Some year ago as I was watching the ninth chapter of Ken Burns’ documentary on baseball, they were discussing baseball in towns across America. At one point they showed a ballpark with a variety of colorful ads on the outfield walls. One was for Dick Poe Autos. “That’s the Dome!” I said. And indeed it was Dudley Field, home for many years to the El Paso Diablos, a AA minor league baseball team. The ballpark was lovingly referred to as The Dome.
When we first moved to El Paso courtesy of the United States Army, a friend at the clinic where I worked told me early on “You have to go see the Diablos play!” And so some time after that I had my introduction to Dudley Field.
For many of us, being at a ballpark brings back baseball memories. I would spend hours in my backyard bouncing a rubber ball either off of the garage door to field grounders or off of the second floor to chase fly balls. I would position my cap loosely on my head so that, as I chased a fly ball, my cap would fly off just like Willie Mays. One of the great disappointments early on was when I learned I was ineligible for the Green Ridge Little League because we lived one block over the boundary between Scranton and Dunmore. Nonetheless, I would participate in many a pick-up game at nearby Maloney Field, a large dirt field with a baseball backstop. We would gather together and go through the ritual of hands on a baseball bat to determine who would start choosing sides first.
I was an avid collector of Topps baseball cards. When I was about 10 or so I was able to get the autograph of Jimmy Pearsall of the Red Sox on my baseball card. This became a prized possession.
My Dad was not much of a baseball fan but would play catch with me. He in fact gave me my first glove — an Early Wynn model. I was delighted when Early Wynn was voted into the Hall of Fame. My Dad did take me to several baseball games, some in Philadelphia to see the hapless Phillies and a few in New York. One game in particular was memorable. I had wanted to see Jimmy Pearsall play but by 1961 he was playing for the Cleveland Indians and so my Dad took me to see them play the Yankees. This was in the midst of Roger Maris pursuing Babe Ruth’s home run record and indeed we saw Maris hit his 56th.
Somehow sitting in the bleachers on the first base side brought all that back to me. Beyond that, a ballgame at the Dome was more than a ballgame. As you entered, you took a tissue to be used to wave goodby to an opposing pitcher when he was knocked out of the game. And then there was the announcer Paul Strelzin.
The Strelz was a big part of the enjoyment of the game at the Dome. When the opposing team was having a rally, he would wave a red flag at them to stop the rally. The Green Weanie flag would hopefully lead to a Diablos rally. Beyond the right field wall was the El Paso Zoo and so, when a leftie came up, Strelz would encourage the batter to “wake up the elephants”, i.e., hit a homerun. Strelzin would come up with nicknames for the players. Thus, Tom Brunansky became “Brunooo” Brunansky. Daryl Sconiers was “Jaws” with the famous music playing whenever he came to bat. Paul Strelzin also has the distinction of being the only announcer to be ejected from a game!
One would also encounter dedicated Diablos fans. One man I remember was named Diner Davis. The name Diner, he explained, was because he once worked on a railroad dining care. Diner carried a pocket calculator with him and would recalculate each Diablo’s batting average after every at-bat.
On Fridays the Diablos sponsored ten cent beer night. (This was in the late 70s). Quite a buzz for a dollar.
I went to the Dome many times. We had my close friend’s bachelor party there. I shared the Dome with my children. They all remember Paul Strelzin, cotton candy, nachos, the sun setting behind the Franklin Mountains.
In time the Dome showed its age and the Diablos relocated to a ballpark on the edge of El Paso. It was Cohen Stadium, a large concrete facility that put some distance between fans and players. By then, Strelzin was gone and so was some of the ballgame’s unique character. Prices also went up and so interesting characters such as Diner Davis could no longer afford an evening of baseball. In 2005 the Dome was torn down.
The Diablos eventually gave way to the trend of minor league teams becoming big business. They were twice sold to big business groups and eventually lost their Major League affiliation, trying to make a go of it in independent baseall. Eventually the team was sold and moved with a different name.
In 2014 baseball returned to El paso with a new downtown stadium and a new team — the Chihuahuas, a AAA affiliate of the San Diego Padres. The ballpark is beautiful. The concessions are expensive. Baseball as big business is now a part of El Paso.
One of my heroes is Curt Flood. Curt played for the St. Louis Cardinals in the late 1960s. When he was traded to the Philadelphia Phillies, he refused to cooperate with the trade and challenged the reserve clause which empowered owners to completely control the destiny of the players. Flood lost his case in the Supreme Court but a few years later more challenges ended the reserve clause, allowing players to negotiate such matters as salary. The era of free agency began in the 1970s and changed baseball forever.
The cost of escalating salaries as well as changes to the economy moved baseball owners to embrace business models. The impact and value of baseball clubs to their communities became less important. The trend reached a peak with the contraction of minor league baseball a few years ago. Major League baseball eliminated multiple minor league teams as no longer necessary. For many of these communities, baseball was a community event that most could afford. The contraction of the minor leagues led to a significant loss. Other communities such as El Paso witnessed their beloved teams transformed into corporate businesses.
There are still moments when baseball brings communities together. I think of Mike Piazza’s homerun for the Mets after 9/11. I think of David Ortiz’s memorable speech to the crowd at Fenway Park after the Boston Marathon bombings. Sadly, that type of coming together would not have happened without the tragedies that were a focus.
Perhaps that is the loss I grieve when I think of the Dudley Dome — a loss of a sense of community that baseball was able to bring. Many of us have had that sense of community in other ways as well. Most of us still seek that sense whether through sports or religion or neighborhoods. I wonder if that access to community has become less and less. Why? Big business? Political divisiveness? Decreasing interest in religion? Fear in an increasingly violent world? Probably all of the above and more.
The other day I met a veteran who had played baseball for a local high school. We were roughly the same age so I asked him if he remembered Dudley Field. He smiled and said “I once played there on my high school team.” It was a moment of connection. A momentary sense of community.
