our Astrodome adventure. UH working student Mark Hunter also was a big member of our Mad Dog Helper team during the 1979 season. In the end, it may have been the two most magical years in all our lives. It had to be. Our little world stage was the Astrodome.

Our main act? Mad Dog Babe sometimes led the actual UH Mad Dog Defense team out of the tunnel and onto the field at the start of a game. She also could growl or attack any object on command. This part of her great thespian ability really defied her true nature as a canine pussycat that actually loved people, especially kids. The piece de resistance of her Mad Dog caricature, of course, was her ability to attack and destroy an image of the game’s foe whenever she heard the “Cougar Fight Song.” Sad to say, she had no “off” button. When Babe heard a recording of the Cougar fight song at home, she wanted to do the same thing there.

And all we had at home were couches, chairs, table legs, and rugs.

Mad Dog Babe’s big night in the Astrodome came long after midnight on Sunday morning, October 12, 1980, due to a sports weekend in Houston of most unusual circumstance.

An evening UH Cougars home game against the Texas A&M Aggies had been pushed back to a start of 11:33 P.M. on Saturday, October 11, due to an unexpected conflict with the earlier, but slow-to-finish NLCS game played in Houston earlier that same day by the Houston Astros and Philadelphia Phillies. As a result, the Cougars’ 17-13 win over Texas A&M would be concluded deep into the wee hours of Sunday morning, October 12. The pigskin contest turned out to be the only college football game of the 20th century requiring time from two contiguous calendar days for completion.24

As a minor lost-to-history-until-now result, a halftime skit that that we had planned for the Mad Dog at our normal game-time start on Saturday was now set to unfold in the wee small hours of the following Sunday morning.

A Field Goal Attempt by a Mad Dog?

Mad Dog Babe made it too – with the proxy support of her beloved handler and staff.

Babe did the barking. Yours truly kicked the ball off a tee for her at halftime. Setting up on the 25-yard line, “Babe’s growl-triggered proxy kick” sailed through the uprights for a 35-yard, good-as-gold, first and only ever-unofficial field goal ever kicked in the Astrodome between midnight and dawn.

The mention of dawn is important to the time frame in which this “record” stands forever. There may have been other field goals kicked in the Dome prior to noon in some other year by high-school teams playing early games there during their playoff seasons. We are 100 percent certain, however, that no other mad-dog souls have ever done the same deed, unofficial, or otherwise, in the wee small hours of the morning. And it was all in fun – in the name of love.

Our problem that night, beyond the solitary cheer of “Sign him up!” was the fact that the ball carried all the way into the end zone and was retrieved by a fan. We had a hard time getting the ball back for Babe’s showcase, but we finally pled our case successfully for the game ball’s surrender. Babe’s growl helped.

Thank you, ghost of Babe McCurdy, for giving both you and your now ancient handler our Andy Warhol time as minor performers in the history of the grand old Astrodome.

Our participatory roles were minor, but the Mad Dog Defense era simply deepened the writer’s bond with the Astrodome.

When in the spring of 2015 we attended the 50th anniversary party of the April 9, 1965, opening of the Astrodome, we were among the legions that lined up for the long walk and short visit inside the now-gutted bowels of the still-strong structure we once celebrated. It was all I could do hold together a groundswell of powerful emotion once we descended into the belly of the wondrous old whale.

There was nothing remote about these powerful feelings.

I was not meditating on our soulful losses by the Astros in either the 1980 or 1986 NLCS appearances, or any other painful times at the Astrodome.

Nope. I was suddenly again missing the joy of an old friend, and for an almost eternal moment. This writer was looking around for the wonderful presence of Mad Dog Babe. 

“Where are you, Babe? Your soul still seems to be here!”

The Larger Realization

It took a few moments, but it came to me with a luminosity that seemed to push back the gathering darkness of dusk. It wasn’t the soul of sweet old Babe that I sensed in the belly of the now-aging Astrodome back on April 9, 2015, although I could hardly keep from wishing that to be true. I even played with the idea of echoing her name with a loud call for “BABE” into the darker shadows of day’s end. The dimming darkness cluster of night was starting to surround us in that ancient sacred place.

I just knew. If the canine soul of Babe McCurdy were present, and recoverable at all, she would have come bounding to me by now, like the brindle and white bowling ball from Heaven’s Lanes she always used to be.

But it wasn’t Babe’s spirit I truly sensed in that moment. It was my own soul that I found, reawakening to the gift of a brief but sweet moment with an age-contemporary friend of my entire adult lifetime, the Houston Astrodome.

It was a friendship the old girl shared with every other person among the 30,000 people who came to her birthday party that afternoon, even with the couples who brought their small children to visit with the Astrodome, as if they were taking their kids to visit one of the family elders that the children never had met prior to this special day.

Separation and reunion, involving some special person, place or aspect of our lives, can hit us like a brick sometimes. And this was one of those times.

In separation, we most often dull our feelings to escape the pain of physical, emotional and spiritual separation and loss. In reunion, and maybe even more so when the reunion is unexpected, we sometimes are flooded with the visceral awareness of who, where, or what we truly have been missing.

It happened once before for me.

About 22 years ago, my late-in-life 8-year-old son’s decision to play baseball brought home my years of separation from the game due to the full-bore thrust of my energies into my professional life and other embraced, but rootless, occupations of my time. My separation from active play and daily following of the game had amounted to a dulling of my feelings for baseball, the singularly passionate activity that had nursed my soul from a southeast Houston childhood into my mid-30s.

In the summer of 1993, my son Neal and I had walked from our house to a nearby abandoned schoolyard to play catch and hit some flies and rollers. On that fine day, I rediscovered that the popping sound of baseballs – as they landed in slap-leather gloves – and the fragrance of summer’s cut grass and heat-defiant wildflowers had not changed since my sandlot days in southeast Houston’s Pecan Park.

The awareness came upon me instantly that both of these reminders – and the smiling kid throwing the ball to me in 1993 –still felt as they each once did at our “Eagle Field” – only this time, my appreciation of the spell they had cast upon me was even greater. I didn’t realize until that moment that all of that rush of life’s earliest breath of hope was still residing deeply inside me.

Eagle Field, by the way, was the kids-declared sandlot home of our once alive and shining 1950 Pecan Park Eagles. Most of the time, we simply knew the place more humbly as “the lot.”

Visceral reunions sometimes arrive when we least expect them.

On our walk home from this born-again taste of baseball with my son, we saw something entangled deep in a clump of weeds at the edge of the grounds. It appeared to be an old and very dirty brown baseball, so naturally I reached down and wrestled it free, only to find that it was nothing more than an old baseball cover.

I looked at it and smiled, but didn’t throw it away. We kept on walking home for a while before Neal finally asked:

“What are you planning to do with that baseball cover, Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, but when we got home, I placed the old baseball cover on the kitchen table, while a poem, calling itself “The Pecan Park Eagle,” wrote its way through me the old-fashioned way, by pen and paper, inside of 10 minutes.

For me, the poem personifies my separation and reunion with baseball. It could just as easily have been the same poem I may have written later, with slightly different factual references, to the same kind of reunion I again experienced on that same level with the Astrodome on the occasion of its 50th anniversary party in 2015.

At this moment in time, as we still wait the definitive answer on the future of the Astrodome in 2016, nothing exemplifies my feelings about that venerable domed friend more perfectly than those words that previously have poured their way through my soul for baseball in “The Pecan Park Eagle.”

“Eagle” speaks here too for the emotional bond that thousands of us Houston baseball, football, and rodeo fans, especially, each reconnected in our own individually soulful ways to that still frozen-in-time face of tomorrow we all revisited back on the April 9, 2015, the date of the Astrodome’s 50th Anniversary.

We had to go back to the future to find her, but we made the trip that day at the party – and we found her waiting for us again. Still strong under the dust and mildew – and still as unique to the history of architecture as she was in 1965 – and just waiting for our community’s majority to wake up to the world treasure that awaits our decision to redirect her form and energy to some new purpose – and that is always the role of those symbols of tomorrow’s wonder.

“The Astrodome still rises as – The Eighth Wonder of the World!”

It is to you, old patient numbered wonder, to whom we today rededicate the experience of transcendent rediscovery that we first found in writing “The Pecan Park Eagle.”

That same light came on again for us on April 9, 1965, the date we walked into your gutted interior and found your structure still strong – and your soul still very much in residence.

This time, this play of the same words is for you:

The Pecan Park Eagle (1993)
By Bill McCurdy

Ode To An Old Baseball Cover I Found While Playing Catch with My 8-Year Old Son Neal In An Abandoned School Yard. And, yes, that is the actual cover in the photo above that inspired the poem that rests before you as our closing text.

Tattered friend, I found you again,
Laying flat in a field of yesterday’s hope.
Your resting place? An abandoned schoolyard.
When parents move away, the children go too. 
How long have you been here?
Strangling in the entanglement of your grassy grave?
Bleaching your brown-ness in the summer sun?
Freezing your frailness in the ice of winter?
How long, old friend, how long?
Your magical essence exploded from you long ago.
God only knows when.
Perhaps, it was the result of one last grand slam.
One last grand slam, a solitary cherishment,
Now remembered only by the doer of that distant past deed.
Only the executioner long remembers the little triumphs.
The rest of the world never knows, or else, soon forgets.
I recovered you today from your ancient tomb,
From your place near the crunching sound of my footsteps.
I pulled you from your enmeshment in the dying July grass,
And I wanted to take you home with me.
Oh, would that the warm winds of spring might call us,
One more time, awakening our souls in green renewal
To that visceral awareness of hope and possibility.
To soar once more in spirit, like the Pecan Park Eagle,
High above the billowing clouds of a summer morning,
In flight destiny – to all that is bright and beautiful.
There is a special consolation in this melancholy reunion.
Because you once held a larger world within you,
I found a larger world in me.
Come home with me, my friend,
Come home.

Notes

1 en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Jetsons.

2 “Astrodome to be Home for Astros,” Silsbee (Texas) Bee, December 24, 1964: 6.

3 Ibid.

4 “First Games in Dome, Tickets Come From World-Wide Spots,” Freeport-Brazosport Facts, January 25, 1965: 5.

5 Confirmed in interview with Mickey Herskowitz on September 29, 2015. No written documentation is immediately available.

6 Frank Godsoe, Amarillo Daily News, March 29, 1966: 17.

7 On September 29, 2015, this writer was able to reach Vin Scully by email to ask what he remembered of the time he used the “built in infield fly” quote. I heard back from Mr. Scully the same day via a brief email response from LA Dodgers administrative staff member Jon Chopper. The message was simple and to the point. It read: “Just heard back from Vin and since he can’t recall, he said to please credit Mickey (Herskowitz).” – Thanks, Jon (Chopper, Los Angeles Dodgers).

8 “Love, Death, and the Astrodome,” Larry McMurtry, The Texas Observer, October 1, 1965: 1.

9 Confirmed in Interview with Mickey Herskowitz on September 18. 2015. The author’s precise quote appeared in his column for the Houston Post on an unspecified date, sometime between 1972 and 1974.

10 Bob Hulsey, “The New Era Begins,” Astros Daily, April 9, 1965. astrosdaily.com/history/19650409/.

11 First football game in the Astrodome: bill37mccurdy.com/2013/09/25/sept-11-1965-first-astrodome-football-game.

12 Judy Garland performance, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrodome.

13 Rodeo, Elvis, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrodome.

14 Muhammad Ali, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad_Ali.

15 Game of the Century, UH-UCLA basketball, wikipedia.org/wiki/Game_of_the_Century_%28college_basketball%29.

16 Battle of the Sexes, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrodome.

17 First official NFL game in the Astrodome, box score, pro-football-reference.com/boxscores/196811280kan.htm.

18 NBA All-Star Game, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1989_NBA_All-Star_Game,

MLB All Star Games, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Major_League_Baseball_All-Star_Games.

19 Only rainout in Astrodome history, June 15, 1976, chron.com/news/houston-texas/article/The-only-rainout-in-Astrodome-history-occurred-6327953.php.

20 The Katrina Refuge, 2005, houstonpublicmedia.org/news/10-years-since-katrina-when-the-astrodome-was-a-mass-shelter/.

21 Foamer Homers, Port Neches (Texas) Mid-County Chronicle Review, June 2, 1974: 6.

22 The Long Road Home, crawfishboxes.com/2012/7/25/3177586/astros-history-the-wild-wild-road-trip-of-1992.

23 Mad Dog and The Houstonian, 1980 UH Yearbook, Pages 177, 190. digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/yearb/item/21601/show/21434

digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/yearb/item/21601/show/21444.

24 “Houston Needs 2 Days, A&M Turnovers to Post 17-13 win,” Joplin Globe, October 13, 1980: 12.

It was unlike any venue before it, as it reveled in luxury, with padded theater-style seating throughout and an array of posh amenities designed as part of its construction.  Luxury skyboxes, themed restaurants, a video scoreboard, a barbershop, a bowling alley, a weather station, and numerous other unique features were woven into the venue. The Astrodome’s amenities were so diverse that comedian Bob Hope joked, “If they had a maternity ward and a cemetery, you would never have to leave.” The structure was so impressive that it prompted visits from celebrities and dignitaries alike.1 It was sufficiently unique that it was commonly referred to as the “Eighth Wonder of the World.”

As such, the Astrodome inspired similar indoor facilities, including the Louisiana Superdome, which, paradoxically, helped contribute to its eventual obsolescence and demise. Before two newer sports venues replaced the Astrodome it had hosted baseball, football, boxing, basketball, soccer, trade shows, conventions, religious events, livestock shows, rodeos, concerts, political events, and a long list of other activities. Although it remained in place as of 2016, it was unused and in danger of demolition.

The design is an example of late modernist architecture, and the first truly massive domed structure not supported by internal columns. Preservationist Cynthia Neely asserts that the Astrodome “created a whole new style of architecture … [one that] made a lot of other famous buildings possible.”2 Roy Hofheinz, a hard-charging entrepreneur who served as Houston’s mayor and as Harris County judge (the county’s chief administrator), supervised the construction. When it was built, the feasibility of a huge indoor sports facility was not fully certain. However, the engineers and architects were confident in their ability to follow through on a previously untested concept. The project was sufficiently ambitious that it required numerous experts to be built. The firm of Lloyd & Morgan teamed up with Wilson, Morris, Crane & Anderson to serve as architects. Hermon Lloyd, S.I. Morris, Ralph Anderson, and Robert Minchew provided much of the leadership in that area. Walter P. Moore and Associates were the structural engineers, who came under the supervision of Kenneth Zimmerman. H.A. Lott, Inc., a Houston firm, and Minneapolis-based Johnson, Drake, & Piper were general contractors. Praeger-Kavanagh-Waterbury, New York-based architects and engineers, were retained as consultants for the project.3

Hofheinz was inspired to build the Astrodome after he visited Rome’s Colosseum while serving as mayor of Houston. He was told that on exceedingly hot days, a massive cover was pulled over that venue to shade the spectators. Before construction began, Hofheinz admitted to frequently pondering the Colosseum’s history. He stated, “Looking back on those ancient days, I figured that a round facility with a cover was what we needed in the United States, and that Houston would be the perfect spot because of its rainy, humid weather.”4

Hofheinz was not the first to conceive of a domed baseball venue. During the 1950s Brooklyn Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley explored the possibility of a building a dome, consulting with futurists Norman Bel Geddes and Buckminster Fuller. Those plans were scuttled by a variety of factors, prompting O’Malley to abandon his longtime Brooklyn home for Los Angeles. There he oversaw the construction of Dodger Stadium, which opened three years before the Astrodome’s completion.5

Just as the ancient bread and circuses of the Colosseum served to showcase the majesty of the Roman Empire, Hofheinz was committed to hosting numerous forms of entertainment with grand and unprecedented flourishes as a way to demonstrate the rising stature of Houston. In describing the venue’s luxurious atmosphere he boasted, “Nobody can ever see this and go back to Kalamazoo, Chicago, New York, you name it, and still think this town is bush league.”6 

Before committing to stadium construction, Hofheinz initially sought to create an indoor shopping mall that would contain a dome as part of its design. He worked closely with Buckminster Fuller as those plans unfolded. As the two were contemplating mall designs, they were, without knowing it, formulating ideas that would contribute to the Astrodome’s eventual construction. Hofheinz explained that during the fact-finding process Fuller convinced him “that it was possible to cover any size space [with a dome] if you didn’t run out of money.”7 The mall proposal was undermined by the success of a competitor’s project, so Hofheinz shifted his talents to stadium construction at the same time as proposals were being submitted to lure a major-league baseball club to Houston.  For Hofheinz, however, hosting a team was part of a much larger vision that included construction of a grand entertainment empire.

Public-relations guru George Kirksey and oil heir Craig Cullinan were instrumental in bringing a major-league team, the Colt .45s, to Houston. In 1962 the expansion team began play in Colt Stadium, a temporary facility also built under Hofheinz’s supervision. The ballpark was located near the Astrodome site, so spectators were provided informal construction updates as they visited the temporary open-air facility.

The Colt .45s played in that venue through the close of the 1964 season as the Astrodome was being built. Houston’s oppressively hot and humid conditions and aggressive mosquito population offered evidence as to why an indoor facility was essential for baseball to succeed in Houston. While playing at Colt Stadium, fans, players, and umpires faced fatigue and heatstroke. The concession areas sold mosquito repellent to fend off insects that were so big Dodgers pitcher Sandy Koufax remarked, “Some of the bugs there are twin engine jobs.”8 Conditions were so brutal that the National League adjusted its schedule in Houston to allow for more night games.9

Kirksey and Cullinan regarded baseball as essential to the Astrodome’s future, but for Hofheinz, the facility was designed to be a larger-than-life entertainment facility, with baseball as a small part of a much more expansive plan. A year after the Astrodome was unveiled, he asserted that “we had to have a stadium that would be a spectator’s paradise, but also one that could be used for events other than sports.”10

Hofheinz was not involved in the preliminary plans to build a baseball venue. As franchise relocation was under way during the 1950s, Kirksey and Cullinan sought to gain a major-league team. They collaborated with banking executive William Kirkland to prepare the initial case to build a new stadium as a way to lure a team to Houston. With the approval of the Texas Legislature and backing from Houston insiders, the three were able to arrange for a referendum to fund an open-air ballpark that would contain adjoining indoor convention space. The measure passed by a 3 to 1 ratio on July 26, 1958. After Hofheinz’s mall plans fell through, he persuaded Houston’s power brokers to abandon the open-air plan because a large all-purpose indoor stadium would be feasible, radically shifting the direction of the project. 

Shortly after committing to stadium construction, Hofheinz worked with master carpenter Stuart Young to build a $35,000 scale model of the project, using this model to persuade baseball executives to grant Houston an expansion franchise. On January 3, 1962, when it was time for the Astrodome’s groundbreaking, instead of using shovels, seven dignitaries fired rounds of wax bullets from Colt .45 pistols into the ground. Lawsuits, site-selection controversies, construction delays, and a need for additional funding slowed the construction process, but once completed, the Astrodome received immense publicity.11

The facility was formally named the Harris County Domed Stadium, but few used that name in reference to the edifice. Several politicians were angered when the facility was rebranded, but Hofheinz bluntly argued, “I can’t sell that name. I need something I can sell.” The decision to rename the facility the Astrodome, was surprisingly arbitrary, however. After the Colt Industries, the conglomerate that included the gun maker, pushed to obtain royalties for official Colt .45s team merchandise, Hofheinz decided to change the baseball team’s name. He was never enthusiastic about the name anyway, feeling that it suggested more about the region’s past than its future. As metropolitan Houston was emerging as a hub for the nation’s space program, Hofheinz and his partner, Bob Smith, debated whether to choose the Stars or Astros, with the facility to be branded the Stardome or the Astrodome. Roy Hofheinz’s son, former Houston Mayor Fred Hofheinz, recounted their discussion of the merits of both options. After considerable debate, Fred Hofheinz indicated that his father “just told Mr. Smith, ‘Pick one,’ and he picked the Astrodome.”12 After the decision was made, Hofheinz promptly announced the team’s new name, and disposed of all Colt .45s merchandise while moving forward on plans to unveil the Astrodome. 

The first public event at the Astrodome was an exhibition game between the Astros and the Yankees on April 9, 1965. That exhibition game was arguably the most ballyhooed christening of a ballpark up to that time. Among those on hand were President Lyndon Johnson and his wife, Lady Bird, Texas Governor John Connolly, 21 NASA astronauts, NBC news anchor David Brinkley, and numerous other dignitaries. Total attendance was 47,876, at the time a record for an indoor sporting event. Yankees legend Mickey Mantle began the game with a single, and in the sixth inning blasted the first indoor home run ever. In storybook fashion, the Astros won the game 2-1 in the 12th inning when Nellie Fox drove in a run with a pinch-hit single.

The event was featured prominently on sports pages across the nation. Several publications put it on the front page, ahead of other major news. The New York Times, as one example, offered a front-page story that focused heavily on the Astrodome, those in attendance, and reactions to the venue, while providing a panoramic four-column photograph that was taken from behind home plate. New York Times coverage offered a lead story in the sports section, too. The focus of that coverage was the game itself, although the article did offer numerous details about the stadium. 

Although a new ballpark was christened in Atlanta on the same day, coverage of that event was significantly less detailed.13 Locally, the Houston Chronicle provided front-page coverage and numerous other stories, in addition to offering a special section on April 11 that was replete with photos of the festivities.14 The Astros indicated that 188,762 spectators entered the turnstiles for five exhibition games prior to the regular-season opener, with reports that many had come “just to see the glittering palace.”15

Among the most prominent features of the new venue was a $2 million scoreboard. It was 474 feet wide and weighed over 300 tons. It made all other scoreboards in use at the time look puny. It could be programmed to celebrate home runs, lead fans in cheers, and run between-inning advertisements. It served as a precursor to the Jumbotron and Diamondvision, and it was met with tremendous enthusiasm as the ballpark opened. It was such an attention-grabber that Sports Illustrated prepared a feature story on the scoreboard alone.16                      

The first regular-season game in the Astrodome received a good deal of fanfare, too. It was the lead baseball story in several newspapers, eclipsing President Johnson’s throwing out the ceremonial first pitch for the Washington Senators on that same day.17 The Phillies beat the Astros, 2-0, with Chris Short tossing a four-hit shutout. To enhance the contest, 24 of NASA’s 28 astronauts were on hand and introduced, with each receiving lifetime passes for baseball games inside the Astrodome. Baseball Commissioner Ford Frick and National League President Warren Giles were also on hand, with a total reported attendance of 48,546. (The paid attendance was 42,652.)18

The inaugural season in the Astrodome was a time for experimentation, and in one of the odder experiments, New York Mets announcer Lindsey Nelson provided live commentary and play-by-play on April 28 while suspended from a gondola high above the action.  Nelson and his producer, Joel Nixon, were lifted into the gondola a half-hour before the game, and remained there through the completion of a contest that concluded with a 12-9 Astros victory. It was the first time ever that an announcer provided play-by-play from fair territory. Before the game Mets manager Casey Stengel expressed delight that his team’s announcer would be a “ground rule” if he were to be hit by a ball, while Mets coach Yogi Berra bluntly told Nelson, “I think you’re crazy.” Nixon was equipped with a walkie-talkie and a phone to communicate with the regular broadcast booth. He had a scorecard and pen, but once the game began, he stopped keeping score after realizing, “If I ever dropped the pen, it would be a dangerous missile.” The experiment was not repeated, but it received abundant publicity while inspiring future use of the gondola for overhead cameras.19

The Astrodome revolutionized the nature of sports surfaces, ushering in the use of artificial turf. The initial plan was to maintain a natural-grass surface. A special strain of grass blends called Tifway 419 Bermuda was scientifically engineered to allow for successful indoor growth in low-light settings.20 However, the inability of ballplayers to track fly balls under the dome’s clear Lucite panels required painting the roof surfaces white. That allowed fielders to do their jobs, but blocked sunlight and prevented future indoor plant growth. As a result, the 1965 season closed out with dead grass and painted dirt, an unacceptable situation.

To resolve the problem in time for the 1966 season, Hofheinz negotiated with scientists at Chemstrand, a division of Monsanto, to produce and install an artificial grass-like surface that would not require natural light to remain green. Such a product was used sparingly in urban environments, most notably to provide play areas. In a quest for solutions, front-office executive Tal Smith visited the Moses Brown School in Providence, Rhode Island, to look at such a product, then branded as ChemGrass. After observing a field that was used for that school’s sporting events, Hofheinz decided to move forward with its installation inside the Astrodome.21 This was the first time the synthetic turf was used in a professional sports venue. The product was rebranded AstroTurf. The new surface gained widespread publicity, prompting use in other sports venues as the 1970s unfolded. 22 As installation was under way Smith asserted, “With the installation of AstroTurf, we will have eliminated the last pitfall in conjunction with the stadium.”23

The nylon product was installed in the infield to start the 1966 season, and later was added to the outfield. The first game on an entirely artificial surface was played on July 19, with the Astros defeating the Philadelphia Phillies, 8-2. Game reports indicated that there was “no apparent effect on the play.”24 In reality, players had to adjust for changes in how the ball reacted to the surface. Numerous baseball purists responded with revulsion to the change, particularly as it was introduced to other stadiums.25 

Six no-hitters were pitched in the Dome’s history, all by the Astros. In the first, on June 18, 1967, Don Wilson, a rookie right-hander, allowed just three baserunners, all on walks, pitching the Astros to a 2-0 victory over the Atlanta Braves in the first major-league no-hitter ever pitched indoors.26 In the second no-hit effort, Larry Dierker blanked the Montreal Expos, 6-0, on July 9, 1976. It earned front-page recognition in the New York Times.27 On April 7, 1979, Ken Forsch tossed a 6-0 no-hitter against the Atlanta Braves. He and Bob Forsch became the first brothers to throw no-hitters, with Bob tossing one for the St. Louis Cardinals in 1978. On September 26, 1981, 32,115 fans watched Nolan Ryan throw his fifth career no-hitter, blanking the Dodgers, 5-0.

On September 25, 1986, after nailing San Francisco’s leadoff hitter, Dan Gladden, in the back, Mike Scott settled down to toss the Astrodome’s fifth no-hitter. The game clinched the National League West crown for the Astros, as Scott dominated the Giants, 2-0, in an electrifying evening for 32,808 fans. The performance solidified Scott’s case to earn the 1986 Cy Young Award, and it marked the first time in National League history that a no-hitter won a division-clinching game. In the final Astrodome no-hitter, on September 8, 1993, Astros right-hander Darryl Kile struck out nine in a 7-1 victory over the New York Mets. A walk, a wild pitch, and an error provided the Mets’ only run, in a contest viewed by a mere 15,684 fans.

When the Astrodome was built, its roof was generally believed to be high enough to avoid being hit by baseballs, but in the first inning on June 10, 1974, Philadelphia Phillies third baseman Mike Schmidt launched a towering center-field blast that slammed into an overhead speaker attached high above a roof truss. What would have been a certain home run fell harmlessly to the field. Instead of celebrating one of the most powerful blasts ever to be hit inside the Astrodome, Schmidt earned no more than a single. After the game the future Hall of Famer admitted to being angry, while Astros center fielder César Cedeño speculated that the ball was slammed so powerfully that “it might have hit the flag above the electronic scoreboard.” Schmidt hammered two more hits that day, including a three-run double, to pace the Phillies to a 12-0 rout over the Astros.28 He received more publicity for the unusual and prodigious hit than if he had blasted a home run. Despite being shortchanged in this game, Schmidt led the majors with 36 home runs that season.  

Although rain postponements were never supposed to be an issue inside the Astrodome, one occurred on June 15, 1976, immediately before a scheduled game against the Pittsburgh Pirates. The dome remained fully intact and had no structural damage from torrential downpours that in some locations exceeded 12 inches. However, several roadways in Houston were badly flooded, road closures were numerous, isolated power failures occurred and four people in the area died..29 Players were at the Astrodome as the rains came down, but the umpires could not navigate the flooded roadways surrounding the building. An Astrodome spokesman called it a “rain in,” and Astros general manager Tal Smith cited safety for the postponement, indicating that the game could have been played since conditions inside were dry, “but if we had announced it was on, we could have been inviting misfortune,” since some spectators might have become stranded in the deluge. To accommodate the players, tables were moved to the infield, and the two teams enjoyed a sitdown dinner. Twenty or so fans, described as “real diehards,” were treated to a free meal in the Astrodome cafeteria, as well. The umpires retreated to a nearby hotel after their car reportedly stalled out in high water. It was the first weather-related postponement at the Astrodome, though an exhibition game had been canceled in 1968 after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King.30

The Astrodome hosted the first nationally televised college basketball game. The January 20, 1968, contest pitted John Wooden’s undefeated and number-one-ranked UCLA Bruins against the second-ranked University of Houston Cougars. The event was promoted as the “Game of the Century.” Its attendance of 52,693 stood as a single-game record for college basketball until 2003. Dick Enberg and Bob Pettit hosted the broadcast on the TVS Television Network, a pioneer in national sports syndication. Despite not being on a major broadcast network, the game attracted 12 million viewers and resulted in a $125,000 payout for each team, an amount greater than the Cougars’ earnings for the entire previous season.31         

The event featured UCLA’s Lew Alcindor, whose Hall of Fame NBA career unfolded as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, against Elvin Hayes, whose prowess on the court in 1968 earned him recognition as The Sporting News College Basketball Player of the Year.32 The Cougars beat UCLA, 71-69, snapping the Bruins’ remarkable 47-game winning streak. The game received front-page coverage in Sports Illustrated and elsewhere.33 Such media recognition revealed the immense commercial potential of college basketball and was a harbinger of multibillion-dollar network rights fees to broadcast the NCAA basketball tournament.  Leisure historian Howard P. Chudacoff asserts that this game “launched college basketball as an entertainment product on television,” but beyond that, the game marked a seminal moment in college sports.34

With recognition that men’s basketball could be played in massive indoor venues rather than in traditional arenas, the 1971 NCAA Final Four and subsequent championship game were played in the Astrodome, culminating with UCLA defeating Villanova, 68-62, for the national crown in what was described as “the largest crowds in the history of the NCAA championships.” A total of 63,193 entered the Astrodome turnstiles, with 31,765 attending the championship game.35 Future tournaments would gradually shift from sizable arenas to bigger indoor stadiums in the decades that followed. The Final Four has not been played in a traditional basketball arena since 1996.

The Astrodome also hosted the 1989 National Basketball Association All-Star game on February 12. Karl Malone earned MVP honors as the West defeated the East by a 143-134 score. The 44,735 in attendance stood as an NBA All-Star Game record until 2010.

On September 20, 1973, the Astrodome hosted the highly publicized “Battle of the Sexes” tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs. New York Times sportswriter Neil Amdur called the match “the most talked-about event in the history of tennis.”36 Both competitors were U.S. Open and Wimbledon champions, but Riggs, at age 55, was past his prime. King, then 29, was reluctant to face Riggs, as he had beaten world-class tennis champion Margaret Court in May, but his brash taunts and insults prompted her to take up the challenge. Despite the age differential, Riggs confidently stated that “there is no way she can beat me,” and then asserted that he would “put Billie Jean and all other women’s libbers back where they belong – in the kitchen and the bedroom.”37

King trained hard, while Riggs self-promoted his prowess, convincing oddsmakers to make him the favorite. Before a crowd of 30,492, many paying up to $100 for a seat, a circus-like atmosphere unfolded that was nationally televised on ABC. The event attracted 90 million viewers worldwide, with 50 million in the U.S. alone, the largest audience ever to watch live tennis on network television. The broadcast was hosted by a tuxedo-clad Howard Cosell. Network advertising for the spectacle sold out in a single day.38 The event served as a watershed moment for feminism, with considerable venom aimed at Riggs for his many incendiary taunts. However, Riggs’s bravado ensured that this event would be a national spectacle, with massive amounts of money changing hands. Both Riggs and King were guaranteed $75,000 from souvenir and program sales, while the winner of the match would take home an additional $100,000.39 

On the day of the event, King was transported to the court on a Cleopatra-style gold litter, carried by four muscular men in togas, while Riggs was wheeled in on a rickshaw propelled by six scantily clad models. Courtside spectators sipped champagne as makeshift bars were set up on the Astrodome floor. King trounced Riggs in straight sets, 6-4, 6-3, 6-3. The event received front-page coverage in numerous newspapers.40 King’s success was touted as a victory for the feminist movement at a time when Title IX was in its infancy and not yet vigorously applied to sports. Tennis also benefited commercially, gaining increased popularity as a result of the spectacle.

Not all sports worked, however. Hofheinz brought midget auto racing to the Astrodome in March 1969. The drivers complained about the conditions, and a crash into the wall caused A.J. Foyt to lose a dental filling. Despite the $60,000 purse, the concept never gained momentum.41 Hofheinz also tried to introduce professional soccer to the Astrodome, taking a controlling interest in the Houston Stars in 1967. The United Soccer Association team was able to draw more than 30,000 in its opening game, but after struggling with attendance it folded after the 1968 season. The Astrodome later served as home to the Houston Hurricane, a North American Soccer League team that began play in 1978, but folded three years later.42

However, boxing did have a degree of success within the Astrodome, with several fights featuring Muhammad Ali. The first major bout in the Astrodome involved Houston native Cleveland Williams versus Ali on November 14, 1966. Ali knocked him out in the third round after introducing the “Ali shuffle” to the crowd of 35,460. A fight between WBC heavyweight champion Larry Holmes and Randall “Tex” Cobb on November 26, 1982, was especially memorable. Cobb took the champion the full 15 rounds, yet was brutally beaten and bloodied. After repeatedly expressing revulsion on air, Howard Cosell refused to work any future boxing broadcasts, a circumstance Cobb wryly called “my gift to boxing.”43

The Astrodome hosted numerous trade shows and other events, including circus performances and religious revivals. A boat show, for example, was held in the Astrodome’s first year of operation. The Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus also performed in the Dome for many seasons, with Hofheinz briefly owning that circus operation during the 1970s. 

One of the most heavily publicized special events in the Astrodome’s first year was Billy Graham’s Crusade for Christ, a multi-day event that attracted more than 300,000 worshippers, including President Lyndon Johnson, with 61,000 packing the venue to hear Graham’s final sermon.44 To generate extra revenue, Hofheinz began offering Astrodome tours for $1, a move that brought more than 400,000 visitors into the Dome during its first year alone.

Concerts were a profound part of the Astrodome’s history, too, with numerous top-tier acts coming through. Judy Garland was the first major artist to appear, performing on December 17, 1965, with the Supremes as the opening act. The unprecedented size of the venue was intimidating for some performers. Elvis Presley indicated that he looked forward to a return to Texas for live performances, committing to play at the 1970 Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, but he bluntly confessed, “That dome has me scared.”45

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo was responsible for bringing many other top musicians to the Astrodome . In addition to Presley, the organization signed deals with Alabama, Tony Bennett, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Michael Jackson, Loretta Lynn, Barry Manilow, Tim McGraw, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, Lionel Ritchie, Roy Rogers, Shania Twain, Luther Vandross, Lee Ann Womack, Hank Williams Jr., and ZZ Top. Many of them provided several performances over a multi-year period. Of the more than 400 nationally recognized performers featured on the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo web site since its inception, the lion’s share of top acts appeared at the Astrodome.46

Apart from the Livestock Show concerts, numerous other major artists performed at the Dome including The Who, Madonna, Paul McCartney, and the Rolling Stones. An October 28, 1981, Rolling Stones concert was marred by a fatal stabbing. The tragedy prompted a $4.7 million settlement with the victim’s family. The bulk of the settlement was to be paid by the tour promoters, Pace Concerts, though the Houston Sports Association and Harry M. Stevens, the venue’s concessionaire, also had to make payments after an investigation revealed that security was less than adequate.47   

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo was, and remains, a major force in south Texas. Historian Jason Chrystal asserted that even before the Astrodome was built, the executives from this organization were “some of the wealthiest, most powerful, and politically connected in Houston history.”48 Their political muscle was an important factor in getting the Astrodome constructed, and, once it was built, they were major players in bringing large crowds to its events. Their move to the Astrodome propelled the multi-week Livestock Show and Rodeo to surpass one million in attendance. They continued to bring record-breaking crowds until the event was moved to nearby NRG Stadium in 2003, where, in time, its cumulative attendance exceeded 2 million.

The organization’s focus on a broad range of events meshed well with Roy Hofheinz’s vision for the Astrodome as an all-purpose entertainment venue. As the Astrodome neared completion, the organization built a less elaborate structure, dubbed Astrohall, next to the Astrodome. The building housed Livestock Show offices, administrative resources, and space for several agricultural events that might not draw huge crowds. Hofheinz later constructed AstroWorld, an elaborate theme park, near the Astrodome. It attracted large and enthusiastic crowds. Nevertheless, Hofheinz struggled to manage his finances amid the economic uncertainties of the 1970s, so he sold AstroWorld to the Six Flags Corporation. The facility continued to operate under the Six Flags brand from 1975 until it was closed in 2005.

The Astrodome was expected to host professional football when it opened in 1965, but Houston Oilers owner Bud Adams instead steered clear of the Astrodome until he reached a lease agreement before the 1968 season. Adams was a founding member of the American Football League, an upstart rival to the more powerful National Football League. Hofheinz and Adams feuded over the Astrodome’s lease terms, with Hofheinz setting exceedingly high rental prices while unsuccessfully attempting to lure a competing NFL team to play in the Dome.

Still, football was a major part of the venue’s initial years, with the University of Houston, high-school championships, and bowl games shaping the early schedule. The Astrodome’s first football game was played on September 11, 1965, with Tulsa defeating Houston, 14-0, in a nationally televised matchup. The New York Times’s Frank Litsky covered the game, but focused as much on the stadium as he did on the game. He asserted that football “seemed strange indoors,” adding, “It seemed artificial, just a bit too antiseptic.” He explained that the massive scoreboard was adapted to accommodate football, and indicated that the playing surface was dead grass that was painted green, so “players had trouble getting a grip with their cleats.”49 

The University of Houston played in the Astrodome through 1997, though by 1993 the Cougars had moved some of their games elsewhere, including nearby Robertson Stadium on its campus; eventually it shifted all its home games to that location. In 1968 Houston trounced Tulsa, 100-6, perhaps providing revenge for the opening loss in 1965, with Larry Gatlin, who would later perform in the Dome as a country music star, scoring a touchdown late in the game. Later, Houston fans were treated to Bill Yeoman’s veer offense in the 1970s and 1980s and to David Klingler’s record-breaking passing attack from 1988 through 1991.

The Astrodome also hosted the Bluebonnet Bowl, beginning with a rebranding of the event as the Astro-Bluebonnet Bowl in 1968. In the first contest, Southern Methodist beat the Oklahoma Sooners 28-27. In subsequent years traditional football powers including Alabama, Auburn, Michigan, Nebraska, Texas, and USC were among those invited. The game was moved to Rice Stadium in 1985 and 1986. Amid financial struggles, a swan song between Texas and Pittsburgh unfolded in the Astrodome in 1987, with the Longhorns winning 32-27. The annual game was canceled in 1988. 

Despite winning league championships during the 1960 and 1961 seasons, the Oilers struggled for respectability during their first decade in the Astrodome. Their first game there was played on August 1, 1968, a 9-3 exhibition-game victory over the Washington Redskins. Three heart-transplant survivors were introduced to the crowd, showcasing cutting-edge medicine as it evolved in Houston. 

The Oilers never played in a Super Bowl, but after the AFL and NFL merged, the game did come to Houston in 1974. To the disappointment of Roy Hofheinz, whose financial struggles and health issues limited his negotiating abilities, it was not played in the Astrodome. Instead Super Bowl VII was booked at Rice Stadium, the first time a Super Bowl was not played in a venue that served as home to an NFL team. Nevertheless, the Astrodome was chosen to host the NFL’s Super Bowl social event, informally known as the “commissioner’s party,” on the Friday before the game. The facility’s ample space allowed expansion of the invitation list to 2,900, then a record.50

The Oilers improved dramatically in 1978 when they drafted Earl Campbell, a heralded running back from the University of Texas. Before entering college or the professional ranks, Campbell played in the Astrodome in 1973, leading his John Tyler High School team to a Texas state championship. In his rookie season, Campbell was the first running back ever to score four touchdowns on Monday Night Football, thrilling 50,290 fans with a 199-yard performance.51 

The Oilers advanced to the AFC Championship game on January 7, 1979, and did so again on January 6, 1980. Both times they lost to the eventual Super Bowl champion Steelers at Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh. The 1980 loss, by a score of 27-13, included a controversial call on a pass by Dan Pastorini to Mike Renfro that would have tied the score at 17-17 if ruled complete and possibly shifted the momentum of the game.    

After that defeat, the Oilers returned to Houston, and were led by police escort into a packed Astrodome that was filled with 60,000 appreciative supporters. (Another 15,000 who couldn’t get in cheered outside. An emotional coach Bum Phillips thanked Houston’s fans and told them, “One year ago we knocked on the door, the following year we beat on the door. Next year we’re going to kick it in.”52 That same day, the Super Bowl-bound Los Angeles Rams were greeted by a mere 3,000 fans after their NFC championship victory.53 Despite the emotional fan support, the Oilers lost in the AFC wild card game the following year, trounced by the Oakland Raiders, 27-7, again on the road.

Those playoff failures cost Phillips his job, and the Oilers did not return to the playoffs until January 3, 1988, when quarterback Warren Moon led the Oilers to a 23-20 overtime victory over the Seattle Seahawks in front of 50,519 Astrodome fans. However, the team lost the following week in Denver. During that season Oilers owner Bud Adams indicated that he was unhappy with the Astrodome, and he threatened to move to Jacksonville if the stadium situation did not improve. His displeasure prompted a $67 million renovation that expanded seating capacity by 10,000 and provided other amenities that Adams demanded. The original scoreboard was dismantled and removed to make room for some of those seats. The Oilers were a competitive team, with a passionate fan base, so the expectation was that the renovation would keep Adams in the Astrodome for at least 10 years.

The Oilers next hosted a playoff game in a newly expanded Astrodome on December 31, 1989, losing again to their perennial nemesis, the Steelers, 26-23, in overtime. A crowd of 59,406 watched Gary Anderson kick a 50-yard game-winning field goal. Two seasons later, Warren Moon tossed two touchdown passes as Houston defeated the New York Jets, 17-10, in front of 61,485 in the wild card game, again in the Astrodome, but the Oilers were defeated 26-24 by the Broncos in Denver a week later. On January 3, 1993, the Oilers made the playoffs but dropped a 41-38 overtime game to the Buffalo Bills in Orchard Park, New York, after leading 35-3 in the third quarter. On January 16, 1994, the team played its last playoff game in the Astrodome, a 28-20 loss to the Kansas City Chiefs. Adams began to lobby for a new taxpayer-funded open-air stadium. The team would never make the playoffs again while in Houston. 

Despite the $67 million renovations, Adams decided to move his team to Tennessee, making the announcement after a disappointing 1995 season. Adams’s contract with the Astrodome ran through 1997, but after the team played to sparse crowds in 1996, with fans irritated by the Oilers’ lame-duck status, Adams transferred his team to Tennessee a year early. To attract a new football team, the expansion Houston Texans, a larger retractable-roof stadium was built next to the Astrodome and completed in 2002.

Even if the Astrodome did little to satisfy Adams, the venue hosted two major-league All-Star Games, one in 1968, the other in 1986. As the 1968 All-Star Game approached, players were still trying to adjust to the novelty of Astroturf, particularly American League players. St. Louis Cardinals manager Red Schoendienst, who was piloting the NL All-Stars, said, “It takes us a couple of games to get used to it each time,” suggesting that neither league would have an advantage.54 Despite speculation that the fast surface would result in more scoring than the previous year’s 2-1 finish, the 1968 game concluded with a 1-0 National League victory. Willie Mays earned Most Valuable Player honors after scoring the game’s only run. After smashing a single, Mays advanced to second on a failed pickoff attempt, took third after a wild pitch, then scored on a double-play ball hit by Giants teammate Willie McCovey. The prime-time contest featured a crowd of 48,321, a record gross of $383,733, and an estimated 60 million TV viewers.55 

The stadium was less of a focus during the 1986 All-Star Game, presumably because the sports world had adapted to indoor facilities and artificial turf. The 3-2 American League victory attracted a turnout of 45,774, the largest baseball audience at the Astrodome in seven seasons. Texas native Roger Clemens pitched to the entire National League batting order without allowing a single baserunner, a feat that earned him Most Valuable Player honors. 56 

The 1986 season was a special one for the Astros, who advanced to the National League Championship Series to face the New York Mets, a team that racked up an impressive 108 wins. The two 1962 expansion franchises treated fans to an outstanding series. After the Mets topped the Astros in a 12-inning contest in New York to take a 3-games-to-2 lead, the series moved to the Astrodome. In Game Six, on October 15, the Astros tagged Mets starter Bob Ojeda for three runs in the first inning, but then did no more damage until the 14th. Bob Knepper kept the Mets’ potent offense from scoring for eight innings, but they rallied for three runs in the ninth inning to tie the score. The Mets scored a run in the top of the 14th on a single by Wally Backman, but Houston responded with a solo home run by Billy Hatcher. After a scoreless 15th, the Mets scored three runs in the top of the 16th inning. The Astros rallied for two runs, and with two outs and runners on first and second, Kevin Bass pushed Mets reliever Jesse Orosco to a full count, but then struck out on a low off-speed pitch. With Astros ace Mike Scott in the dugout and ready to pitch Game Seven, Houston’s fans were devastated. The Mets went on to win the World Series. Despite attending every Super Bowl ever played, veteran sportswriter Jerry Izenberg called this the “greatest game ever played.”57

The October 15 game may have been the most exciting Astrodome moment ever, and for Astros fans perhaps the most disappointing, but the Astros provided numerous other memorable moments. The 1980 team advanced to the playoffs with a starting rotation that included Joe Niekro, Nolan Ryan, and J.R. Richard. Richard’s career was tragically ended by a stroke in July, but the team nonetheless advanced to the NLCS to face the Philadelphia Phillies with Games Three, Four, and Five inside the Dome. Houston won Game Three, 1-0, in an 11-inning pitching duel that included 10 scoreless innings from Niekro, putting Houston within one game of earning a World Series berth. However, the Astros dropped Games Four and Five. The clincher ended after Philadelphia’s Garry Maddox drove in the deciding run with a 10th-inning double, sending most of the 44,802 fans away disappointed.

As plans to move out of the Astrodome were in the works, the Astros earned a spot in the National League Division Series in 1997, 1998, and 1999. Those teams featured Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio, both perennial All-Stars and, later, Hall of Fame candidates. Biggio was inducted into Cooperstown in 2015. Despite some outstanding regular seasons, the Astros again did not fare well in the postseason. They were swept, 3-0, by the Atlanta Braves in 1997, with the final defeat unfolding in the Astrodome. They avoided a sweep in 1998, but fell to the Padres 3 games to 1 after splitting Games One and Two in the Astrodome.

In the team’s final year in the Astrodome, the Astros again dropped the NLDS to the Braves. After winning Game One in Atlanta, the Astros lost the next three, despite outstanding play by third baseman Ken Caminiti. The final game, a 7-5 Astros loss, was the last major-league baseball game played inside the facility. Some fans spoke of a history of losing close games, while another fan simply said, “I hope Enron Field brings us better luck.”58 (After Enron became enmeshed in a financial scandal and declared bankruptcy, the new ballpark’s naming rights were sold to Minute Maid, a beverage company.) 

With both the Oilers and Astros gone, the Astrodome was still booked for entertainment. The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo brought with it world-class exhibitions in 2001 and 2002. On April 1, 2001, the Astrodome featured WrestleMania, drawing 67,925 fans. The event was broadcast coast-to-coast and in 50 countries.59 The 2002 Livestock Show was the last one for which the Astrodome would serve as its primary venue. On March 3 a concert by George Strait attracted 68,266, an all-time Astrodome record. When NRG Stadium (then known as Reliant Stadium) was completed in 2002, the Astrodome became expendable as a large-scale entertainment venue.

Still, the Astrodome was put into use from time to time. In 2004 a film crew moved in to produce Friday Night Lights, the last time a Hollywood production crew would work on a major film project inside the Astrodome. It had previously served as the location for other Hollywood projects, including Brewster McCloud and a Bad News Bears sequel. In 2005 the Astrodome became a makeshift shelter for victims of Hurricane Katrina after structural damage to the Louisiana Superdome made that facility unusable for that purpose. It was the last time that the Astrodome received widespread recognition as a publicly used facility.

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo moved into NRG Stadium in 2003, but still used the Astrodome for ancillary events. One was a tradition called “The Hideout,” an after-hours social event that featured live music and refreshments. The Hideout continued in the Astrodome through 2008, closing with a performance on March 22 by local country artist Johnny Bush. Few realized that that would be the last public performance in the venue. Later that year, code violations were uncovered that prevented anyone from obtaining a certificate of occupancy.

From that point onward, the Astrodome was off-limits for public events, though numerous proposals to repurpose the structure emerged. Some proposals included converting it into a casino, a film studio, a hotel, a retail center, or an indoor recreation facility. Although support to repurpose the venue emerged, no ideas gained substantial private sector financing, forcing officials into a challenging conundrum. On November 5, 2013, Houston voters were presented with a proposal to invest $217 million of public funds into revitalizing the Astrodome, but the measure failed by 53 to 47 percent.

The National Trust for Historic Preservation placed the Astrodome on its list of the 11 most endangered historic structures in 2013, and by January 2014 the Astrodome was approved for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places. Cynthia Neely, a historic preservationist, nominated the Astrodome for such recognition, asserting, “It is reprehensible to allow such a valuable asset to just fall apart.” Nevertheless, the classification left the Astrodome’s future in an odd state of limbo. The formal designation, authorized by the National Park Service, added political complexities to attempts to bring the structure down, but was no guarantee against its demolition. The designation provided a mechanism to allow federal and state tax credits for private investments aimed at preservation, yet the size and scope of such a renovation was an ongoing deterrent to achieve such funding.60

As a more economical option, Ryan Slattery, a University of Houston graduate student, suggested leaving the Astrodome’s steel skeleton and roof structure in place, creating a sort of open-air park area that would retain remnants of the old structure.61 Later, Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo officials, less enamored with preservation, proposed demolishing the structure and replacing it with parkland that would include a miniature version of the Astrodome in its center.62 As Houston prepared to host the Super Bowl in 2017 at nearby NRG Stadium, the Astrodome’s exterior was power-washed, but without a substantial investment, code violations ensured that the historic venue would remain unused.

As of 2016 the Astrodome’s future was uncertain, but its legacy as a revolutionary architectural achievement remained secure. The unique structure envisioned by Roy Hofheinz changed the nature of sports spectatorship, introducing fans to previously unmatched levels of opulence and comfort. For better or worse, the Astrodome served to usher in an ideology of consumerism that influenced sports-related construction in cities throughout the world.

ROBERT C. TRUMPBOUR is associate professor of communications at Penn State Altoona. He is the author of The Eighth Wonder of the World: The Life of Houston’s Iconic Astrodome (Nebraska University Press) and The New Cathedrals: Politics and Media in the History of Stadium Construction (Syracuse University Press). He has taught at Pennsylvania State University, Southern Illinois University, Saint Francis University, and Western Illinois University. Prior to teaching, Trumpbour worked in various capacities at CBS for the television and radio networks.

Notes

1 Reid Laymance, “Astros Top 50 Moments.” Houston Chronicle, September 30, 2012: section 2, p. 4

2 Allan Turner, “Despite National Listing, Dome Still Could be Razed,” Houston Chronicle, February 1, 2014: A1.

3 Robert C. Trumpbour and Kenneth Womack, The Eighth Wonder of the World: The Life of Houston’s Iconic Astrodome (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2016). Lloyd & Morgan was renamed Lloyd, Morgan, & Jones while the Astrodome construction was under way, but the initial documentation listed Lloyd & Morgan as architects of record during the planning stages.

4 Edgar Ray, The Grand Huckster: Houston’s Judge Roy Hofheinz, the Genius of the Astrodome (Memphis: Memphis State University Press, 1980), 231.

5 James Gast, The Astrodome: Building an American Spectacle (Boston: Aspinwall Press, 2014), 15-21. 

6 Robert Lipsyte, “Astrodome Opulent, Even for Texas,” New York Times, April 8, 1965: 50.

7 Ray, 257.

8 Roger Kahn, A Season in the Sun (New York: Diversion Books, 2012), 53.

9 Bill McCurdy, “Houston’s Role in the Initiation of Sunday Night Baseball,” The National Pastime, July 2014: 5-9.

10 “The Man and the Idea,” in The Astrodome: Eighth Wonder of the World (Houston: Houston Sports Association, 1966), 5.

11 Trumpbour and Womack.

12 John P. Lopez, “Here Domes the Judge,” Houston Chronicle, March 26, 1995: B26.

13 Robert Lipsyte, “Johnson Attends Opening of Houston’s Astrodome,” New York Times, April 10, 1965: 1; Joseph Durso, “Astros Down Yanks, 2-1, in First Game Played Under Roof, New York Times, April 10, 1965: 23; “60,000 in Atlanta Welcome Braves,” New York Times, April 10, 1965: 23.

14  Dick Peebles, “LBJ: ‘Everybody Will Visit Dome,’ ” Houston Chronicle, April 10, 1965: 1. “Chronicle Cameras at the Dome: Celebrities Help Open Sparkling New Stadium,” Houston Chronicle, April 11, 1965, special section.

15 “Phils Top Astros, 2-0, on Short’s 4-Hitter Before 48,546,” New York Times, April 13, 1965: 43.

16 Joe Jares, “The Big Screen Is Watching,” Sports Illustrated, May 31, 1965: 30.

17 “Baseball Season Opens Today with 270,000 Expected to Attend Nine Games: Astros and Phils in Indoor Contest,” New York Times, April 12, 1965: 46.

18 “Phils Top Astros,” New York Times, April 13, 1965: 43.

19 Barney Kremenko, “Aircaster Perches in Gondola for Bird’s-Eye View of Mets,” The Sporting News, May 15, 1965: 20.

20 “World’s Most Pampered Grass,” in Inside the Astrodome: Eighth Wonder of the World, (Houston: Houston Sports Association, 1965), 76-77.

21 Trumpbour and Womack.

22 Barbara Moran, “Artificial Turf and How It Grew,” American Heritage of Invention and Technology, 20.4, Spring 2005: 8-16.

23 Jason Bruce Chrystal. “The Taj Mahal of Sport: The Creation of the Houston Astrodome.” Ph.D. diss., Iowa State University, 2004, 319-20.

24 “Astros Triumph Over Phillies, 8-2,” New York Times, July 20, 1966: 64.

25 Trumpbour and Womack.

26 “Wilson, Astros Rookie, Pitches a No-Hitter in 2-0 Triumph Over Braves,” New York Times, June 19, 1967: 48. 

27 “No-Hitter for Dierker,” New York Times, July 10, 1976: 1.

28 Ken Rappoport, “As Phils Blast Astros, Astrodome Roof Speaker Is Hit for the First Time,” Corpus Christi Times, June 11, 1974: 13A.

29 “Rains Up to 12 Inches Soak Houston; 4 Dead,” Corpus Christi Times, June 16, 1976: 14A.

30 B.F. Kellum, “Bucs Now History-Makers in Houston,” Franklin (Pennsylvania) News Herald, June 16, 1976: 16. Frank Brown, “Rainout Unique for Rooters,” Franklin News Herald, June 16, 1976: 16.

31 Howard P. Chudacoff, Changing the Playbook: How Power, Profit, and Politics Transformed College Sports (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2016), 45-46.

32 Oscar Kahan, “Alcindor, Hayes Top All-America,” The Sporting News, March 9, 1968: 35.

33 “Big EEE over Big Lew: Houston Upsets UCLA,” Sports Illustrated, January 29, 1968: 1.

34 Chudacoff, 46.

35 Jerry Wizig, “UCLA Stalls Way to 5th Cage Crown,” The Sporting News, April 10, 1971: 60. 

36 Neil Amdur, “Discussed and Dissected, Billie Jean, Bobby Ready,” New York Times, September 20, 1973: 57.

37 Richard O. Davies, Sports in American Life: A History (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 2012), 320.

38 “Billie Jean vs. Bobby Match Is Expected to Be the Richest,” Wall Street Journal, August 3, 1973: 7.

39 Barry Tarshis, “A Lot Preceded the Ms.-Match,” New York Times, September 23, 1973: 215.

40 Neil Amdur, “Mrs. King Defeats Riggs, 6-4, 6-3, 6-3, Amid a Circus Atmosphere,” New York Times, September 21, 1973: 1.

41 Bob Ottum, “Poor Li’l Midgets, Texas Style,” Sports Illustrated, March 17, 1969: 24.

42 “A Soccer History of Houston,” U.S. National Soccer Players website. ussoccerplayers.com/a-soccer-history-of-houst.

43 Mickey Herskowitz, “Super Bowl XXXVIII – Greetings From Flat City,” Houston Chronicle, January 25, 2004: Outlook, 1.

44 “Finale by Graham Attended by 61,000,” Galveston Daily News, November 29, 1965: 3B.

45 “Elvis Performs Live,” Austin Daily Texan, March 1, 1970: 11.

46 “Past RodeoHouston Performers,” Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo website. rodeohouston.com/Concerts/PastRODEOHOUSTONPerformers.aspx.

47 “Settlement Reached in Concert Slaying,” Galveston Daily News, August 24, 1986: 4A.

48 Chrystal, 37.

49 Frank Litsky, “Tulsa Downs Houston in Astrodome, 14-0,” New York Times, September 12, 1965: S1.

50 Michael MacCambridge, America’s Game: The Epic Story of How Pro Football Captured a Nation (New York: Random House, 2009), 314.

51 “Campbell Leads Oilers to Win,” Galveston Daily News, November 21, 1978: 1B.

52 “Oiler Rally Draws 75,000,” Cedar Rapids (Iowa) Gazette, January 7, 1980: 3B.

53 “3,000 Fans Greet Rams,” Cedar Rapids Gazette, January 7, 1980: 3B.

54 “Visitors Study Grass and Roof,” New York Times, July 9, 1968: 43. 

55 Leonard Koppett, “National League Wins All-Star Game 1-0 on Mays’s Unearned Run in First,” New York Times, July 10, 1968: 28.

56 Michael Martinez, “All-Star Game a Special Occasion,” New York Times, July 17, 1986: B10.

57 Jerry Izenberg, The Greatest Game Ever Played (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1988).

58 Todd Ackerman, “Astros Last Game in Dome Not So Fan-tastic,” Houston Chronicle, October 10, 1999: A37.

59 Dale Lezon and Danny Perez, “Wild About Wrestlemania/Event Draws Rigs Around All Other Entertainment, Fans Insist,” Houston Chronicle, April 2, 2001: A15.

60 Turner, A1.

61 Kiah Collier, “Pivotal Dates Loom on Fate of Astrodome,” Houston Chronicle, June 8, 2013: A1.

62 Kiah Collier, “Plan: Raze Dome, Build Park: County to Study $66 Million Idea Suggested by Rodeo, Texans,” Houston Chronicle, July 11, 2014: A1.

As a youngster, Hofheinz worked in radio and organized social events in Houston that included such top-tier performers as famed Louis Armstrong. From extraordinarily humble beginnings, Hofheinz acquired a vast range of creative skills that allowed him to supervise the design of a new and luxurious facility that he envisioned as a sort of entrepreneurial town square. His goal was to build a unique massive indoor venue that would bring prominence to Houston while hosting baseball, football, the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, concerts, large-scale exhibitions, and numerous other special events.1

That vision was made more complex by Kenneth “Bud” Adams. Adams owned the Houston Oilers, a professional football franchise that was expected to play its games in the Astrodome in 1965, the year it opened. However, Adams’s team did not move into the facility until 1968, opting instead to play in less opulent outdoor venues.

During the lease negotiations with Hofheinz, Adams boldly proclaimed, “If the Astrodome is the eighth wonder of the world, surely its rent is the ninth wonder.”2 Needless to say, negotiations between Hofheinz and Adams did not go smoothly. The mercurial Adams tended to pinch pennies when he could, so the high cost of moving his team into the Astrodome was something he resisted. 

The philosophic gulf between Roy Hofheinz and Bud Adams was wide, and that complicated the negotiating process. Both men were influenced by the Depression. Hofheinz was prone to surround himself in luxury, an understandable reaction to years of deprivation. He regarded investment in material goods as an index of success, extending that philosophy to publicly financed civic monuments. When Hofheinz unveiled the Astrodome, he justified his desire to favor opulence by asserting that after visiting the venue, “nobody can ever go back to Kalamazoo, Chicago, New York, you name it, and still think this town is bush league.”3 

Adams was less predictable and more uneven in his spending patterns, though he tended to favor cost containment as a managerial strategy. Houston Chronicle sportswriter Ed Fowler asserted that Adams “couldn’t settle on a style for running his organization,” but when he hired staff, “the figure with the greatest say was usually a bean counter.”4

Nevertheless, the Oilers owner could spend in luxurious and dramatic ways. Before George Steinbrenner pioneered high-stakes free agency in baseball, Bud Adams was selectively going after high-profile talent in football. In an example, he dispatched Adrian Burke, his American Football League team’s attorney, to New Orleans, where he promptly signed Heisman Trophy-winning LSU running back Billy Cannon to a lucrative contract under the goalposts immediately after the 1960 Sugar Bowl game. Cannon’s three-year deal, in excess of $100,000, was reported to include three gas stations and a Cadillac.5 However, the move created instant controversy. The National Football League’s Los Angeles Rams had signed Cannon before the game, but that did not deter Adams, who spent more than $73,000 on legal expenses to keep him from playing in the more established league.6

The signing was among the highest-profile ones in a battle between the upstart American Football League and the more prestigious National Football League. It put Adams in direct conflict with Rams general manager Pete Rozelle, who would eventually emerge as NFL commissioner, and who later would preside over the merger of the AFL and NFL. Before that merger, Adams continued to battle owners from the rival league, confidently stating, “I am going to sign all of my draft picks and any other player the other league may be after.” One reporter asserted that his “persuader” when negotiating a deal was “a stack of $100 bills as thick as a Texas steak,” yet Adams did not always come out the victor.7 He made high-profile but unsuccessful bids to dissuade Donny Anderson, Tommy Nobis, and John Brodie from signing contracts with NFL teams.8 In attempting to sign Joe Namath, Adams learned that he would not play for Houston, but that he had dreams of playing in New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles. Instead of allowing him to sign with an NFL team, Adams quietly advised the New York Jets, then owned by Sonny Werblin, to pursue the highly-touted quarterback.9 

Yet if Adams offered top players lavish contracts, he would try to offset such signings with low-ball pay to most of the remaining roster. As one way to counter the cost of high-profile signings, Adams hired John Breen, a highly creative director of player personnel. Breen’s early strategy was to park himself at Love Field, a Dallas airport and a major national hub, where he would negotiate deals with recently released and likely desperate NFL players while they were between flights home.10 Before other teams were even aware that a player might be available, Breen had locked him into playing for the Houston Oilers.

The formula worked initially, as the Oilers won AFL championships in 1960 and 1961. They advanced to the AFL title game again in 1962, losing in double overtime to Lamar Hunt’s Dallas Texans before that team moved, and was rebranded the Kansas City Chiefs. But from 1963 onward, championships eluded the Oilers, with coaching instability and penny-pinching as key factors in their on-field struggles.

When it came to renegotiating player contracts, Adams played hardball. He refused to extend a raise to wide receiver Charlie Hennigan in the year the Astrodome opened, despite Hennigan’s threats to retire. Hennigan caught 101 passes in 1964, at the time a single-season pro football record, but that high-octane performance failed to get Adams to loosen his checkbook.11

Adams and Hofheinz were two headstrong Texans who battled each other, and the Astrodome served as a focal point for some of these skirmishes. When the Houston Sports Association was formed, Adams and Hofheinz both shared the vice-president title, but Hofheinz’s insider work with real-estate mogul and oil baron Bob Smith as well as his ability to gain primary control of the Astrodome project put him in a more advantageous position among Houston’s power elite.

Still, Adams made a significant splash in the newly christened American Football League. Earning AFL championships during the league’s first two seasons suggested that Adams might rise as a unique national figure in sports, though subsequent struggles tempered Adams’s potential for broader recognition. Hofheinz and Adams were creative pioneers on different fronts, yet each had egos that were not easily contained.

Adams was founder and CEO of ADA Oil Company. This successful company provided Adams with the deep financial resources to form the Houston Oilers as part of an upstart new football league that would compete directly with the much more powerful NFL. Adams teamed up with Lamar Hunt, a fellow Texan and the son of an exceedingly affluent oil baron, to spearhead the formation of the AFL. The two began laying the groundwork in 1959 for a league that would begin play in 1960 with Hunt in Dallas and Adams in Houston. The fledgling league pushed the more established NFL into a merger within a decade of starting play. Adams was a key figure in the league’s inception and its subsequent success. However, unlike the soft-spoken, even-keeled, and reflexively humble Lamar Hunt, Adams could be brash, vocal, and highly unpredictable, particularly in his early years as the owner of the Houston Oilers football team. 

While founding the AFL, Hunt was sufficiently deferential to authority that even before getting the league off the ground, he naïvely approached NFL Commissioner Bert Bell to suggest that Bell preside over both leagues. However, Bell’s unexpected death in October 1959 prompted succeeding NFL officials to attempt to sabotage the new league before it took root. As plans for the AFL were unfolding, the NFL offered expansion opportunities to Hunt and Adams. Nevertheless, taking the offer would have left owners in Boston, Denver, Los Angeles, Minneapolis, and New York out in the cold, so out of a sense of loyalty Hunt rejected the offer and, to his credit, Adams did as well.

The NFL responded by extending expansion opportunities to Dallas and Minneapolis, poaching Hunt’s proposed AFL market, forcing him to unveil his new league with direct competition in Dallas while pushing him to find a new team to offset the loss of Minneapolis. Despite the blow to Hunt, the extraordinarily deep financial resources of Hunt and Adams allowed the league to move forward, with a team in Oakland added to fill the void.12 

After it became clear that Hunt had lost almost a half-million dollars in the first year of operation, H.L. Hunt, his ultra-wealthy father, quipped, “At that rate, he can’t last much past the year 2135 A.D.”13 Adams, with less substantial funding, reported losing more than $700,000 in 1960.14 A broadcast contract with ABC, then the weakest of the major television networks, helped to keep the league afloat, but legendary sports producer Roone Arledge indicated that broadcasting many of these games required creative camerawork and unorthodox production techniques to mask the sparse crowds.15

The stadium situation in most AFL cities did not help matters. With the Astrodome almost five years away from construction, the Oilers began play at a facility that was described by one sportswriter as “an overused high-school field.” Jeppesen Stadium was leased from the Houston Independent School District. It was initially built in 1941 as part of a federal Works Progress Administration project, and the condition of the field was so bad that when a Houston lineman once lost a shoe during a rainy game, it was never found.16 

Yet the Oilers called Jeppesen Stadium home from 1960 to 1964, and Adams was fine with the venue despite its flaws. He reportedly spent $250,000 upgrading and expanding the facility, and he did so with a specific goal in mind.17 Fearful that the NFL might try to expand to Houston, Adams appeared comfortable in Jeppesen Stadium because, according to The Sporting News, he negotiated the “sole outside playing rights in the plant, thereby shutting out the NFL.”18 

Adams’s distaste for the autocratic Hofheinz likely enhanced his desire to steer clear of Colt Stadium once that venue became available in 1962. Further, his feelings about Hofheinz probably prompted a reluctance to put his team in the Astrodome in 1965. In addition, Adams’s displeasure  with Hofheinz’s management style might have prompted an offer to sell the Oilers to the Houston Sports Association (HSA) in August 1962 for $2.5 million. While extending the offer, Adams asserted that he was unable to get specific information related to rental of Colt Stadium or the domed venue, which was then under construction. 

In response, the HSA, then firmly controlled by Hofheinz, tersely indicated that “the HSA can’t give Adams or anyone else a firm lease agreement on the domed stadium because the HSA does not yet have one itself,” while stating that Adams, as a shareholder in the HSA, “was invited to set his own price on the rental of Colt Stadium.”19 On November 28, 1962, Adams distanced himself from Hofheinz by selling all of his HSA shares, a move that put Hofheinz and Bob Smith more firmly in control of the Astrodome and its overall operation. Of consequence, Texaco heir Craig Cullinan, one of the most influential figures in bringing major-league baseball to Houston, tendered his shares, as well.20

Despite evidence of acrimony, Hofheinz surged forward with the assumption that Adams would settle into the Astrodome shortly after it was unveiled. Although no formal agreement had been reached as the 1965 season approached, HSA publicity suggested that the Oilers would move into the Astrodome during its initial year of operation. Presumably to improve his negotiating position with Adams, Hofheinz attempted to charm Adams publicly, while citing the inadequacies his team faced before the Astrodome became available.

The HSA’s 256-page Inside the Astrodome publication lauded Adams for bringing the Bluebonnet Bowl to Houston, while praising him as “a progressive business and civic leader.” The publication also applauded Adams’s team for bringing championships to the city and for being an “attendance leader” that “became the pace setters for the rest of the circuit.” The focus on the team closed with a pointedly negative critique of Adams’s prior venues, something that likely would not have occurred if the Oilers had played in Colt Stadium. According to the publication, “The Oilers can look back on five years of living through inadequate seating and parking as time well spent, and look forward to years of fruitful living in the sports showcase of the world, situated in the football hotbed of the nation.”21

Hofheinz’s public-relations tactics did not work. Those carefully studying the Houston negotiations in 1965 struggled to explain why Adams, after being slated to put his team in the Astrodome, abruptly signed a deal with Rice University instead. The Sporting News editor, C.C. Johnson Spink, pointedly suggested that Hofheinz might have set exceedingly high rental terms “to force the Oilers out and clear the way for a National Football League club, possibly one in which the Judge might own an interest.” To support such speculation, Spink indicated that rent for Adams was reported to be “the highest any pro football team has ever been asked to meet … without any exclusive rights against an NFL team coming in at any time.” Spink further asserted that Adams’s sudden shift might have unfolded when an influential Rice University board member “who has little affection for Hofheinz thought this an excellent opportunity to stick a harpoon in the Judge’s hide.”22 

In retracing the Oilers’ early years, The Sporting News columnist Wells Twombly joked that the conventional wisdom from insiders was that “Rice Stadium would be open to professionals at about the same time the Baptists were permitted to hold prayer sessions on the high altar at St. Peter’s in Rome.”23 Hofheinz likely felt as though Adams was severely constrained in his options. Even though his relationship with the Oilers’ owner may have been icy, Hofheinz may have been convinced that the Astrodome provided Houston’s fans with such a high-profile, premium venue that it could be prudently leveraged by the Oilers’ owner to obtain some degree of profitability.

Adams, however, appeared to regard the high rental fees as an irretrievable expense and at the same time he seemed distrustful of Hofheinz. After a negotiation process in which Adams submitted his desired contract terms to Hofheinz, who then modified them and simply returned the document with an expectation of a signature, the Oilers owner decided that his preference was to continue showcasing his team in a less opulent and less costly venue. 

In response, Hofheinz did what Spink speculated he would do. He tried to lure an NFL team, inviting Commissioner Pete Rozelle, an earlier nemesis of Adams, to visit the Astrodome. When it became clear that the NFL would not permit Hofheinz to hold a controlling interest in baseball and football teams simultaneously, he tried to coax Houston native and millionaire oil baron John Mecom into an ownership position to put a professional football tenant into the Astrodome. The NFL instead granted Mecom an expansion opportunity in New Orleans, where the team began play, like Adams, in an outdoor venue beginning in 1967. Mecom’s team, the Saints, eventually moved into the Superdome, a huge indoor structure that was inspired by the Astrodome.24 

After three years of competition away from the Astrodome, Adams finally relented, stating that “playing in the Rice Stadium rains cut crowds, so I looked forward to getting in the Dome.” The Oilers became the first professional football team to play its home games indoors. Despite his frustration, Adams offered effusive praise for Hofheinz once a deal was hammered out, stating that “the people of Houston really got a bargain” with the Astrodome, while indicating, “I have the highest respect for Judge Hofheinz and what he has done for the city.” Despite asserting that negotiations were “amicable,” Adams admitted that he had the final stages of the process handled entirely by intermediaries, making it abundantly clear that his preference was to avoid direct negotiations with Hofheinz.25

The Oilers struggled in their early years at the Astrodome, but by the close of the 1970s, they had built an exciting, hard-hitting team directed by Texas native Bum Phillips. They advanced to the conference championship game in 1978 and 1979, but after they fell short in the playoffs again in 1980, Adams fired the popular Phillips. By the late 1970s, Roy Hofheinz was no longer involved with the Astrodome, but Adams’s team was still locked into the venue as his home base. 

Bothered that the Astrodome was no longer a premium venue, Adams in 1987 threatened to move his team to Jacksonville, Florida, if action was not taken to improve the Dome. He insisted on added seating and major renovations. He also pushed for a cap on his annual rent payments and fought for a more substantial share of advertising, parking, and concessions revenues, including a demand that would have given Adams as much as 83 percent of the parking revenues. The Houston Sports Association attempted to negotiate with him.26 In addition, Harris County approved $50 million to expand and renovate the Astrodome, a figure that later ballooned to $67 million.27

Although Hofheinz died in 1982, the renovations eliminated some of the stadium infrastructure that the late judge most coveted. The luxury apartment that once served as home base to the Hofheinz empire was dismantled and most of its contents discarded, as were the massive scoreboard, the bowling alley, and several other well-publicized amenities. The all-faiths chapel was also removed; most of its contents were donated to a local hospital.28

The Astrodome, touted for all its luxuries and amenities, ultimately proved to be too restrictive to Adams, whose desire for a higher percentage of stadium-based revenue could not be satisfied as long as the Houston Astros’ hierarchy controlled the venue. By the 1990s the dynamic in NFL team ownership had changed. New stadiums were being built and owners, who were compelled to share a portion of their gate revenues, were getting better lease terms than in a generation prior. Of significance, owners were not required to share skybox, advertising, parking, and other stadium-based revenue streams with competing owners. Publicly financed stadiums had become a cash cow for owners more than in any previous era.29 Football historian Michael Oriard aptly noted, “Television continued to be the largest single pot of money … but stadiums became the new economic engine driving the NFL into the financial stratosphere.”30 Adams pushed harder to gain profits that several other owners were now obtaining, aggressively attempting to grab his piece of the lucrative stadium-generated pie. 

Renovations made in the 1980s pacified Adams temporarily, but he decided that the Astrodome could no longer serve his team looking forward. Thus, by the 1990s he pushed hard to get a brand-new domed stadium built for his team. Mayor Bob Lanier pushed back, citing city services as a more important priority for Houstonians, though talk of funding an open-air stadium unfolded. The popular mayor attempted to negotiate with Adams, but he was hard-nosed about protecting taxpayers. He pointedly said, “It’s very hard for me to go into neighborhoods that need streetlights and sidewalks and police and parks and ask those people for money for a stadium they probably can’t afford to buy tickets for.”31

In response, Adams predictably threatened to move, and eventually carried out the threat, shifting his franchise to Tennessee, where he played in outdoor venues but on terms that he was in a better position to dictate. Adams was reviled by many of Houston’s diehard football fans, but he did not move from the Houston area even after his team shifted elsewhere.

The Oilers departed after the 1996 season, a year before their Astrodome lease officially ended, and they were later renamed the Tennessee Titans. Initially, Adams expressed a willingness to stay in Houston until his Astrodome lease fully expired, but once his announced move was made, Houstonians reacted with revulsion, with many avoiding the stadium on game day. With numerous empty seats as the new reality, the NFL was glad to approve the team’s departure a year earlier than expected. Houston officials hammered out a settlement that cost Adams more than $5 million, but it allowed the team to relocate immediately.32

Nevertheless, the football team that cost Adams $25,000 in league fees in 1959 was valued at $1.06 billion when he died in October 2013.33 Clearly, Adams’s pioneering entry into professional football was a major financial success, yet the hard-charging oil baron struggled for respectability and acceptance during his time in Houston. Stadium-related issues were often at the core of that struggle.  When the Astrodome opened in 1965, Adams resisted playing in the highly touted venue. Somewhat fittingly, when his team left Houston, it was in large part because the revolutionary Astrodome failed to meet his expectations.          

ROBERT C. TRUMPBOUR is associate professor of communications at Penn State Altoona. He is the author of The Eighth Wonder of the World: The Life of Houston’s Iconic Astrodome (Nebraska University Press) and The New Cathedrals: Politics and Media in the History of Stadium Construction (Syracuse University Press). He has taught at Pennsylvania State University, Southern Illinois University, Saint Francis University, and Western Illinois University. Prior to teaching, Trumpbour worked in various capacities at CBS for the television and radio networks.

Notes

1 Edgar Ray, The Grand Huckster: Houston’s Judge Roy Hofheinz – Genius of the Astrodome (Memphis:  Memphis State University Press, 1980).

2 Harry Shattuck, “Money, Intrigue, Suspense – Oilers vs. HSA Battle Heats Up,” Houston Chronicle, September 13, 1987: Sports, 1.

3 Robert Lipsyte, “Astrodome Opulent, Even for Texas,” New York Times, April 8, 1965: 50.

4 Ed Fowler, Loser Takes All: Bud Adams, Bad Football, and Big Business (Atlanta: Longstreet Press, 1997), 33.

5 “Cannon Scores After Game – Signs 100G Houston Pact,” The Sporting News, January 13, 1960: 22.

6 “Oilers Spent $73,000 in Court Costs,” The Sporting News, December 3, 1966: 9.

7 Joe King, “College Heroes Eye Adams’ Money Tree,” The Sporting News, January 5, 1963: section 2, 1.

8 Jack Gallagher, “New Trend in AFL: Every Team Seeks Lincoln-Style Back,” The Sporting News, December 4, 1965: 54; Al Thomy, “Nobis, NFL Rookie of the Year, Bargain at Any Price,” The Sporting News, January 7, 1967: 5; Joe King, “Interloop Jumps Possible, but None Did,” The Sporting News, February 11, 1967: 9.

9 John McClain, “Remembering Bud Adams – Pioneering Owner Part of a Colorful Era,” Houston Chronicle, October 22, 2013: Sports, 1.

10 Al Carter, “See Ya, Blue: Oilers Leave Legacy of Odd Deals, Bad Luck, and Low-Budget Absurdity,” Dallas Morning News, June 29, 1997: 22B.

11 Ibid.

12 Michael Oriard, Brand NFL: Making and Selling America’s Favorite Sport (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), 19.

13 Ed Gruver,  The American Football League: A Year-by-Year History, 1960-1969 (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 1997), 56.

14 Clark Nealon, “Colt Owners Shun Chance to Buy Oilers,” The Sporting News, September 1, 1962: 20.

15 Roone Arledge, Roone: A Memoir (New York: Harper Collins, 2003), 64.

16 John Lopez, “Remembering the 1960-61 Oilers – Days of Glory,” Houston Chronicle, December 15, 1991: Sports, 17.

17 Clark Nealon, “Vets Spark Oilers to Fast Start in AFL,” The Sporting News, October 5, 1960: 23.

18 Joe King, “New League Hurls Challenge at NFL – Drafts Name Stars,” The Sporting News, December 2, 1959: 46.

19 Nealon, “Colt Owners.”

20 “Seven Houston Shareholders Sell Their Interest in Club,” The Sporting News, December 8, 1962: 21.

21 Inside the Astrodome: Eighth Wonder of the World (Houston: Houston Sports Association, 1965), 208.

22 C.C. Johnson Spink, “We Believe,” The Sporting News, June 19, 1965: 14.

23 Wells Twombly, “Ridiculous Business Starting Again,” The Sporting News, February 16, 1976: 8.

24 Ray, 332.

25 Ray, 332-333.

26 Harry Shattuck, “Adams Details Beefs with HSA,” Houston Chronicle, October 10, 1987: 14.

27 Bill Coulter, “$50 Million Upgrading for Dome Approved,” Houston Chronicle, July 22, 1987: A1. For final expense totals for the Astrodome renovation, see Fowler, 152.

28 Brenda Sapino, “Hofheinz’s Dome Rooms Are Doomed,” Houston Chronicle, May 5, 1988: A1.

29 Robert Trumpbour, The New Cathedrals: Politics and Media in the History of Stadium Construction (Syracuse, New York: Syracuse University Press, 2007), 277-278.

30 Oriard, 153.

31 Fowler, 157.

32 Steve Brewer, “Tennessee-Saw Battle Officially Over for Oilers,” Houston Chronicle, July 4, 1997: A1.

33 David Barron, “Bud Adams: 1923-2013 – He Brought Us the Oilers, Then Took Them Away,” Houston Chronicle, October 22, 2013: A1.

After a few short years playing baseball on artificial turf, or watching others play on it, few players or fans would admit to actually liking it, but its adoption continued for a few years more, largely in deference to football. At some point a light went on, and baseball operators decided that whatever drove them to the carpets in the first place was no longer worth it. Whereas nearly 40 percent of major-league games were played on artificial turf over a period of nearly two decades, 93 percent of all 2015 contests took place on natural grass.

Although few people weep over the demise of artificial surfaces, the game played on these fields was spectacular. The baseball of the 1970s and 1980s, whatever one might think of the uniforms, or the hairstyles, or the color of the “grass,” offered a wonderful balance of offense and defense, provided a fascinating variety of ballpark experiences (home-run parks, doubles parks, speed parks, pitchers’ parks), and gave us a dynamic group of stars, many of whom were defined by the places in which they starred – often as not, stadiums without a blade of natural grass.

It all started in Houston, Texas. The Astrodome served as the home of the Houston Astros for 35 seasons, and also housed the Oilers football team, college football and basketball, and assorted auto conventions, rodeos, and tractor pulls. The facility re-entered the news in September 2005 by serving as temporary housing for thousands of evacuees from New Orleans, victims of Hurricane Katrina. But the building’s principal sports legacy rests with two claims to fame: It was the first domed stadium, and the first professional facility to use an artificial playing surface.

The Houston club was awarded a National League franchise in 1960, and originally hoped to have its dome in place before its first game in 1962. Legal issues delayed the start of the project, which led to the construction of a temporary 32,000-seat stadium on adjacent land. In fact, the two stadiums were constructed simultaneously in sight of each other. The original Houston team was called the Colt .45s, and its temporary edifice was Colt Stadium, famous for its unbearable heat and giant mosquitoes. Few mourned the park’s demise after the 1964 season.

The opening of the Harris County Domed Stadium in 1965 was a much anticipated event, as commentators wondered whether it was possible or practical to play baseball indoors. Judge Roy Hofheinz, the team’s principal owner and the longtime champion of the dome, changed the team’s name to the Astros, and its new facility to the Astrodome, both monikers in celebration of the city’s role as the center of the thriving space industry of the 1960s.

Branch Rickey, in the last year of his life, visited the Dome and suggested that he had seen the future. On Opening Day, 24 actual astronauts threw out 24 first balls. A 475-foot-wide scoreboard displayed an elaborate light show after each Astro home run or victory, including two “cowboys” shooting guns whose bullets ricocheted around the scoreboard, leading to a series of loud explosions. The Astrodome showed American “progress” at its finest. The facility, without a single beam obstructing the view from a single seat, was soon called the “Eighth Wonder of the World.”

The field was natural grass, carefully tested to hold up under the building’s roof, which was made up of over 4,000 Lucite panels to let in nature’s sun. Unfortunately, the panels caused so much glare during practices in the spring that players had trouble catching pop flies. The solution was to paint the outside of the dome off-white, which caused the grass to die. The Astros played the last few weeks of the 1965 season on spray-painted dirt.

Hofheinz contacted Monsanto, a company that had installed “Chemgrass” in 1964 at Moses Brown School in Providence, Rhode Island, and got the firm to put its product in the Astrodome. Monsanto installed the turf in the infield in time for the Astros’ April 18, 1966, home opener, and the outfield was converted by their July 19 contest. The first man to bat on the fake grass was Dodgers shortstop Maury Wills, who singled up the middle off Robin Roberts. The players accepted the surface pretty quickly, perhaps partly because the field it was replacing was filled with holes and ruts. Monsanto changed the name of its product to “Astroturf,” a name often used for the next two decades to describe all artificial surfaces, though there were other competing technologies and brands.

Throughout the late 1960s, many journalists were predicting – and advocating – the installation of synthetic surfaces on all grass playing fields. The Sporting News, the erstwhile “Bible of Baseball” but accelerating rapidly downhill toward football primacy, favored the surfaces at least for football or multipurpose fields. Football was a major impetus for the spread of artificial surfaces, as many of the new stadiums being built in this era were multipurpose. Baseball didn’t really have a lot of pull – for the most part, the reason municipalities agreed to build new stadiums was because of football, which was booming in popularity.

The University of Houston played its home football games in the Astrodome in 1966, and many college football facilities, including those at the University of Alabama and University of Arkansas, were converted by the end of the 1960s. In 1967 Astroturf was installed at Memorial Stadium in Seattle, which hosted a pro football team, the Seattle Rangers, in the Continental League. The AFL Oilers moved over from Rice University in 1968. The Philadelphia Eagles became the first NFL convert when fake grass was installed at Franklin Field in 1969. Baseball’s All-Star Game in 1968, at the Astrodome, was billed as “Monsanto meets Ron Santo.”

The benefits touted by its early proponents were many: ease of maintenance, simpler conversion from baseball to football or vice-versa, better drainage. Football teams, even at the high-school level, would not practice on their main field for fear of tearing it up during the week – with artificial turf, there was no longer a need for practice fields. The biggest reason of all was that the surface reduced injuries. If you didn’t believe that, you only had to read the weekly half-page articles written by Monsanto for The Sporting News – or the occasional four- or eight-page spread regularly appearing in the same paper. The stories boasted of the rapid, and apparently inevitable, revolution being waged – putting greens, tennis courts, welcome mats, front lawns, rooftop parks, surrounding the family swimming pool. Seemingly everywhere you turned there was a grass-like rug lying beneath your feet.

Many baseball teams, some with new stadiums in progress, seriously considered synthetic surfaces in the late 1960s, as was regularly reported in the press. The first outdoor baseball field with artificial grass was Memorial Stadium in York, Pennsylvania, home of Pittsburgh’s Eastern League (Double-A) affiliate. The Pirates were considering the surface for their new facility being constructed in Pittsburgh, while Monsanto was so eager to show off its product that it agreed to install the surface at no cost.

On November 10, 1968, Chicago Bears star Gale Sayers, the best running back in football at the time, suffered a career-altering injury in a game at Chicago’s Wrigley Field.  In response, Cubs owner Phil Wrigley told Jerome Holtzman that he would soon be installing artificial turf at Wrigley Field, certainly within a few years. In their conversation there was an overriding understanding that it was better for the players, and that the change was inevitable. This is a man, it should be recalled, who would never install lights at his ballpark.

The Chicago White Sox became the second major-league team to forgo grass, installing a synthetic infield in White Sox Park in 1969, hoping it would lead to higher-scoring games. The first major-league outdoor game on a synthetic surface took place on April 16 when the White Sox beat the expansion Kansas City Royals, 5-2. 

Vince Lombardi, coaching the Washington Redskins in 1969, wanted turf installed in RFK Stadium, but Bob Short, who owned the Senators, would not agree. In fact, two years later, when the Senators moved to Texas, Short insisted that turf not be installed at Arlington Stadium, which had been the plan. Short was one of the earliest baseball leaders willing to march against the tide. But the tide kept coming.

The next season brought four new turf fields, beginning with the conversion of the grass surfaces in San Francisco’s Candlestick Park and St. Louis’s Busch Stadium. The first outdoor NL game on turf saw the Astros beat the Giants, 8-5, in San Francisco on April 7. Three days later the Cardinals became the fourth team with Astroturf, and they celebrated with a 7-3 victory over the Mets.

In midsummer, two new ballparks opened with artificial surfaces. Cincinnati’s Riverfront Stadium debuted on June 30, featuring (for the first time in the major leagues) dirt cutouts around the bases – a characteristic first showcased at Portland, Oregon’s Civic Stadium. The next month the Pirates opened Three Rivers Stadium with Tartan Turf, 3M’s rival product to Monsanto’s AstroTurf. The season also showcased the new surfaces in the postseason for the first time, as Pittsburgh and Cincinnati, in their brand-new parks, met in the NLCS with the Reds advancing to the World Series. It would be 18 years until baseball had another postseason with all-grass fields.

Sometime in the mid-1970s, baseball turned its pivot foot on this issue, though we all had to wait nearly a generation for all of these parks to be replaced. In 1970, not only were all new parks being introduced with artificial surfaces, but existing parks were replacing their natural grass. Within a few years, the new turfs (and the symmetrical concrete stadiums that housed them) were no longer looked upon as progress, but as a sign that the modern world had gone seriously awry. Dick Allen, future horse breeder, remarked, “If horses can’t eat it, I don’t want to play on it.”1 Though his wit was typically unique, his sentiments were carrying the day.

After the two converts in 1970, no baseball park would ever again remove its natural grass in favor of an artificial surface. In fact, the White Sox became the first team to reinstall grass, in 1976, and the Giants followed suit in 1979. The last outdoor baseball facility to debut in the major leagues with an artificial surface was Toronto’s Exhibition Stadium in 1977. There were three new synthetic fields built in the 1980s, but they were all under domes – in Minneapolis, Toronto (retractable), and St. Petersburg. The latter park was built in order to entice baseball to award the city a franchise, but by the time it got its team in 1998, the 10-year-old hardly-used facility was a dinosaur.

The visible effects of the shift away from fake grass had to wait for an entire generation of stadiums to be replaced, a process that began in the 1990s. The nine new stadiums completed between 1970 and 1990 (beginning with Riverfront and Three Rivers and ending with the dome in St. Petersburg, opened in 1990) all had synthetic surfaces. Starting with the new Comiskey Park (later US Cellular) in 1991, major-league baseball has christened 22 new baseball parks, every single one with real grass. There were still 10 artificial surfaces used in 1994, and nine in 1998, but today there are just two, in Toronto and St. Petersburg. Of these, Toronto probably could switch to grass, since its roof retracts and all other retractable roof fields have grass. Tampa Bay is likely stuck, though the team has been trying to get a new park built for many years.

The following chart shows the trend.

Artificial turf still lives on in pro and college football, though in reduced numbers. The surfaces have improved in many ways – many of them look more like grass than they used to, players run and cut better than in days past, and there are fewer funny turf bounces on the newer surfaces. That said, it is unlikely baseball will be returning to those days. The fans, media and players are united on that score.

Artificial turf in baseball is an anachronism today, and the mere mention of the subject is no longer considered appropriate in polite company. But make no mistake: The introduction of Astroturf in 1966 had a huge impact on the way the game was played for two decades, two of the best decades in baseball’s history. Some of the more interesting teams of the era – the Big Red Machine, the “We are Family” Pirates, Herzog’s Cardinals, George Brett’s Royals, the 1980 Phillies – were defined by the fields they played on. In our mind’s eye, when we see Brett and Ozzie Smith and Mike Schmidt, they are running, and diving, and hitting on a lime green carpet.

Sources

This is a revised and updated version of an article I wrote for Baseball Analysts website in 2005. In writing the original piece I used the archives of The Sporting News (available through Paper of Record, and free to SABR members) and retrosheet.org.

Notes

1 https://greenfields.eu/artificial-grass/.

Although Roy Hofheinz is credited with supervising the planning and construction of Houston’s Astrodome, without the hard work and diligence of Craig Cullinan and George Kirksey, the whole project might have gone off the rails. In the 1950s Cullinan teamed up with Kirksey, a Houston public-relations executive, to develop a plan that would lure a major-league baseball team to Houston.

Cullinan’s position as a wealthy heir to the Texaco oil empire and his Ivy League pedigree helped to open doors that allowed Houston access to numerous baseball insiders, but it was Kirksey’s energy, enthusiasm, and single-minded focus on bringing Houston into the major leagues that put the Bayou City into a position to build the Astrodome. In profiling Hofheinz as the Astrodome construction plans unfolded, Sports Illustrated writer Roy Terrell described Kirksey as a “visionary public relations man,” while identifying Cullinan and Kirksey as the two most deserving of “credit for getting big league baseball interested in Houston.” In explaining how Houston finally obtained a team, Kirksey described his approach as one that regarded “big league baseball as a citadel, and that we would have to take it by storm.”2

Not surprisingly, George Kirksey was the most persistent advocate of Houston’s bid to become a “major-league” city. Biographer Campbell Titchener explained that the hard-charging, enigmatic Kirksey “would say that it made him furious every time he opened up a newspaper and found Houston listed among the minor league cities.”3 However, the path he took to convince the lords of baseball to settle on Houston was circuitous, complex, and filled with disappointment. Fittingly, despite Cullinan and Kirksey having put in years of hard work, Houston’s path to the major leagues ended with Hofheinz closing the deal while they agreed to look on.

Kirksey was a nationally recognized reporter for the United Press before returning to Houston. As a sports journalist, he covered teams from New York, Chicago, and elsewhere, and did nonsports reporting in Europe as well. He was assigned to the World Series, Rose Bowls, and coverage of an aging Babe Ruth and a youthful Joe DiMaggio, among others, before serving in the Air Force during World War II. After the war he moved away from reporting and headed back to Houston, where he established his own public-relations business. Although his firm had many nonsports clients, his most passionate work was focused on bringing a team to Houston.

Kirksey’s first recorded attempt unfolded in 1951. Upon learning that the Philadelphia Athletics might be up for sale, he buttonholed real-estate baron Bob Smith in an impromptu meeting outside the Rice Hotel and tried to persuade him to invest $2.5 million to buy the team. Smith reportedly told Kirksey that he would put up $250,000 and instructed Kirksey to find nine other investors to make the deal work.4 Predictably, Kirksey was unable to raise the needed funds. However, his instincts in approaching Bob Smith were not off base. Smith eventually became the principal owner of the baseball team that did come to Houston.

Although Houston had a minor-league team, the Buffs, that was a respected affiliate of the St. Louis Cardinals in the Texas League, Kirksey would not be satisfied until his home city had achieved major-league stature. His next target was the Cardinals, one of the National League’s most storied franchises, with six World Series victories to their credit. In 1952 Fred Saigh, the Cardinals’ owner, was battling tax-evasion charges, so Kirksey explored the possibility of bringing the team to Houston. After Saigh pleaded no contest to the charges, he suggested that a sale of the team would require a $4.25 million commitment. However, with limited resources, consummating such a transaction would require creativity. Undaunted, Kirksey met with D’Arcy Advertising to try to broker a five-year, $1.25 million sponsorship deal with Anheuser Busch, the St. Louis-based brewing giant.5

Although such a deal might have brought in almost 30 percent of the revenue needed for the purchase, August Busch Jr., chairman of the brewery, and National League President Warren Giles did not support Kirksey’s plans. Kirksey attempted to line up investors but Saigh, loyal to his Missouri roots, sold the franchise to Busch for $3.75 million, a $500,000 discount. The deal ensured that the Cardinals would remain in St. Louis, much to the dismay of Kirksey.6

Major League Baseball had no teams as far south as Houston, and although the South had demonstrated signs of growth, Giles’ complicity in the St. Louis sale demonstrated that the lords of baseball were not ready to move away from the major population centers of the Northeast and Midwest. However, postwar demographic shifts and population increases paved the way for change in the baseball landscape.

The sudden shift of the Boston Braves to Milwaukee in 1953 ignited the fuse for further relocations. The Braves were lured by a new taxpayer-funded ballpark, offering Kirksey hope that Houston might in time acquire a team. He looked on with dismay as the St. Louis Browns moved to Baltimore in 1954 and were promptly renamed the Orioles. After making another push to acquire the Philadelphia Athletics in 1954, Kirksey was similarly disappointed when the A’s moved to Kansas City in 1955.7

Kirksey visited both Chicago teams and made overtures to the Cincinnati Reds, too, letting all who would listen know that Houston had money and was deeply interested in joining the major leagues. On the surface, it appeared that the geography of baseball was not changing in a transformative way. Still, Kirksey ran a strong campaign that raised Houston’s national profile, while the three franchise relocations offered a glimmer of hope that he might eventually succeed. Still, none of the relocation cities were anywhere near the Deep South.8

To succeed in such an environment, Kirksey understood that he needed more economic and political muscle than he could muster by himself. Despite previous failures, the push to bring major-league baseball to Houston gained credibility, stature, and momentum in 1956. The turning point was a meeting that included Kirksey, William A. Kirkland, and Cullinan. Houston baseball historian Robert Reed called this informal gathering “the true beginning of Major League Baseball in Houston.” Kirkland was chairman of First City National Bank, Houston’s largest and most prestigious financial institution. Cullinan was two decades younger than Kirksey, but Kirksey bluntly asserted that he “was looking for people with money,” unapologetically indicating that Cullinan fit that profile, in addition to having “more interest and more time than anybody I had talked with before.”9

Kirkland and Cullinan were strong supporters of baseball and each possessed unique assets. Kirkland had intimate knowledge of Houston’s wealthiest power brokers, and he was respected in local baseball circles after serving as a player and manager in the Houston Bank League before rising to prominence in the financial community. Cullinan was a capable public speaker whose New England prep school and Yale University experiences allowed him to work comfortably with those connected to powerful Northeastern institutions.10

The Cullinan family’s achievements opened doors as well. Cullinan’s grandfather, Pennsylvania native Joseph Cullinan, was an acknowledged pioneer in the oil industry. His influence and reputation was so profound that he had ready access to presidents and world leaders. Among his accomplishments were bringing the ship channel, rail transportation, and other significant infrastructure projects to Houston, ensuring that the city would serve as a hub for the nation’s oil industry for generations.11

After Kirksey, Cullinan, and Kirkland’s initial collaboration, Kirkland, using his financial clout, organized a meeting at the First City National Bank’s headquarters. Campbell Titchener wrote that the meeting, held on January 4, 1957, brought together 35 businessmen who by their varied achievements “represented the bulk of the city’s wealth, power, and influence.” After opening remarks by Kirkland, Kirksey took over, declaring that the three key elements required to succeed would be money, public support, and a modern stadium. To address these needs, shortly after the meeting, Houston Sports Unlimited was founded, with Cullinan as its president.12 (Its name was later changed to the Houston Sports Association.) Kirksey “used his considerable powers of persuasion” to lead Cullinan into forming the group.”13 The organization’s 28 members paid $500 for the right to buy future shares of a major-league baseball franchise for $35,000 each. However, Houston leadership was reluctant to build a stadium until a major-league team was secured, creating an uncomfortable situation for Kirksey and Cullinan.14

Cities like Minneapolis, for example, built a new venue without a team commitment, and the proximity of Minnesota to other Midwestern franchises gave them a geographic advantage over Houston. Kirksey and Cullinan continued to meet with baseball executives, using Cullinan’s wealth to fund such trips. But without a ballpark or, at a minimum, a tangible commitment to build a ballpark, Houston had less negotiating leverage in trying to lure a franchise to its city. It was a Catch-22 situation: Cullinan said that when he lobbied baseball executives, he was told, “Get a stadium and we will talk to you about a team.” But in Houston, Kirksey and Cullinan were told, “Find a team and the city might talk to you about building a stadium.”15

Kirksey and Cullinan tried to prompt local leaders to move forward on a ballpark without success. Nevertheless, in 1957, as the Giants and Dodgers prepared to move from New York to San Francisco and Los Angeles respectively, the two men sensed a seismic shift in baseball’s geography. Despite facing ongoing defeat, Kirksey believed that such change might somehow work in Houston’s favor. He tried to persuade Harris County Judge Bob Casey, the county’s chief administrator, to allocate county funds for construction of a ballpark, but was told that the county could not act without state authorization and a subsequent referendum. Kirksey got Texas legislator Searcy Bracewell, a former client and friend, to help draft legislation that allowed the county to use public funds for “public parks and entertainment venues,” while creating the Harris County Board of Park Commissioners, an organization that could oversee planning, construction, and oversight of such projects. Senate Bill 23 was approved, giving Houston the ability to solidify ballpark planning in 1958.16

Kirkland was appointed chairman of the new board. He staffed it with bankers, oil barons, and Archer Romero, a former president of the influential Houston Fat Stock Show and Rodeo. This organization would serve as co-tenant, using the facility to showcase its popular event during baseball’s offseason. Committee members explored what other cities had done, traveling to Milwaukee, Baltimore, and various locations in California.17

Kirkland hired architects to draw up plans for a new open-air ballpark, one that creatively included an attached air-conditioned arena that could be used for conventions and special events. A report released on June 20, 1958, recommended placing an $18 million construction referendum on the ballot for a July 26 election that was already in place. The report emphasized that Houston was the largest city in the United States that did not have a major-league team. It asserted that event revenues would cover the cost of the bond issue and touted the dramatic economic benefits the new venue would provide.18

The language was drafted for the referendum, and approval to place it on the ballot was granted three days after the report’s release.19 Media coverage suggested that Houston would gain wholesome family entertainment and dramatic economic benefits. In one example, sportswriter Mickey Herskowitz cited a Milwaukee Chamber of Commerce leader’s assertion that the city gained at least $7 million in economic activity after building a less opulent ballpark to entice a major-league team.20 With the positive drumbeat of local media and repeated assurances that the venue would be repaid in full by event revenues, taxpayers supported the referendum by a 3-to-1 ratio.21

With a mechanism for ballpark construction in place, Kirksey continued his push to acquire a major-league team. He never gave up on the possibility of expansion, but shortly after the election, he set his sights on the Cleveland Indians after it became known that the team had amassed $3.5 million in debt and was struggling with its finances. After a group from Minneapolis made a respectable bid that included generous attendance guarantees, Kirksey worked with wealthy Houstonians to craft his own plan. Kirksey’s group offered to fully pay the debt, while agreeing to pay an additional $2.5 million to the Indians’ current owners. Although the $6 million bid exceeded all other offers, Indians chairman William Daley rejected all offers, acknowledging that from a business perspective, the rejection might be unwise, but that it made sense simply “because most of the directors are Clevelanders.”22

Kirksey was crestfallen, but he continued to look for ways to bring Houston into the major leagues. He found allies in New York City, whose anger at losing the Giants and Dodgers was palpable. After numerous attempts to coax Major League Baseball into expansion failed, William Shea, an influential New York lawyer, invited Houston and Minneapolis into an ambitious plan to launch a third major league, to be called the Continental League. Shea recruited the legendary Branch Rickey to organize the league and serve as its commissioner. Atlanta, Buffalo, Dallas, Denver, New York, and Toronto rounded out the cities that were slated to be in the new league.23

Major-league officials worked behind the scenes to sabotage the Continental League before it could emerge, but Rickey was sufficiently knowledgeable about the inner workings of the sport to threaten baseball’s economic model. Major League Baseball continued to resist expansion, but Continental League representatives were anything but passive. Behind the scenes, they pushed for legislation that threatened baseball’s antitrust exemption. Senate Bill 3483 was pushed to the floor in 1959 by Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Baines Johnson, a close friend of Roy Hofheinz. Surprisingly, it came within three votes of passage in the United States Senate. Although the legislation failed, it was sent back to committee where it might die or perhaps be rewritten in a form that might gain enough support to pass.24

Major League Baseball had dodged a bullet, but its officials realized that the Continental League could pose a viable threat to their future. “Every aspect of our relationship with them changed after that vote,” Shea said.25 Rickey had assembled a league that would be slated to play in new ballparks in several cities that were growing more rapidly than the traditional hotbeds for professional sports. Despite attempts to avoid expansion, the lords of baseball were finally pushed to negotiate with leaders from the upstart league.

Hofheinz, the Astrodome’s maestro, was now a part of Houston’s lobbying effort, and Houston had recalibrated its stadium plans to be the first fully enclosed and air-conditioned baseball stadium. On October 17, 1960, Hofheinz showcased a scale model of the planned venue as he pitched Houston’s case to major-league owners during a tension-filled meeting in Chicago. After the presentation, New York and Houston were awarded National League teams to begin play in 1962.26 Minnesota gained a franchise when Calvin Griffith decided to move his team, the Senators, from Washington to Minneapolis. Washington and Los Angeles were awarded American League expansion teams.

Although building the Astrodome was sufficiently complex that Houston’s new team played in a much less opulent temporary stadium during its opening years, the efforts of George Kirksey, Craig Cullinan, and William Kirkland set the wheels in motion for the Astrodome’s eventual construction. As Cullinan had suggested, without the introduction of major-league baseball to Houston, the Astrodome would not have been built.

Notes

1 Robert Reed, A Six Gun Salute: An Illustrated History of the Houston Colt .45s (Houston: Gulf Publishing Company, 1999), 203.

2 Roy Terrell, “Fast Man With a .45,” Sports Illustrated, March 26, 1962: 32-42.

3 Campbell Titchener, The George Kirksey Story: Bringing Major League Baseball to Houston (Austin: Eakin Press, 1989), 7.

4 John Wilson, “Kirksey, First Astro Backer, Sells His Stock,” The Sporting News, May 21, 1966: 13

5 “Texas Group Wanted Busch to Buy Cards’ Radio Rights,” The Sporting News, March 4, 1956: 10.

6 “Prexy Giles Spends 36 Hours In St. Louis Overseeing Cards’ Sale,” The Sporting News, March 4, 1953: 10.

7 Tichener, 75.

8 Reed, 18.

9 Reed, 18-19.

10 Lee Lowenfish, Branch Rickey: Baseball’s Ferocious Gentleman (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007), 552.

11 John O. King, Joseph Stephen Cullinan: A Study of Leadership in the Texas Petroleum Industry, 1897-1937 (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 1970), 213-214.

12 Titchener, 74-75.

13 Reed, 19.

14 Reed, 19-20.

15 Ray, 258.

16 Reed, 20-21.

17 Dick Peebles, “Commission to Seek Information on Feasibility of Stadium Here,” Houston Chronicle, February 12, 1998: F1.

18 Report of the Harris County Board of Parks Commissioners to Harris County Commissioners Court, June 20, 1958. Astrodome Collection, 1958-1968 files, folder 18, Houston Public Library.

19 “County Stadium Bond Issue Gets July Ballot Spot,” Houston Post, July 24, 1958: section 4, 1.

20 Mickey Herskowitz, “Perini Says Weisbrod Rates Houston in 10-Club Possibility, Houston Chronicle, July 17, 1958: section 4, 1.

21 Ray, 258.

22 Hal Lebovitz, “Cleveland Is Joyful; Tribe Directors Vote to Stay Indefinitely,” The Sporting News, October 22, 1958: 18.

23 Bob Buhite, The Continental League (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014).

24 Reed, 31.

25 Reed, 32.

26 Ray, 262-263.

The processes associated with the design and eventual construction of the Dome’s revolutionary roof structure began in early 1962, with principal architect Robert Minchew’s rendering of the stadium having been completed. At this juncture, the responsibility for engineering the Astrodome’s roof and supporting structural edifices became the province of Walter P. Moore and Associates. Over the years, Moore and Kenneth E. Zimmerman would serve as the engineering minds behind a host of Houston area landmarks, including the Jesse H. Jones Hall for the Performing Arts, Rice Stadium, the Warwick Hotel, the Bates-Freeman Building at the University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center, and St. Vincent de Paul Catholic Church, among others.1

But the Astrodome would always be Walter P. Moore and Associates’ crowning achievement. After prevailing bond issues were resolved via the election of January 31, 1961, Moore and Zimmerman were formally allowed to begin the vital work of designing and testing their plans for implementing a roof structure that was capable of withstanding seismic shifts and gale-force winds, as well as the forces of time. On February 2 excavation of the site began promptly when a “huge dragline ripped dirt from a 300-acre site off S. Main.”2 Within a matter of weeks, some 260,000 cubic yards of dirt had been removed from the site in order to accommodate a mile-long drainage ditch and the building’s sublevel playing field. Construction would be delayed until 1963, due to a series of post-bond legal, financial, and political challenges. The new timetable meant that the Dome would be ready in time for the 1965 major-league season.3

In the interim, teams of engineers and architects had already begun honing and testing the final design specifications for the structure. Given their background in long-span structures, Moore and Zimmerman had been carrying out the technical analysis for the project since 1960. At one point they considered Buckminster Fuller’s famous Geodesic Dome designs, while also exploring the notion of wood trusses to support the roof structure. Ultimately, steel was selected, given its much higher tensile strength, in order to carry the massive load. A lamella roof structure, proposed by Roof Structures, Inc., headquartered in Webster Groves, Missouri, was chosen because of its spider-web network of trusses. The lamella structure involves a double layer of steel members to ensure the building’s engineering integrity.4

With Roof Structures, Inc., led by G.R. Kiewitt and Louis Bass, in tow, the project shifted to the testing phase in order to ascertain what kind of loads could be hung from and supported by the Dome’s eventual roof design. The construction specifications stipulated that the roof be able to handle a live load of 15 pounds per square foot; a sonic boom loading of 2 pounds per square foot; and a wind load of 40 pounds per square foot or sustained wind velocities of 135 MPH with gusts of 165 MPH.5 Given the emergence of supersonic jet technology, the issue of being able to withstand a sonic boom was believed to be a key issue in building construction during the late 1950s and 1960s. When supersonic jets like Chuck Yeager’s Bell X-1 and the former British Airways/Air France Concorde broke the sound barrier, a boom and resulting shockwave was created. During the early 1960s, a 2-pounds-per-square-foot load was considered to be acceptable at the time, although Roof Structures prepared the building for an additional 2 pounds per square foot – or the possibility of two consecutive sonic booms – as an allowance.6

Perhaps even more significantly, the Dome’s roof had to be able to withstand hurricane-force winds, given the building’s proximity to the Gulf of Mexico and its annual assaults during the Atlantic hurricane season. For this reason, Roof Structures showed particular concern for the phenomenon of uplift in terms of high wind-resistant construction necessitated by projects such as the Astrodome. In such cases, uplift forces must be transferred down toward the foundation in order to prevent catastrophic damage associated with the powerful suction associated with hurricanes. In order to properly calibrate the design, Roof Structures conducted wind-tunnel tests in an effort to establish the kinds of pressures that would imposed on the building in the event of a full-scale hurricane. With Moore in attendance, wind-tunnel tests were undertaken on a one-eighth scale model of the Dome. Given that such a large project had never been attempted before, a number of industry professionals were on hand, including Ralph Anderson from the architectural firm of Wilson, Morris, Crain, and Anderson, along with Tom Kavanagh, a peer reviewer from New York City’s Praeger, Kavanagh, and Waterbury assigned to the project.7

The wind-tunnel tests were carried out using the aeronautical wind tunnels housed at the McDonnell-Douglas Aircraft Corporation facilities in St. Louis. Given that the Dome would have skylights permeating the surface of its roof, the model artificially represented these undulations via sand particles applied to the model’s roof with adhesives to simulate the roughness of the skylights during the wind-tunnel tests. In addition to outfitting the model with pressure points created by a series of pressure orifices, the team placed cotton tufts along the surface of the roof in order to visualize the wind’s varying effects upon the building.8

After the technical data was captured from the wind-tunnel tests, Herbert Beckman, a Rice University professor of nautical engineering, compiled and evaluated the results. In his September 29, 1961, report, Dr. Beckman observed that “during the tests, the model is subjected to a steady air stream while hurricane winds consist of small grain turbulence with a gust diameter of usually not more than 100 or 200 feet. These gusts will result in only partial loading of the building, and as a consequence, are less effective than a steady wind would be. The wind-tunnel data can be considered to give ‘conservative’ loads comparative with corresponding flow conditions in hurricanes.” As it turned out, the data proved to be remarkably close to the hand calculations made by Bass in advance of the wind-tunnel tests in Missouri.9

Having completed this phase of the project, Roof Structures assimilated the dome roof pressure contours obtained from the wind-tunnel tests into the firm’s design proposal for the lamella roof structure. Roof Structures accommodated the test results by incorporating different pressure bands across the graduated expanse of their roof design. Divided into five such bands, the pressure bands included segments designed to accommodate 20, 25, 30, 35, and 45 pounds per square foot, with the apex being able to withstand the highest level of pressure. Simply put, these graduated pressure bands served to contravene the suction pressure of hurricane-force winds attempting to lift the Dome away from its foundation.10

With Roof Structures having carried out the firm’s all-important work of testing the roof’s integrity, Zimmerman’s team at Walter P. Moore and Associates was left to ensure that the innovative roof structure was properly anchored to the rest of the building. This moment in the life of the Astrodome marked the design phase’s most significant instance in building the stadium to last. Perhaps most importantly, engineering integrity of the highest order was required in order to address a multitude of safety concerns. Roof Structures, whose success with the Dome led to the firm’s later work on the New Orleans Superdome, provided four drawings in support of a tension-ring design for the Astrodome. Working from Bass’s drawings, Zimmerman created diamond-shaped lamellas separated by ring structures, which doubled as the roof’s trusses. As a tension-ring formation, the Dome extended across the building’s supporting structure. Given the incredible forces and thoroughgoing tensions playing upon the design, the manner in which the Dome connected to the building proper was critical to its engineering.11

In order to accommodate the results of the wind-tunnel tests and the structural demands of Roof Structures’ tension-ring design, Zimmerman devised a pair of innovations – masterworks of engineering elegance that set the Astrodome apart from any long-span structure ever conceived. Christened by Zimmerman as the “knuckle” column and the “star” column, respectively, his deft approaches to addressing the wind-tunnel results and Roof Structures’ resulting proposal were nothing short of revolutionary. The knuckle column, Narendra K. Gosain observes, “was Mr. Zimmerman’s brainchild.” It was a “remarkable piece of engineering” based upon the human knuckle as a means for solving a complex problem: Simply put, how do you allow for movement toward the centroid or center of the Dome to account for temperature shifts, while deflecting movement of the structure caused by horizontal wind shear?12

To remedy this issue, Zimmerman devised a column that flexes, much like a person’s knuckle, toward the center, while remaining outwardly fixed. The knuckle columns exist along the stadium’s roofline, connecting the Dome itself to the exterior superstructure. Arranged circumferentially around the interior perimeter of the Dome every 5 degrees, the apparatus consists of four-foot-diameter steel pins at the end of each column. The lower bearing of each pin was welded to a plate support, leaving the top side of the pin to rotate freely in a close-fitted plate with a milled surface. If the top side had been welded, it would have been too rigid and in high wind conditions would have broken away from the structure, given the high tensions existing at that altitude of the building. In order to prevent uplift, anchorage was created at the top of each column via massive U-bolts. As long as the building exists, the knuckle columns will continue doing their work, acting in concert with temperature changes while remaining rigid in the face of enormous wind shear – flexing inward, yet not flexing outward, like the human knuckle.13 According to Gosain, when the Dome first opened, the knuckle columns at the top of the stadium were exposed, affording fans in the upper reaches of the stadium with a rare glimpse of engineering in action. Unfortunately, many visitors found the visible movement of the knuckle columns to be unsettling; hence, the joints were later concealed behind metal plates in order to prevent fan consternation at the sight of the Astrodome flexing in response to the elements.14

In addition to the knuckle column, Zimmerman utilized the innovation that he described as the star column, along with the concrete retaining wall at the Astrodome’s base, in order to execute Roof Structures’ tension-ring design. For Zimmerman, the star column and the retaining wall at the Dome’s lower perimeter afforded the massive building with two levels of tiebacks working in tandem with the knuckle column at the roofline. In engineering parlance, tiebacks act as anchors and stabilizing mechanisms in order to balance the heavy weight load of the roof – especially in a long-span structure such as the Astrodome – against the external forces working upon the building from horizontal and vertical vantage points. Zimmerman’s design called for two levels of tiebacks, including the star columns positioned at mid-height around the building’s exterior, as well as the tiebacks located every 5 degrees at the base of the retaining wall. The lower-level tiebacks were reinforced by a series of dead-man anchors, located 80 feet away from the retaining wall, in order to further support the efforts of the tension ring and preserve the building’s structural integrity. The building’s design criteria called for structural elements that protected the stadium against lateral wind loads and “people-generated sway loads.” In addition to concerns about numerous natural exterior forces, the structure had to withstand abrupt and rhythmic movements of personnel and visitors inside the building.15

For the most part, Zimmerman’s deployment of X-braced steel bents from the top of the stadium’s structure down to the foundation afforded the Astrodome with the requisite resistance to lateral wind loads working upon the building. Given the existence of expansion joints located around the stadium, each sector of the structure required its own system of lateral load-resistant frames. These midlevel tiebacks can be viewed on the building’s exterior as a series of distinctive star columns, located circumferentially around the Astrodome’s perimeter and positioned every 5 degrees. Zimmerman dubbed the features star columns, which resemble giant lower-case letter t’s. He coined the name to honor of the Lone Star State, Texas’s distinctive nickname in reference to its former existence as an independent republic. The tieback system was completed at the Dome’s lowest level by the tiebacks arranged around the base of the foundation as part of the retaining wall. The concrete that formed the retaining wall required a maximum strength of 3,000 pounds per square inch, with the perimeter retaining wall consisting of a counterfort system, which ties the building’s slab and base together. In this instance, the counterfort system serves as a buttress in order to provide rigidity and reduce the shear forces imposed on the retaining wall by the soil. The external tiebacks beyond the retaining wall consisted of steel strands placed every 2.5 degrees around the stadium. In order to protect the strands against the corrosive effects of the soil, Zimmerman’s design specified a cathodic protection system as a prophylactic measure. With such a system, the steel strands are protected by encasing them in a sacrificial metal, which serves as the anode of an electromechanical cell, while the steel strand that comprises each tieback acts as the cathode.16 Decades later, when unearthed for the purposes of renovation, the structural metal revealed no signs of corrosion during the intervening years, proving the original design to be highly effective.17

With the integrated design of redundant systems involving the knuckle columns, the star columns, the tiebacks, and the retaining wall in place, Zimmerman was able to satisfy, with great engineering elegance and innovation, the demands of Roof Structures’ tension-ring specifications.

As nearly 10,000 tons of steel began to arrive at the construction site, the contractor, American Bridge, started the process of overseeing the preparations for building the concrete retaining wall. In order to construct the Dome’s storied roof structure and connect it to the steel frameworks, crews from American Bridge fabricated 37 falsework erection towers. Each tower was placed circumferentially at the base of the building in order to provide support for the trusses that grew to span 642 feet in diameter. The towers consisted of an inner ring of 12 200-foot towers, an outer ring of 24 smaller 160-foot towers, and a 303-foot center tower. Thirty-six towers were arranged as opposing pairs in 12 pie sectors each of 30 degrees, with the 37th tower placed in the middle of the building in support of the Astrodome’s geometric center.18

The erection of the steel trusses presented particular challenges, as the tension ring had to remain vertical at 60 degrees Fahrenheit and with the dead loads applied in order to maintain the ring’s structural integrity. In order to accomplish this end, jacks were placed at the top of each tower to make incremental adjustments as the erection of the steel progressed.

Throughout the year, the project had become the focal point of local, national, and even international interest. While the media offered unremitting coverage of the building’s progress, Houstonians observed the ever-rising structure from vantage points across the city’s southern reaches. As the crews from American Bridge welded the trusses into place, the tension ring at the heart of the Dome’s structural design began to take form. Weighing 750 tons, the tension ring consisted of 72 steel sections of articulated joints in order to allow for the expansion and contraction of the roof.19

During the process of constructing the tension ring, Kiewitt strongly recommended that radiographs, similar to medical x-rays, be made of the welds in the tension ring in order to ensure that they were not cracking under the extreme weight of the building materials. Indeed, as the American Bridge crews worked to put all of the trusses and frameworks into place, a certain element of risk existed – and notwithstanding the extra protection and stability afforded by the erection towers – that a gale-force wind could topple the steel skeleton and injure the construction workers nearly 200 feet below. Kiewitt had clear reason to be concerned. During the summer of 1963, a high-force wind of 90 MPH had assaulted Victoria, Texas, some 125 miles to the southwest of the construction site. Anything along those lines would have spelled almost certain doom for Hofheinz’s lofty municipal dreams.20

Kiewitt’s insistence on regular radiograph tests may have made the difference in ensuring confidence in the incipient building’s structural integrity. As it happened, Hurricane Cindy pelted the Texas coastline with a steady assault of wind and rain in late September, and the frameworks, with all of its welds fully in place, withstood the onslaught with nary any damage.21 On December 2 the tension ring had finally been completed, along with the building’s support columns. As American Bridge crews anxiously watched, the jack on the central 37th tower was lowered and the tension ring rested atop its steel pillars. To commemorate the occasion, workers placed a pair of Colt .45 pennants atop the roof. Almost immediately, the stress of so much weight on top of the frameworks began to exert its awesome might, with 220,000 pounds of pressure being transferred onto the stadium’s support columns. Consequently, the columns bent slightly – and by as much as an inch in some places. To deflect the pressure, the American Bridge crews hastily erected temporary steel supports in order to deflect the load and protect the steel skeleton from suffering any damage. While the incident proved to be a momentary concern, it turned out to be a harbinger of other issues to come. As a result, engineering teams from Roof Structures and Walter P. Moore assembled in January 1964 and decided to cross-brace the columns to further enhance the structure’s support. As an additional measure, gamma ray equipment was deployed in order evaluate the quality of the welds before moving further with the project. As a result, 10 welds were found to be defective and subsequently corrected before construction continued.22

By early 1964, all of the Dome’s spans had been completed and the trusses and frameworks were fully in place. At this key juncture in the building’s construction – with the connections having been welded together and the alignment confirmed – the crews began the laborious and painstaking process of lowering the jacks and eventually removing the erection towers altogether.23 On January 16 Zimmerman announced that the columns were properly braced and could now support the roof structure without benefit of the erection towers. American Bridge predicted that it would take just under three weeks to lower the jacks and remove the towers.24 Concerns mounted as the trusses were released from the safety net afforded by the towers, and the integrity of Zimmerman’s engineering and design was ready to prove itself – or, failing that, to collapse on an international stage – branding Houston once more as a hick town in the watchful eyes of a waiting world.

Zimmerman had been known to joke with friends and family that if the structure were indeed going to founder, he wanted to be standing in the middle of the construction site, hundreds of feet below the centroid, to be spared the ultimate humiliation of seeing his work collapse in upon itself.25 But his gambit was hardly necessary. If Zimmerman truly held any doubts, they were resolved fairly quickly as the Dome’s skeleton held fast. On February 4 the roof was liberated from the erection towers, and the 7.5-million-pound lamella dome came to rest entirely on the stadium walls. After all of the towers had been removed, the stadium had sunk 4 inches, as predicted by the engineers, under the combined weight of the roof and the frameworks.26 For the first time, Hofheinz’s original vision of a modern-day Roman Colosseum was beginning to take form. The steel superstructure was finally complete, and the outline of the Astrodome’s interior frameworks remained visible for miles in every direction.

But as events would show, Houston’s collective sigh of relief over the building’s structural soundness was short-lived. With the steel frameworks in place, Zimmerman and his engineers tested the structure’s plumbness to see if it held true without benefit of the erection towers. And to their great consternation, and eventual panic, the mathematics didn’t add up. Simply put, the frameworks wasn’t plumb. In civil-engineering parlance, plumbness refers to a structure’s state of being vertical or “true.” Today, engineers test a building’s plumbness using laser equipment. In the Astrodome’s heyday, plumbness would have been tested by deploying a lead weight on the end of a line in order to determine verticality.

During the process of slowly retracting the jacks atop each of the 37 erection towers, Zimmerman’s engineering team periodically checked the tension-ring alignment and tested the plumbness of the columns. To their growing dismay, the plumbness results shifted on a daily basis. Not surprisingly, concerns began to mount among the engineers from Walter P. Moore and Roof Structures. Eventually, those concerns spread to the County Commissioners, who became increasingly nervous at the mere thought that such a high-profile project might prove to be structurally unsound after years of careful preparation and no-holds-barred politicking. Under this level of scrutiny, Zimmerman’s team reconsidered the monitoring data from the plumbness tests, while also examining the design of the supporting columns to ensure that nothing was amiss. Finding nothing of concern – save for the inconsistent plumbness data – Zimmerman gave the order to lower the jacks completely and release the frame to face the elements.27

Specifically, the team worked to ascertain the degree to which the columns’ deviation from plumbness remained constant from day to day. Specifically, the team worked to ascertain the degree to which the columns were out of plumb remained constant from day to day. Not only did the results not remain constant, but they varied daily. As the days continued to pass, tensions on the construction site mounted and the County Commissioners began to doubt the efficacy of the design. And then it finally happened: Zimmerman’s “Eureka!” moment when he discovered that the plumbness differential was due entirely to temperature effects. He realized that the columns needed to be checked at the same time on successive days in order to ensure that there were no variations in temperature. In short, the plumbness calculations would shift from morning to evening, as the frameworks moved from sunshine into shadow. Recognizing that his design allowed for temperature effects, Zimmerman exclaimed that “the old girl was behaving just as was predicted!”28

Zimmerman’s innovative design demonstrated the vital ways in which long-span structures like the Astrodome move almost continuously. The same effects can be understood in terms of high-rise buildings like the former World Trade Center in New York City, which was engineered with a certain degree of natural sway in concert with the elements – namely, wind – in order to protect both the engineering integrity and the Twin Towers’ occupants. As Gosain points out, “There is no structure that is rigid. They all move – all structures move. The wonderful thing that engineers have accomplished – and especially with such buildings as the World Trade Center or the Etihad Tower 5 in Abu Dhabi – is that they minimize structural movement so that it’s not perceptible.”29

Later calculations after the Astrodome’s completion confirmed Zimmerman’s hypothesis, as well as the soundness of his design. The engineers’ monitoring data demonstrated a temperature differential of 20 degrees Fahrenheit between the interior and the exterior of the building, but also the exterior from east to west, north to south. Yet another calculation proved that the Dome enjoyed a dead-load deflection of 1.88 inches. The fact that the Astrodome would be air-conditioned held the possibility of an interior/exterior temperature differential of more than 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Meanwhile, for the design’s wind load, the horizontal movement allowed for an incredible 5½ inches of sway. This posed a particular challenge for both the architects and engineers tasked with designing the expansion joint at the edge of the Dome’s roofline. The design specifications needed to be prepared for a total movement of 11 inches in order to account for 5½ inches in either direction. To remedy this issue, the design team devised a maintenance-free solution, which consisted of a screen appended to the tension ring and extending beyond a concrete curb on the edge of the stadium roof. The screen camouflaged the expansion joint, which was afforded with the requisite space to allow for total movement not to exceed 11 inches. Through this elegant solution, the screen and the curb overlap sufficiently to not allow the rain to blow into the building’s interior; at the same time, the curb’s height was designed to prevent rainwater from spilling downward from the edge of the roof.30

With the Dome’s plumbness crisis having been resolved, the project moved apace with slightly more than a year to go until Opening Day in the Astrodome in April 1965. By April 1, 1964, the crews began lodging the roof’s 4,596 skylights into place, with the concrete seat risers to be installed shortly thereafter.31 With the building’s skeleton having been fully completed, the project shifted toward the activities associated with fitting out any multipurpose stadium – although the Astrodome was hardly any run-of-the-mill sports complex.

As with Zimmerman and the team from Walter P. Moore, the project’s construction crews were especially enamored with the process of assembling and installing the Dome’s gigantic center-field scoreboard. Four stories high and 474 feet wide, the $2 million electronic scoreboard encompassed more than 50,000 individual light bulbs. Weighing more than 300 tons, the scoreboard, which would come to be known among sports fans as the “Home Run Spectacular,” required some 1,200 miles of wiring to become operational.32 As Gosain remarks, the scoreboard was designed, with Hofheinz’s typical bravado and brash showmanship, “to put the Aurora Borealis to shame!”33

The Astrodome’s gala opening on April 9, 1965, was punctuated by far more than Mickey Mantle’s home run for the visiting New York Yankees. It marked the birth, in many ways, of Space City, Houston’s long-sought recognition as a cutting-edge metropolis on a collision course with the twenty-first century. For pioneering engineers like Zimmerman, the Astrodome was, most assuredly, the highlight of his career, although he would be the first to admit that it was an engineering achievement to be shared by many, especially the building’s architects and the outstanding teams assembled by Roof Structures, American Bridge, and Walter P. Moore and Associates. Over the years he would be interviewed about the project. Invariably, Zimmerman would conclude his remarks by lapsing into a sentimental fondness. “It was the biggest and finest of its kind around,” he would say, thinking wistfully about his signal role in engineering what, for a time at least, some folks called the Eighth Wonder of the World.34

Notes

1 Lynwood Abram, “Kenneth E. Zimmerman, Helped Create Astrodome: Worked on Many Notable Projects during Long Career,” Houston Chronicle, December 24, 2008: B7.

2 “Dragline Rips into S. Main Stadium Site,” Houston Chronicle February 2, 1961, section 1, 1, 2.

3 Jason Bruce Chrystal, “The Taj Mahal of Sport: The Creation of the Houston Astrodome.” Ph.D. diss., Iowa State University, 2004, 226.

4 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain by Robert C. Trumpbour and Kenneth Womack on  July 22, 2013, at Walter P. Moore and Associates, Houston, Texas. Note: Unless otherwise indicated, subsequent interviews with Dr. Gosain took place at the time, date, and location indicated above.

5 Kenneth E. Zimmerman and Narendra K. Gosain. “Astrodome: An Engineering Marvel of the 1960s,” Presented in the Texas Section of the Annual Meeting of the American Society of Civil Engineers, Houston, Texas, September 29-October 2, 2004, 4.

6 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

7 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

8 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

9 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

10 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

11 Zimmerman and Gosain, 4-5.

12 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

13 Zimmerman and Gosain, 7.

14 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain on July 22, 2013, in the NRG Astrodome, Houston, Texas.

15 Zimmerman and Gosain, 7.

16 Zimmerman and Gosain, 8-9.

17 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

18 Chrystal, 231-32.

19 Chrystal, 233-35.

20 Chrystal, 233-35.

21 Chrystal, 236.

22 Chrystal, 239-40.

23 Zimmerman and Gosain, 6.

24 Chrystal, 242.

25 Correspondence from Fred Womack to the authors, April 30, 2015.

26 Chrystal, 243.

27 Zimmerman and Gosain, 6.

28 Zimmerman and Gosain, 6.

29 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

30 Zimmerman and Gosain, 6-7.

31 Chrystal, 243-44.

32 Chrystal, 276.

33 Interview with Narendra K. Gosain, 2013.

34 Abram.